Page 20 of Diamond In The Rough

“Ask?” Christabelle questions, picking her man’s hand up off her leg. But instead of throwing it away, she twines their fingers together and earns a smile from Lix. “At least we’re asking these days, instead of dictating.”

“I’m an evolved man, babe.” He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. “Men who are getting married tend to grow and mature.”

“Funny,” I sneer. “I see no difference, except now, you have Christabelle stepping in your way before you make stupid decisions.” I look at her. “That load used to be mine to carry alone. I appreciate the help.”

Felix chuckles. “You need to stop whining so fucking much. How much did you spend on a new desk today, anyway?”

In question, I look to Harrison.

“Two-seventy-five. More than the asking price, but as I understand it, Ms. Hale works for commission—and she did do a good job of selling the desk. Proved it’s a genuine antique with all the documentation required for certification. I sincerely believe whatever you paid today will come back to you in double, or triple, long before you retire. That desk was an investment in your future.”

“And now Ms. Hale will spend her evening eating caviar and toasting a bitchin’ bonus,” Felix snickers. “It’s your money, bro; you get to spend it however you wish. Though, I hope you did it because you truly wanted the desk, and not just in a misguided attempt to catch out a pretty lady for being Wilkes’ spy.”

“I’m not done with this.” I circle back and stalk around to stand in front of my brother. “Three of the four ruling dons in this city have died in the last twelve months. Three of four!”

“Mancino wasn’t me,” he lifts his hands in faux surrender, “but now we’re allied with the person who did it. Pastore was my hit to make, with Cordoza’s blessing. And our fuckwit father died from cancer and rotted away inside this very house. New York’s shift in control isn’t some out-of-control war, spreading like fungus in the grass; it’s us gaining power. There’s a difference.”

“There’s a fungus in the fuckin’ grass, Lix. His name is Wilkes, and he’s ready to set this city on fire. Cordoza’s getting old, and you’re still new at the job. New York is the most vulnerable it’s been since the seventies, and you want me to believe that Tiia Hale’s ‘oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you’ ploy was real?”

I point toward Christabelle and earn a set of bared teeth, not just from the dog, but from Felix too. “I love her, Lix—” I meet her eyes. “I do. I think you’re good for him. But you intended to take his life first.” Then I look back to my brother. “Women do start wars. Women are known, all throughout history, to be the smoking barrel that was a man’s undoing. They’re smart enough and effective enough to take down an entire family. So don’t sit there and pretend like Tiia Hale couldn’t possibly be a gun pointed straight between our brows.”

I stalk away and come around to stand in front of Harrison. “What else did you get on her?”

“That Ms. Hale likes French pastries and Italian coffee. And that she’s accompanying Jazmine to Biano’s Italian Restaurant at eight tonight.”

I tap his chest with my knuckles and spin away. “Biano’s at eight. Got it.”

Entering the house through the back door, I cross over from putrid heat into chilly air-conditioning.

“She said you’re aesthetically pleasing!” Lix calls at my back. “That’s code for thinking you’re fuckable. So stop being a bitch, and try being charming. Not every woman wants to slit your throat—and even those who do…”

“I’m done with this conversation.” I’m not sure if he hears me, but I’m not sticking around to repeat myself. Instead, I stride quickly toward the stairs, then head up.

I need to change and get outside for a jog to expel some of the nervous energy rushing through my veins. After that, I need a shower and a ride into the city.

Because I’m heading to Biano’s for dinner at eight.

I haven’t seen Tiia in weeks. Not in person, anyway. It’s time I get eyes on her again, and investigate the weird niggling suspicions that refuse to leave my mind.

6

TIIA

IS HE STALKING, OR AWKWARDLY CHARMING? AND WHY, WHEN I CAN’T BE ENTIRELY SURE, DOES HIS PRESENCE MAKE MY STOMACH TINGLE?

“Mushroom gnocchi for you…” Our server sets a heaped dish down on the table in front of me, then a second plate in front of Jazzy, “and boscaiola for you, madam.” Then he steps back and clasps his hands. “Is there anything else I can get you ladies right now?”

“Uh… no thanks.” Unwrapping my silverware from my napkin and setting the crisp white linen on my lap, I look to our third chair—empty—and glance toward the door. “Our friend is coming soon, so maybe come back and take his order when he arrives?”

“Of course.” The server bends in a mini bow of sorts before spinning on his heels and flitting away to wait on someone else.

“He’s got that Luigi thing going, huh?” I take my fork in one hand, and my wine in the other. “I think he considers you his Princess Peach, Jazzy.”

“Pfft. He can’t handle all this.” She gestures along her leather-clad body, smirking when most men within a thirty-foot radius—even those on a date with someone else—check out what she’s got. “Not even Mario could handle this.” Picking up her fork, she pokes at a chunk of chicken breast and ignores our obviously missing third. “What happened after I left? Did you sell that desk and make bank?”

I spear a gnocchi from my plate, while the dull roar of the full restaurant creates a buzz in the back of my mind. “Yeah. And the customer paid above asking price, which was a cool bonus. It shut Jakeline up when she wanted to bitch about my friends visiting the shop too often.”

Giggling, Jaz tosses the chunk of chicken between her bright red lips. “She’s just jealous because she’s wished her entire life for friends like me.”

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