Dangerous Notes (Dark Pen)

I shake my head and shrug. “A business acquaintance from my past is all. She seems to be trying to elevate her game and getting in my lane. She’s an annoyance really.”

Dex smiles against the glass to his lip. “Sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

“She one upped me on a job, I paid her back, and I guess we have declared a war of sorts. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh, it looks like you most definitely want to handle something,” Dex says with a slight snicker.

“I’ve known this girl since she was a teen hood rat from the rough part of Boston. You’re just reading into our past connection.” I sip from my own drink. “Nothing more.”

“She’s come a long way from being a hood rat,” Dex says, glancing over her way. “I just heard she’s taking the Omar job. Ballsy.”

I slam my drink onto the table. “What?”

I can’t conceal my shock and outrage at this news. Valentina can’t be stupid enough to take this job. I turned it down because it’s impossible for me to do. How in the hell does she think she can pull it off?

“She’s here waiting to meet with him to go over the details.”

“That job will land her in jail. Or dead.”

Dex shrugs. “I wouldn’t do half the jobs that the guests of The Whitney take. You guys are insane. But it’s also who you are. And clearly,” he motions his head toward Valentina, “it’s who she is too. Dangerous or not.”

“This one is even more dangerous than the rest.” My eyes shoot toward her, but she doesn’t see because she’s staring down at her phone, distracted.

Not seeming concerned in the slightest, Dex says, “Some people need to learn the hard way.”

I stand up. “No. Not this time. I’m not going to let this girl walk into the lion’s den. No fucking way.”

I storm over to Valentina’s table and tower over her. “You aren’t taking the job.”

She looks up from her phone at me, her big brown eyes blinking against her surprise of seeing me so suddenly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You aren’t going to meet with Jar Omar. I turned down the job for a reason. A good reason. And if you’re so stupid to try to pick up my scraps, at least pick up the ones that won’t get you shot in the damn back as you’re running away.”

“Just because you don’t have the courage to—”

“This isn’t about courage. It’s about being smart.”

She huffs with a smirk. “And you consider yourself smart?” Chuckling, she adds, “Jar Omar is going to be here any minute. So, if you don’t mind—”

I reach down and grab her arm, yanking her up and off the chair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she hisses between clenched teeth as she looks over my shoulder to see if we’ve attracted any attention.

I want to be respectful of Dex and the rules of The Rooftop, so I pull her hard toward the elevators hoping she doesn’t put up too much of a fight and we can slip out mostly undetected.

“You are not meeting with this man. You are not taking this job.”

When the elevator doors close with us alone inside, I tighten my hold of her arm preparing to be assaulted by her—a price I’ll pay to save her life. I remember back in the day Valentina was quite the scrapper. Being raised around Irish thugs for brothers taught her a thing or two about how to defend herself. I witnessed first-hand what can happen to a man who gets clocked in the jaw by her tiny—yet powerful—fist.

“Who do you think you are? You can’t just pull me from the table and steal me away.”

“I can. I am.”

She’s wearing a black dress which hugs every curve of her body. Black heels that add length and tone to her already muscular legs, and her hair is shiny and flowing. But I know that as well put together as she is, there is a high chance she’ll turn street fighter on me in seconds.

“Atlas…” The warning in her tone is ominous.

“Listen to me,” I say, as I tug her out of the elevator and down the hall of the thirteenth floor back to my room. “You may hate me. You may want me dead. But I don’t want to see you dead. I don’t want to have to stare your brothers and your father in the eye at your funeral knowing I could have prevented it.”

“You’re being over dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic. I’ve been at this game longer than you.”

“Yeah, well I’ve had to work my way to the top. You were given it. So, if we are comparing skill levels—”

I open my door and shove her inside. “This isn’t a dick measuring competition, Valentina,” I snap. “This is your fucking life. And your stubborn pride is reckless. You’re trying so hard to prove something that you’re about to make a deadly mistake. And even if by chance you don’t end up dead, you most certainly will end up in prison. You’re better than an orange jumpsuit.”