Page 10 of His Nephew's Ex
“Maybe both.” I drain the rest of my whiskey, letting the burn give me courage. “But I’m here, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”
“Which is?”
“A meeting with Simeone Codella.”
The name hangs in the smoky air like a curse word in church. Every muscle in his body tightens imperceptibly, and suddenly the dangerous energy I sensed about him crystallizes into something razor-sharp and focused. He tilts his head slightly, studying me with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen.
“You want a meeting with Simeone Codella,” he says finally, each word carefully measured. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking for?”
“I’m asking for help dealing with his nephew before things get worse.”
“Things can always get worse, little bird. Much worse.” He signals for another round, but neither of us touches the fresh glasses. “What makes you think Simeone would care about your problems with Flavio?”
“Because bad publicity isn’t good for business. Because family members who create unnecessary problems are liabilities.” I’m parroting Detective Ory’s words, hoping they sound smart and confident coming from me. “Because maybe, just maybe, he’s the kind of man who doesn’t let his family terrorize innocent people.”
The laugh that escapes him is rich and dark. “Innocent people. You think you’re innocent, Loriana?”
“I think I’m a woman trying to protect her business and her life from a spoiled psychopath who won’t take no for an answer.”
“And you think bringing Simeone into this equation will make you safer?”
There’s something in his tone that makes my skin crawl, a warning wrapped in silk. But I’ve come too far to back down now.
“I think it’s my only option left.”
He nods slowly, like I’ve passed some kind of test. “What’s your last name, little bird?”
“Parlato. Loriana Parlato.”
“And this business Flavio is threatening?”
“Crimson. It’s a bar on—”
“I know where it is.” His interruption is soft but definitive. “I know exactly where it is.”
The way he says it makes my blood chill. How does he know my bar? Has he been watching me too? Is this whole conversation some elaborate setup?
“You’re scared,” he observes, and it’s not a question.
“I’m cautious,” I echo his earlier words. “Just like you.”
Another smile, this one different from the others. More genuine, less predatory. “Smart girl. Fear keeps you alive in this world.”
“So does knowing when to take risks.”
“Is that what this is? A calculated risk?”
“Everything worth having requires risk.” I meet his gaze steadily. “The question is whether you’re going to help me get that meeting or if I need to find someone else who will.”
“Someone else.” He seems to find this amusing. “In the Viper’s Den, I am someone else. Everyone here answers to me, one way or another.”
The implication hits me like a physical blow. This isn’t just some connected guy I happened to strike up a conversation with. This is someone important, someone with real power in whatever organization runs this neighborhood.
“Then you can help me.”
“I can do a lot of things, little bird. The question is what you’re willing to give in return.”
“What do you want?”
