Page 59 of Diamond In The Rough

“If that’s how you want to look at it.”

“You’re the third son born to Timothy Malone. And Timothy Malone was one of four exceptionally powerful men who ran this city.”

“Yeah?” He takes his bite and rests on his elbows. “What else do you know about Tim?”

“That he transported drugs into the city. He wasn’t a street dealer, but the cocaine trade made up most of his income.” I’m probably going to die tonight. Probably won’t even get to finish my pasta, since the man who bought it for me is the family’s frickin’ hitman. “And… he died this year?”

“Is that a question?” He sets his pizza down so the slice lands atop his mounded pasta, then he turns and yanks my fridge open.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t use his manners. He simply peruses the contents and snags the only can of soda sitting on the shelf.

I mean… that’s my Pepsi. I was saving it.

“Are you making a statement, Ms. Hale? Or asking a question?”

“Um… question, I suppose. New York is a big city, and yet, not all that big, when everyone knows your name. I heard your dad died, but there’s been no official confirmation.”

“You think we should have televised the funeral?” He brings the can back to the counter and pops the tab. Taking a sip, he sets it down between us. “Here. There was only one. We can share.”

I don’t know if the room suddenly starts buzzing, or if it’s just my ears. But Micah stares into my eyes until I nod in acknowledgment.

Then he confirms, “He’s dead. Kicked it in May. We buried him in the forest behind our house.”

“Is that not…” I swallow, but my throat is dry. I glance down at the Pepsi. If I drink some, we’re going to have to share… lip space. “Is it not illegal to bury someone and not report their death?”

He only picks up his slice again and shrugs. “Sometimes we do illegal things. Do you do illegal things?”

I bring my focus up to his lips. “What?”

“Are you a perfect Girl Scout? Or have you bent the law at some point in your life?”

“Well…” I set my fork down and reach across for our shared soda. “I’m currently hosting a known criminal inside my home.” Lifting the can, I tip it up and sip. Anything to buy myself another moment of being alive. “That’s a crime, no?”

He chuckles, takes a bite of his pizza, and licks the grease from his lips. “I have no active warrants. No one wants to arrest me—at least, they have no legal justification to do so. And I haven’t escaped incarceration. So, no…” He flashes a teasing, infuriatingly sexy grin. “You’re not breaking the law by having me over for dinner. Guess that makes you a Girl Scout, then. Ever considered breaking the law?”

“No.” I set the Pepsi down and trade it for my fork. “I believe society needs rules. Without them, shit would get messy quickly.”

“And…” He selects a chunk of chicken from his pasta and tosses it into his mouth. “Where do you think I belong, in your society?”

Prison.

Though, of course, saying so might be bad for my health.

So instead, I hedge, “I think you possess the education, skills, and work ethic to earn a living on the right side of the law.” Probably. “Your stock market ventures alone would certainly make you enough money to maintain your standard of living.”

“My standard of living.” He looks down at his dinner and smirks. “You don’t know my standard of living, Tiia. You just see what I show the public.”

“Okay, well…” Got me. “I’ll take your word for it.”

A knock at my door has Micah shoving up straight, his hand dropping into his pocket, and his face hardening like stone.

This is the expression he’s shown me too many times to count. But not tonight. He’s been happy. Content.

While eating with him in my kitchen, I forgot how intense he becomes when faced with potential danger.

“That’s probably Mr. Chan.” My voice crackling as he stalks away from the counter and across my apartment. He doesn’t stop directly in front of the door, but rather, off to the side. “I have to pay him for my food.”

“Then answer it.” He plasters his back to the wall and stares into my eyes. “But ask who it is first.”

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