Chapter 60 Kingston
Kingston
It isn’t easy to gain my respect, but as Ace goes toe-to-toe with me, I can’t help but admire her determination.
That doesn’t stop the overwhelming suspicion from taking hold, however.
“I said talk,” I bark.
I watch as her pink tongue darts out between her lips before running along them. “You need evidence that Burlone works for the Feds. I know a Fed who might be willing to help.”
Tapping my finger against my chin, I say, “You said might. Do you know what happens if he doesn’t want to give us the fabricated documents we’re asking for?”
“He’ll give it to us,” she counters. There’s an edge of determination in her voice, but it isn’t enough to convince me.
I scoff. “How do you know, Ace?”
“Because he knows what a terrible human being Burlone is just like we do.”
A wave of frustration mixed with defeat rolls through me.
Leaning forward, I ask, “Ace. Who am I?”
Ace’s brows pinch in confusion. “Huh?”
“Who am I?”
“You’re Kingston?” It’s obvious she doesn’t know where I’m going with this, so I spell it out for her.
“I’m Kingston Romano. Head of the Romano family. I’m a made man, Ace. I’m a bad man.”
“Well yeah, but—”
“What makes me any different than Burlone in Jack Connelly’s eyes?”
With a huff, she crosses her arms. “You don’t have multiple women at your disposal for a quick buck. That’s the difference. If we can offer him something he wants in return––”
“And what if we can’t find something he wants? You’re suggesting we approach a Fed, Ace. If he refuses to help us, then I’ll have no choice but to kill him to protect ourselves. To protect our family. Are you okay with that?”
“It won’t come to that,” she argues, though I can see the doubt in her eyes.
“It might,” I return. “I need to know whose side you’re on.
Because right now, you could still walk away.
You could still disappear into the night.
Your name hasn’t been tainted by the mafia yet, but if your connection with a Fed is discovered, and then that Fed goes missing because they refuse to cooperate with us, it won’t take a genius to figure out the part you played. Do you want that?”
Gaze steely, she stands from her seat before nudging my legs apart and pushing between them. I feel her soft palms cup both sides of my face, and the intimate touch surprises me. Especially when I just finished giving her an ultimatum I’d never planned on voicing aloud.
Pulling me down until my forehead rests against hers, she whispers, “I’m in this, King. I’m all in. If Jack doesn’t go along with this, then we do what needs to be done to protect the family. There’s no going back for me…no matter what.”
I watch for any sign of a lie, even if she’s hiding the truth from herself as much as she’s hiding it from me, but I don’t see it. The resolution in her eyes is clear, and my chest squeezes in anticipation.
“Truth,” I murmur, my lips hovering an inch from hers.
“Then let me ask you again. Do you trust me?”
I nod.
“Let’s do this.”
I don’t like this. I don’t like this one fucking bit. I watch Ace dial Jack’s number with a clenched jaw, convinced we’re all going to end up dead or in prison. But she asked for my trust, and after hearing her side of the story, I grudgingly told her she had it.
Those big doe eyes got to me as she explained what had happened, and her logic behind following this path was enough to convince me she’s right.
I assessed every movement as she laid out her plan.
I couldn’t detect a single lie in her absurd story concerning how she received that damn card.
Watching her closely, I still can’t find a single bone in her body that whispers betrayal.
Either I’m going soft, or she’s telling the truth.
I just pray that my feelings for her haven’t clouded my judgment.
But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
“Um, hey,” her soft little voice murmurs into the receiver. “Yeah, it’s me, Ace.”
Silence.
Her gaze darts over to me before looking down at her sneakers. “I’m fine, I promise. Look, do you think we could meet somewhere?”
Silence.
“Umm…there’s a diner? Dottie’s? It’s on––” She pauses. “Okay, good. See you then.”
Her hand that’s holding the phone to her ear drops to her side, and she gives me the thumbs up. “Looks like we’re meeting him in thirty minutes at Dottie’s.”
“Thank God. I’m starving,” D adds, rubbing his stomach dramatically. As soon as I told D that I trust Ace, he jumped on board without any questions, and I appreciate his support. Ace laughs at his antics before walking around the desk and planting a kiss against my mouth.
“It’s going to be okay,” she promises, her eyes shining with sincerity.
“And if it isn’t, am I allowed to kill him?”
Messing with the Feds is unheard of in this business. Well, unless you want to end up dead like Burlone is going to be. If everything goes according to plan.
Hesitantly, she leans forward and drops another kiss to my mouth.
This one is slower. Sweeter. And so damn addictive I have to force my hands to stay at my sides when they’re begging to wrap around her tiny waist so that I can press myself against her.
The tip of my tongue brushes against the seam of her mouth as I hear D clearing his throat.
I’d almost forgotten he was in the room, though I don’t really give a shit.
With a sigh, Ace pulls away and rests her head against my forehead.
“Come on, King. Buy me some French toast, will ya?”
D interrupts. “French toast? I thought you were an eggs kind of girl?”
Looking over her shoulder at him, she shrugs. “Yeah. I guess it’s my own little tribute to G. Have you heard anything about her?”
“She’s a ghost, Ace,” he replies. “We haven’t been able to find anything.”
Her face sobers, but I press forward because she needs to know the truth.
“Your friend vanished, and we think it has something to do with Burlone. But we’ll find her. I promise.”
With a nod, a somber Ace wraps her arms around herself before I press my hand against her back and lead her to my black Audi parked in the garage. I open the passenger door and help her inside. Once she’s situated, I climb behind the steering wheel. D sits in the back, and we head to Dottie’s.
The place is exactly what I expected. Fifties diner. The smell of grease. The booths tucked along the walls. It’s…quaint. And clean. I’ve gotta give the owner some credit for keeping it in pretty decent shape, especially in a neighborhood like this. I scan the area for the man of the hour.
As soon as I see the guy sitting in one of the booths near the back of the diner, my steps almost falter.
“This is Jack? The asshole who grabbed you in my casino?” I spit angrily.
Ace has the decency to look apologetic before placing her hand on my bicep and giving it a soft squeeze.
“He’s our only shot right now to get the concrete evidence we need, King. Can you please play nice? For me?”
With a clenched jaw, I dig deep and find some semblance of control before putting my hand against the small of her back and pushing her forward. “I think it’d be best if he saw you first, Wild Card. Because if he sees us swarm him, he might have a heart attack.”
Laughing awkwardly, she takes a step toward the booth before turning on her heel. “Come over in two minutes. I’ll try to prep him, but I don’t want to give him a chance to actually leave, ya know?”
Both D and I nod before D jokes, “We’ll be right over by the hostess table. But don’t make us wait long. I wasn’t kidding when I said I was hungry.”
Giving D a playful wink, Ace says, “I’ll place your order when Dottie comes over. Eggs, sausage, and breakfast potatoes?”
His stomach growls. “Yes, please. And order some for Kingston too. I don’t want him getting handsy with my sausage.”
Snorting, she waves us off. “See you in a few.”
With the confidence of a runway model, Ace approaches Jack and sits down across from him before a waitress comes and takes their order.
I watch as her mouth forms my name, quickly followed by the douche slapping his hand against the table angrily, his posture turning rigid.
My nostrils flare when I see Ace put her delicate little hand on top of his to calm him down.
Sensing my frustration, D grabs my forearm. “Give her a second, King. It’s all good. She’s taking care of it.”
“I don’t like her touching him,” I grit out.
I don’t like it at all.
“You don’t own her, man. Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”
Giving him the side-eye, I see an amused smirk on his face, and if we weren’t in public, I’d wipe it off with my fist.
I don’t bother responding to his remark because I’m afraid he might have a point. How else would a girl off the streets be able to convince a mob boss to meet with the Feds?
Cracking my knuckles, I mutter, “It’s been two minutes. Time’s up.”
Casually, I walk over to the booth then slide in next to Ace without waiting for an invitation.
I don’t need one, anyway. Not after everything she’s put me through.
D grabs a chair from a nearby table. The legs scrape against the tile floor as he drags it toward us then plops into it lazily and rests his elbows on the table.
Once we’re situated, I assess the man I’ve been told I should rely on.
The only problem? With the way he looks at Ace, I know my judgment will be clouded, and I won’t be able to trust my gut.
Which means I’ll have to put my trust in the girl beside me, instead. Looking over at her, she gives me an innocent smile then rests her hand against my thigh beneath the table. Her touch immediately calms me, and it only confirms D’s comment from earlier. She fucking owns me.
Our food is being placed in front of us seconds later by an older woman with short dyed-red hair and a no-shit attitude that I admire.