Page 43 of Deadly Little Sparrow

Sparrow grins at the way Lorenzo refers to him. The other three get up and take their leave, off to run their own corners of the Moretti empire.

“To be clear,” Lorenzo says as soon as we’re alone, “my comment when you arrived about getting a bullet in the head wasn’t a threat. We both know how distracted you’ve been lately and if you weren’t my best friend, well… let’s not pretend that our relationship hasn’t made me soft when it comes to you.” A flicker of a smile passes over his lips. “But I’m not the only one in this city who carries a gun.”

He’s referring to my near miss yesterday. Or, more likely, to all the potential near misses I could face on any given day if I don’t have my shit together and my head in the game.

“I know,” I say gruffly, the soft weight of the rope harness around my chest all I can think about for a moment before I pull my attention fully back to my boss and best friend. “I have it under control now,” I assure him.

“Good, because I refuse to attend your funeral.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear there was a slight hitch of emotion in his voice.

“That’s fine, you can just roll my body into the ravine and skip all the pomp and ceremony,” I say, letting a hint of humor seep into my cool tone.

“Please,” Enzo scoffs. “My body rolling days are over. There have to be at least a few benefits to being the boss around here.”

I let out a chuckle at that one and Sparrow shakes his head.

“This is possibly very touching,” he says dryly.

“I can see what Xaviaro likes about you. Don’t get him killed,” Lorenzo says.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words are flippant, but there’s the weight of a promise in Sparrow’s tone.

Lorenzo stands up and fixes his suit jacket, a signal that this little heart to heart is officially over. He has strategizing to do and fuck knows what else piled on his plate. He comes around the table, surprising me by pulling me into a hug as soon as I stand. He pats my back roughly before releasing me.

“Don’t take him on any more rounds unless you want to put him on the payroll,” he says sternly.

“You got it, boss.” I put an arm around Sparrow’s shoulders. I need to take him home and get to work. Not only do I have my regular collection rounds, but it sounds like there might be a war to prepare for.

I squint against the sunlight as we step outside, leaving the dim lighting of the club behind us. When we reach my car, I stop before opening the door for Sparrow, using my grip on his shoulder to turn him towards me.

“You’ll behave, won’t you, little bird?” I ask with one hand under his chin, searching his eyes for the truth. Will I have to go back to stalking his every move to keep him from making an impulsive decision about the Reapers?

He sighs, tilting his face towards mine like he’s waiting for a kiss. I lean in and brush my mouth against his, a quiet moan rumbling in my throat from the sharp nip he gives my bottom lip.

“I’ll behave,” he promises. “For now.”

Chapter 16

SPARROW

I measure my pace to make sure I’m never close enough for Big Bass to realize he’s being followed, but close enough that I don’t lose him. The not-losing-him part is actually pretty fucking easy considering he’s a hulking six-some feet tall with a lumbering gait like he’s the goddamn butler to the Addam’s Family.

My muscles coil with frustration and my fingers itch to wrap around the handle of my dagger. I feel like a lion at a zoo, fruitlessly stalking back and forth in front of the unbreakable glass, the taste of blood on my tongue without any hope of quenching the thirst. Not today, anyway.

Big Bass reaches his apartment building and I hang back, watching until he disappears inside where he’s going to spend another night safe and sound instead of joining his fucking friends at the bottom of the ravine. I blow out a frustrated breath and turn my ass around to head back the way I came.

I consider hailing a cab, but the walk will do me some good. It’s only a dozen or so blocks back to Xaviaro’s place, no more than a mile. Of course, in Wildcliff, a mile might as well be an entirely different world. It’s too nice of an area to borrow any of the neighbors’ cars and every building has a doorman. There are definitely some benefits to the fact that I’ve hardly been back to my own apartment in two weeks. Reliable hot water is one. The distinct lack of the dulcet sounds of domestic violence coming from neighboring units is another. And, of course, waking up next to Xaviaro every morning hasn’t exactly sucked… although he usually does. I snort at the double entendre as I reach the main entrance to his building.

“Afternoon, Sir,” Parker greets me.

“I told you to stop with the ‘sir’ stuff,” I remind him with a friendly smile. I’ve always found honorifics a little weird outside of kink situations, and at this point, I really don’t want to hear that word on anyone’s lips but Xaviaro’s.

“Sorry, Si…” He catches himself and clears his throat. “Sparrow.”

I chuckle and get onto the elevator, pressing the button for Xaviaro’s floor. The doors close and I stuff my hands into my pockets, leaning against the back wall as I watch the floor numbers light up as it climbs slowly higher. I whistle along with the jazzy instrumental music playing through the speakers and my fingers brush against something inside the lining of my coat pocket. I frown and drag my fingers blindly along the seam until I find a tear in it. The doors slide open just as I manage to fish the small object out of my pocket.

I hold it up to the light in the hallway, studying it for a second. It looks like a little piece of black plastic. I’m about to just chuck it into the trash and chalk it up as nothing more than a fragment of something that broke off at some point without me noticing, but then I remember Xaviaro finding me at Riff Raff’s and I chuckle.

“Clever,” I mutter, stuffing the tracking device into the pocket of my jeans.

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