Page 6 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“Covering a serving shift because I’m nice like that.” He flashes his teeth in a way that contradicts the nice part of his claim, but seems to be a crowd pleaser based on the way the guys react.

“Virgin Mary?” I request.

“Cold tomato soup in a big-ass glass, got it.” He mimes writing down the order even though he’s not holding anything to write with.

“You swing both ways, don’t you, Dante?” Alessio asks conversationally.

“Violently, with a bat, from what I hear,” Sal pitches in, and Dante’s smile simmers, his eyelids drooping as he gives Sal a fluttering kind of look.

“Careful with the sweet talk, baby. Unless you plan to put a ring on it.”

To an outsider, Salvatore takes the flirting without reaction. But I’ve known the man long enough to spot the subtle signs that the stripper managed to fluster him. The way he fidgets with the button on his suit jacket and shifts forward in his seat. I’ve seen this man sit as still as a statue for hours at a time when he needed to. I guess Sal hasn’t developed the same immunity to a pretty face that I have over the years.

The sharp features of the man from last night flash through my mind, reminding me that I’m not immune to every pretty face in this city.

Dante runs his fingers casually through Alessio’s hair, the action seeming completely mindless. Salvatore narrows his eyes and his hand twitches almost imperceptibly towards the gun I know is tucked under his jacket, like he’s considering whether it’s worth shooting Alessio over the transgression of being touched by Dante.

“Yeah, I’m bisexual,” Dante answers the question Alessio asked a moment ago. “Why, you got a cute sister you’re trying to set up or something?”

“We need a ruling on whether it’s a violation for a fully-fledged gay man to make an ‘I fucked your mom’ joke if no male relatives are appropriate,” Alessio explains.

Lorenzo huffs impatiently through his nose. This meeting is clearly getting off track, but I don’t know what he wanted me to do. I couldn’t very well skip the meeting, and I’m not going to try to explain to everyone else that I got clocked trying to break up a bar fight last night and let the guy just walk away.

“Why are male family members not an option?” He cocks his head.

“Dead,” I answer dryly.

“Oh. In that case I’d lean into the more disturbing option. The trick is to keep a completely sober face when you tell someone you fucked the corpse of their loved one,” Dax decides, still petting Alessio like a dog while Sal’s glare deepens across the table. I stare at Dax with a passive expression. “Yeah, just like that.” He nods approvingly.

“I’ll work harder on making my flippant retorts more disturbing in the future. Thank you.” The dismissal is clear in my tone, prompting him to finally strut away to get my drink, but not without several pairs of eyes on his ass, barely contained in a pair of leather shorts.

Lorenzo clears his throat and Sal, Alessio, and Elio all manage to roll their tongues back into their heads long enough to give the boss their attention.

Most of the meeting doesn’t have jack shit to do with me, so I let my mind wander. Is the Sparrow gone? Did he clear out of the city in the middle of the night, or is he still flitting around, preparing to start a fight in some other bar tonight? And if it’s the latter, which bar? I run through a mental list of the most likely places he might show up. If he’s looking to track down the Sleepless Reapers, that puts biker bars at the top of the list. The Reapers mostly stick to their clubhouse bar, but if he’s asking around about them, he must not know that.

“Xav.” Enzo’s tone is sharp, snapping me immediately to attention.

I may not have been listening, but I’ve trained myself well over the years to absorb information even when I’m not actively paying attention. While I was making a list of bars to check out tonight, Enzo was giving me a different list. His list is full of names that are likely to be on the obituary page by the end of the week, unless they’ve finally gotten their shit together.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” I assure him with a nod.

“Good.” He moves on to whatever’s next on his list. I’ve always respected that about him. He can let loose with the best of them, but work is work. When he puts on that suit, he’s not Enzo, he’s Lorenzo Moretti.

Dax brings my drink around, and he’s smart enough not to linger when Lorenzo is using his Boss Voice. I nibble on the pickle spear that’s soaked in the “cold tomato soup” as Dax called the drink. Lorenzo works his way around to wrapping up the meeting, giving everyone their marching orders for the week before dismissing us.

“Xaviaro,” he says my name again as I get to my feet, clearly a command to hang back once the others have cleared out.

Alessio pats me sympathetically on the shoulder as he passes. Maybe the boss only takes private meetings with him to chew him out, but luckily I was born with a hell of a lot more brains than he was, which means I don’t get on Enzo’s bad side half as often.

“Nonna wanted me to remind you not to miss Sunday dinner this week,” Elio tells his brother. “She says if she has to hunt you down, you’ll regret it.”

Lorenzo snorts. “I don’t doubt it. I’ll try to be there.”

Elio hesitates, probably wondering how hard he should push. After a few seconds, he nods. “You’re always invited too, Xav.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise him. My own Nonna passed away a decade ago, and my mom was never much of a cook, so the prospect of an authentic Italian dinner is definitely enticing.

Once the rest of the guys are gone, I round the table to take a seat in the chair Elio vacated right next to Enzo.

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