Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
And maybe we are both lying to ourselves.
Joe pulls right up to the door, and I help her out. She wrinkles her nose, probably smelling the stale cigarettes that stain the evening air. Once inside, the smell is better, replaced with butter and garlic. Spiro had a hand in hiring new people for the kitchen, and the result is a massive improvement over what Cavalli’s used to be.
The decor still has the same faded carpet and old furniture. But there’s a fresh coat of paint and no sign of bullet holes. I pull Lula along to the back room, pausing in the shadowy hallway to lift the blindfold from her eyes.
She blinks once and takes in her surroundings with the wary look of a hunter in unknown territory.
Low laughter and the murmur of men’s voices come from the room ahead.
“Ready?” I ask.
She shrugs and visibly hardens. I draw her close on the pretense of fiddling with the coat’s collar.
“Do this for me,” I whisper in her ear. “And I will give you everything you want and more.” I pull away to take in her expression, but it’s blank and remote. It reminds me of my own face in the mirror.
Maybe I taught her more than I should have.
“You’re missing one thing.” She’s wearing my tan trench coat, and I reach into a pocket to pull out a silver tube of lipstick. Her lips compress to hold back a grimace, but she lets me paint it on her. A pop of red in her colorless face. Warpaint. “Now you’re ready.”
“You’re not going to tie me up?” She holds up her hands, presenting her wrists.
“I think you’ll behave. The stakes are too high, the reward too great.”
Her eyebrows twitch, but her forehead smooths before I can ask about her thoughts. “Let’s get this over with.”
“As you wish.” I lead her into the room where she faced Stephanos last. According to Spiro, it’s much the same with the unneeded tables and chairs pushed to the side. A few men lounge around the long table lining the opposite wall, and they fall silent as we approach.
“Lucrezia Romano, meet my new friends. Spiro, Uzi, Kill Zone.” Each man stands as I name them. There are five more newcomers, all vetted and vouched for by Spiro. He completes the introductions by saying, “And Joe’s out back. He’s coming in soon.”
Lula stands silent through this, shifting slightly from foot to foot. I keep a hand on her elbow.
“Shall we?” I sweep a hand toward the table, and the men part to make a path for us. I guide her to settle in the center of the booth lining the wall. The seat of honor, but hemmed in on either side by me and Spiro.
“Nice to meet ya, Ms. Romano,” Kill Zone says after a nervous glance at me.
She nods, her jaw still rigid. She’s trying to figure out what’s happening. There’s no sign of Stephanos. Or Bruno.
She sits with her hands in her lap, the long sleeves of my coat draped past her fingertips. I didn’t offer to take the coat; she might feel safer in it, less exposed. And I like seeing her in my clothes. It’s a big change from the last time she walked in here wearing my coat. Now, no one looks at her bare body but me.
The back door opens and squeals closed. Everyone tenses, but it’s just Joe. He walks in. “Sorry, I’m late. Business.” He gives me a significant look.
Spiro pipes up. “I made sure the kitchen has their orders.”
“No trouble?” I ask, resting a hand on Lula’s rigid knee.
“Naw. They’ll be ready soon.” He picks up a wine bottle and uncorks it. “Something to drink while we wait?”
Lula doesn’t move, but I nod to her wine glass. He leans in to fill it, and the men around us relax a little. There’s still a readiness, an air of anticipation, but a few of them light cigarettes or take a sip of their drinks. Uzi relinquishes his hold on his gun and sets it on the floor, letting it lean against his chair.
One of the newcomers cocks his head at Kill Zone. “Kill Zone? That’s your name?”
“That’s what they call me.” Kill Zone shrugs. “I’m thinking of shortening it to Killz.”
“Killz?” Spiro snorts. “Isn’t that the stuff my ma had us paint the bathroom with? For mold?”
“Yeah,” says Kill Zone.
A raspy sandpaper sound echoes as Joe scratches his stubbly chin. “That shit is great.”
A server appears at the main entrance, pushing a food cart. A huge dish covered by a silver dome rests on top. Everyone’s eyes snap to it. The server is a young man with a long neck whose Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Under the red stain of acne, his skin is blanched pale.
“I got it,” Joe says, snubbing out his cigarette and heading to take over controlling the cart. The server relinquishes it, and Joe pushes it right in front of Lula and me. “Go ahead,” I gesture to her. “The main course. I sourced it myself.”