Chapter 14
The hiss of the espresso machine competes with the clamor of people enjoying their morning coffee. Utterly oblivious to the clusterfuck that happened in their city mere hours ago, the patrons of this quaint New York café are carrying on with their mundane existence.
“It’s unfortunate that your last night in my territory didn’t go as you planned, Adriano. But at least you got out of that shit show at Naos alive. If not entirely unharmed,” Salvatore Ajello says with a sardonic glint in his eyes as he brings a cappuccino to his lips. “I hope your arm heals soon.”
I pin the scheming bastard across from me with my gaze. Of course he would’ve already heard about what went down at Popov’s club.
“Nothing more than a graze,” I say. “I was lucky the shooter lacked accuracy.”
“Who knows, perhaps his skills were actually…perfect.”
I can’t help but smile, even though my flesh fucking stings.
I goddamn knew that the “stray” bullet that nicked my upper arm didn’t come from those idiots who attacked Popov’s establishment.
When I got hit, only a couple of assailants were left, and both were cowering near the front entrance.
The only assholes behind me were supposedly “friendlies,” and that’s where the shot had come from.
Ajello has always been and will always be a vengeful motherfucker.
Per his decree, no members of other Cosa Nostra families are allowed in his territory without his direct approval.
Anyone who dares to disobey usually ends up going home in a body bag.
That is, unless that “someone” has invested fifty million dollars into Ajello’s business.
Still, the New York don must have been fuming when his minions informed him of my unauthorized arrival nearly two weeks ago.
I had basically spit on his edict, and that demanded a response from him.
Something he isn’t hiding. That’s not Ajello’s style.
But the way I see it, dealing with a well-aimed bullet wound for letting him know I don’t give a fuck about his orders is a fair outcome. I’m glad he agrees.
“Well, in that case, I am glad his aim was on point.” I collect my phone from the table and stand. “Next time, I hope you send the same guy.”
“Or you could just text me in advance. Give me a heads-up that you’ll be in New York.”
“I will think about it.”
Ajello gives me a look that holds a bit of surprise. “You’ve never been unreasonable, Adriano. Is something going on with you?”
Yes. Messing with the don of New York to distract myself from a certain woman and an ill-advised kiss might be construed as unreasonable. “See you around, Ajello.”
Rather than calling my driver to pick me up, I want a few minutes of fresh air. Well, as fresh as it gets around here. So instead, I turn left after exiting the café and head down the street toward the underground garage where my limo is waiting for me.
The last couple of weeks in New York have been one headache after another.
And not my usual migraines. I’m still trying to come to grips with the almost complete waste of time this trip has turned out to be.
I don’t do well with any kind of failure.
My planned meeting at the annual Best In Business Gala with a potential new associate never happened.
The guy simply didn’t show up. That pissed me off, but not half as much as getting another text from the gloating, rhymey bastard on the heels of learning that one of the offshore rigs in the Gulf of Mexico I invested in went up in flames.
17:23 Unknown:
Weigh the risk, invest with grace.
For though it shines with rich affair,
Oil’s a fire, buyer beware.
To say I was in a bad mood yesterday when I arrived at Naos would be an understatement.
Then, a fucking gang stormed the club right as I was finalizing a transaction to have a bothersome Massachusetts senator eliminated.
My retained hitman ended up dead in the crossfire, which sent my mood straight to hell because finding reliable killers in this day and age is not easy.
Getting shot myself was just the icing on the shit cake.
Yet, with all that crap happening around me, I can’t get my mind off Little Iris.
Bartholomew was right. Distancing myself from my cookie girl was essential, especially after our encounter at the nightclub. After that kiss that never should’ve happened. As such, this New York trip, as catastrophic as it has been, is a godsend.
During the initial week, I managed to control myself and not ask Brahms for additional updates on Iris’s activities and whereabouts.
His regular daily reports were enough. Although, with each hour that passed, it became more difficult for me to function.
I wasted an obscene amount of time blindly staring at my laptop screen while I sat in the courtyard of the clubhouse at the golf resort I had purchased.
I wasn’t doing any work. My head was pounding like the damn thing was going to explode.
And all I did was wait for the ping of my phone.
All so I could read a meager few lines of text from my chief of security.
To find out what she was doing. How she was.
The situation with this woman is getting way out of hand. I hoped leaving Boston and putting a couple of hundred miles between us would somehow reboot my system. That I would be able to regain my sanity. That it would cure me of this…this ridiculous obsession I’ve developed.
It. Has. Not.
I crave her presence like a drug. I need my next fix, and soon. Without it, I’m going to descend into madness.