Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Anything I need to know about?” she asked.
“Not yet. But I’ll let you know if something is up.”
“Okay,” she agreed, rushing out of the door.
Alone, I cleaned out the coffee pot and both our mugs, stripped the bed, and brought it down to do a quick wash, before sticking it in the dryer before ordering breakfast, figuring she would be back pretty quickly, and deciding I probably didn’t want to add hungry to the other things working against me with her.
My phone rang in my pocket as I was about to head down to the laundry room again.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
“Yeah. Let me in,” she demanded.
“Where are you going?” she asked after I let her in, then turned toward the laundry room.
“Getting the sheets,” I said, watching the slightest bit of pink flood her cheeks before she turned and made her way upstairs ahead of me.
By the time I made my way back up, I had the food with me, and Saylor momentarily let all the cold and detached shit drop at the prospect of some food.
“That smells amazingly greasy,” she said, grabbing some of the paper plates out of the cabinet, since it felt crazy to buy brand new plates for a temporary apartment.
“Sausage, egg, and cheese on bagels with a side of amazingly greasy hash browns,” I agreed, then pulled out a third package.
“What’s that?”
“Fruit,” I admitted. “Gotta get some decent nutrients in along with all the grease,” I said, popping the top of the fruit salad for both of us to pick at.
“No word from Elio or Gio?” she asked.
“Not yet. But I imagine I’ll hear from one of them at some point today. Even if we can’t do a meeting today.”
“Good,” she said, biting off half of a hash brown and letting out a moan that went right to my dick. “Oh, my God,” she said, sighing hard. “I need like fifty of these.”
“I got you five,” I said, but pushed three of mine toward her too. I hadn’t hit the gym in days. It was probably better to ease up on the junk until life was back to normal.
Though, to be honest, I kind of liked this little life better. In a shoddy, sparsely furnished apartment with shitty water pressure, and concerning peeling paint on the kitchen cabinets.
It didn’t exactly take any thought to realize the reason for liking this place better than my place was the fact that Saylor was here with me. Even if she was stubbornly only talking to me about the damn job and Fury.
But, hey, it was talking.
And the more the day went on, the less tense she seemed.
“Is that Elio?” she asked when my phone buzzed later that evening after a long day of taking shifts watching the house and fucking around on our phones since we had no TV.
“No. It’s Miko,” I said. Then, at her scrunched look, “My cousin Cosimo’s right-hand guy.”
“Cosimo, the one who was on trial recently, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“What does he want?”
“Just checking in, offering help if it’s needed.”
“Why haven’t we heard from Elio?” she asked, picking up the binoculars to look across the street again.
I got her frustration.
It was getting late. The sun had long set. And it wasn’t like Elio or Gio to drag their feet when you were asking for a favor.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s not like him. If we don’t hear something by the morning, I will reach out. Don’t want to be a pain in his ass, though. I’m sure they have their own shit going on.”
She started to nod at that, but her posture stiffened suddenly.
“What is it?” I asked, cutting the big light, and making my way over to the couch, kneeling on the cushions next to her, and looking across the street.
“Who do you think that is?” she asked, reaching out for her phone to bring up the camera, zoom in, and take a picture. A man stood outside of the row house door, glancing casually around as he waited for the door to open.
“I have no idea,” I said, looking down at the picture. “Maybe we can send it to Keith, see if he knows anything.” Getting a nod from her, I used her phone to do just that, then sent the image to myself, so I could send it to Miko.
“Who are you sending that to?” she asked.
“Miko. He has a pretty good eye on everything going on in the city. If there’s anyone in my Family who might know who that is, it’s him.”
“It could just be a customer,” she said as the door opened, and one of the guys in the house looked up and down the street before letting the guy inside.
“Maybe,” I agreed, both of us just sitting backward on the couch, watching the house. But there was no activity. If this was a customer, this was a long-ass vetting process as one hour passed.