CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: WINTER
“I’msupposedtobe what?”
“The bait,” Giovanni says starting at me over his desk, annoyance clear in his features. “Tell me that you’re not so dumb that you don’t understand the basics of fishing, everyone knows what a bait is.”
I let the insult brush right off of me. It isn’t the worst thing he’s ever done or said to me.
Still, I shake my head. “Why would you want me to be the bait?
“Because Sheffield knows he can use you to get to Giovanni,” Maximo says from where he’s lounging against the wall on the opposite side of the room. His gaze moves to his brother, lazy and bored, before it falls to Enzo, who’s standing just behind Giovanni’s chair.
His body tenses.
Guess they’re still not talking.
Vito is sitting in the chair next to me and he seems to be making a point of being quiet.
“How does that work?” I ask, my brows pressing together. “How do we even know that he’ll come after me and when and where?’
Giovanni had called me into his office and explained his plan to me like I was an idiot but I’m starting to think he’s the one who’s out of it.
His plan is for me to be taken by Sheffield to draw the man out, apparently he’s gone to ground. But the plan doesn’t sound well thought out to me.
How will Sheffield know where to find me?
Is security supposed to be so lax that he just gets to me without raising suspicions?
That sounds suspicious in itself.
Giovanni takes a drag of the cigar in his hand, leaning his head back against his chair. His eyes close and smoke blows from his nose as he blows out a breath.
His eyes pop open, meeting mine. “You’re asking too many questions. I have an inside man and that’s all you need to know. They’ll tell Sheffield that you take a smoke break in the back alley every night like clockwork. That’s where he’ll grab you from.”
“And then how will you find me after he’s taken me.” Giovanni shoots me a look that lets me know he doesn’t find all these questions entertaining. But there isn’t a pool around for him to push me in so I feel like it’s okay to test my boundaries today.
“Did you forget that I’ve put a tracker in every single shoe that touches your feet?” he asks. His fingers make an indent in the stem of the cigar.
I did forget, but I don’t tell him that. His plan still sounds far too stupid, too reckless, but apparently his mind is made up, which means I’m going to have to go along with this whether I like it or not.
“When is this all going to go down?” Maximo asks. He approaches his brother’s desk, taking the cigar from his fingers and slipping it in between his lips. His back is to me now and he’s standing just in front of Enzo.
It isn’t by accident.
Enzo’s eyes remain straight ahead even as his nostrils flare slightly.
Maximo blows cigar smoke right into his face.
Enzo doesn’t flinch but his eyes do look directly at Maximo now and there’s so much in them that I make myself look away.
Right at Giovanni, who’s already watching me.
“Tonight,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
***
Smoking weed is completely different from smoking cigarettes.
The cigarettes definitely hurt my lungs a little more, and with every little drag I’m scared I’ll develop a nicotine addiction.