Page 84 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
“That,” Declan says, “is because Cal loves me.”
“He’s aneejit.” In the background, Clawzilla yowls and Arnold barks. I frown. “Why are they fighting?”
“They’re not. I don’t know what’s up with them. They want to go out, but I’ve already taken them.”
He moves to what I presume is another room since the cat and dog noise fades.
“I gave Torin a mission to find out the names of those in the Volkov Bratva,” I say. “He has four guys I need checked out, and anyone of interest they might meet today. You up to it?”
“Hell yes.”
“Good, he’ll send you the info shortly.”
“Anything specific to look for?”
I blow out a breath. “Meetings… or anything out of the ordinary. Tor says they stick to a regular schedule that he’s cobbled together. If they meet with a tall, gray-haired man with a scar, let me know immediately.”
“Will do.”
The enthusiasm in his voice flows through to me. He loves shit like this. And he’s good at it.
“Be careful. And Dec?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave the dog and cat at home.”
I hang up and look around. There’s a patisserie across the street, so I walk over there, get a croissant and an Americano, and sit outside.
I sip the coffee and pretend to play with my phone. But really, I’m watching the street, watching my sweet thing through the boutique window as she stomps into and out of the changing rooms, dumping clothes into the waiting arms of the salesgirl. That side of the street is shadowed so I can see in clearly.
Of course, if I can, so can others, and for some reason it makes my chest tight and my senses buzz.
Because what if she really is in danger?
When I first met her, I don’t think it would have bothered me. Now it does.
I don’t have to like her to be bothered by her in danger, right?
And danger seems to permeate the air, like a sixth sense. I run my gaze over the people in the street, in cafés, and the cars that are parked.
There’s one car with tinted windows in a strategic position near the store. I start to stand up and its engine guns. The driver pulls out, and the car disappears into traffic. I snap a picture of the license plate and send it to Torin. Then I go and get my bride and her shopping bags.
Mikey pulls up once we’re done, and I open the door for her, giving her a gentle shove into the back seat. I toss in the bags, then slide inside. I hand her the paper bag with the croissant.
“Poisoned?”
“Now, sweet thing,” I say, “where’s the fun in that?”
Ava’s about to snap something vitriolic at me when her phone buzzes and she answers it.
She doesn’t say much. Just listens. When she hangs up, she takes a bite of the croissant and then says, “Damn.”
I take it and help myself to a bite. “Not enough poison?”
“Nope.”
“Who was that, Ava?”
