“Older?”
“Yeah, of course. Thinks he’s the family’s boss.”
“Because your dad’s in jail.” When Tacone looks at me sharply, I shrug. “I know how to Google Tacone Crime Family.”
His face relaxes into a fleeting smile. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Must be hard, all those alpha males in one family.”
A laugh bursts out of him, deep and rich. The maître d’ and waitstaff look over, surprised, like they didn’t know he was capable of laughing. I become the object of curious stares.
“Yeah, I guess. I do like to be in charge. I’m the fourth son, so I knew I’d never inherit the kingdom. I think that’s why I pushed so hard to get free of them. Or as free as I could. Out of state, my own operation. It was a goddamn necessity.”
“So how many siblings altogether?”
“Five.”
“Names? Order?”
His lips twitch. “You really want to know this shit?” When I nod, he smiles again. “Okay, pay attention.” He holds up his hand to count on his fingers. “Junior is the oldest. Then Paolo, then Gio. I’m next. Stefano is last. Alessia is the baby.”
“Your mom was holding out for a girl.”
He laughs again. “Exactly. Hard to believe the rest of us didn’t break her, isn’t it?”
I like the way his face goes soft when he talks about his mom. It strikes me as a good sign. A man who loves his mom will treat a woman right. At least that’s what conventional wisdom says.
“She’s here visiting, too. My brother’s finding her a winter residence. I’d introduce you, but I like you too much to subject you to my family.”
I would laugh, but his tone is a shade too dark.
Our drinks arrive and we order our food.
“Your turn. Tell me why you love art so much, bambina.”
I smile. “Who can say why they love something? When I see beautiful art, it makes my heart yearn. Like I want to possess the beauty or the ingenuity.”
“You ever want to be an artist?”
I shake my head. “No. I just love to study the history of it. It’s fascinating to me.”
“Who’s your favorite artist?”
I take a sip of wine. “Too hard a question. I could tell you my favorite from each period?”
“All right.” He watches me so intently, I shift in my seat. “Surrealist.”
“It’s cliché, but I have to say Picasso.”
He smiles like I gave the right answer.
“Are you a fan?”
“Me?” He shrugs. “Never thought much about it. Not sure I care one way or the other.” His phone buzzes and he checks the text, then sends something back. It buzzes again.
He curses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sondra, baby—will you excuse me for five minutes?” He’s already out of his seat. “Please don’t leave. I really want to show you something after dinner.” He waits, pinning me with a questioning look.
The fact that he suggests I’ll leave tells me it will be more than five minutes. I don’t relish the idea of sitting here by myself, but then again, it’s an expensive restaurant with gourmet food. I might as well enjoy it. And I’d be a bitch to begrudge Nico for needing to leave. He has a whole freaking casino to run.
I nod. When he leaves, I pull out my phone to keep me company and the waiter brings just my food. My stomach knots when I see a text from a Reno number. I didn’t program his name into my phone when I changed my number, but I know it’s Tanner’s. He must’ve finally found someone to give him my new number.
Sondra, this is urgent. You can keep the car, but I need something out of it.
The next text came a half hour later.
Seriously. It’s really important.
Then one five minutes ago.
Like life or death important.
I look at the lobster on my plate and lose my appetite.
Crap. Tanner had drugs in the car. The knowing comes with the calmness of the eye of a storm. My DJ party boy ex peddled a little ecstasy. At least that’s what I knew. Sounds like he was into bigger deals than I understood.
And the car? The car is long gone. I had it towed to the wreckage yard. I mean, maybe he can find it and get back what he needs, but I doubt it.
Nico
I’m dealing with three idiot would-be coke dealers in my dungeon. Yes, my basement is a fucking dungeon, with an underground network of tunnels that lead out into the city. You might call them catacombs, because more than one body has been buried here.
They’re kids. Young. Stupid. Easy to scare.
Security caught them moving powder in my nightclub. They could’ve called the cops, but I prefer to deal with this kind of shit in my own way. A little dose of fear goes a helluva lot farther than the threat of a badge.
I nod at my younger cousin Sal, who busts one of the guy’s nose, then pulls his head up by the hair. All three of them have been worked over by my soldiers.