Page 23 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“Grew up right here,” I answer. “Second generation Italian with a big Catholic family. Seven sisters and twenty… three nieces and nephews at my last count. They all got the hell out of Wildcliff as soon as they could.”

I didn’t notice Sparrow moving closer, but I’m suddenly very aware of his body nearly pressed up against mine and his attention on me like I’m telling him the secrets of the universe instead of just rambling about my family history.

“You miss them?” he says, and I nod.

“Sometimes. I have family here though.”

“Family,” he says in a bad Godfather impression.

I chuckle and then look up to see Vinny standing behind the counter again with three sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil and a curious look on his face. I clear my throat and pull my usual stoic expression back into place.

“Thanks,” I say, reaching into my pocket to pull out cash to pay for the food, coffee, and Sparrow’s gum.

He waves off the money and then stuffs one of the sandwiches into a bag for me and the spare coffee into a cardboard carrier so I won’t have to juggle things. “On the house. I owe you a lot more than a few sandwiches for what you did for my family last month.”

“Don’t mention it. See you around, Vin.” We grab our stuff and Sparrow follows me back out onto the street. He heads for the car when we step outside, but I shake my head and jerk my chin down the street. “We’re not going far.”

He doesn’t ask questions, just unwraps his sandwich and bites into it as we walk. He groans around a full mouth.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. I can see why Vinny is under your protection.” He devours his food in a few greedy bites then stuffs the wrapper into the pocket of his leather jacket before taking a sip of his coffee. “So, what did you do for him?”

I chew a bite of my own sandwich and glance over at him. I’ve never really dated. Scratch that, I’ve never dated, full stop. I’ve had a couple of repeat casual hook-ups, but that’s as deep as it’s ever gotten. You’d have to have your head in the sand in this city not to know who I am and what I do, but none of them ever had the balls to bring it up. Maybe they knew they couldn’t stomach the details. But Sparrow wants to know. He already knows, and for some reason, he’s not afraid of me. He’s not afraid of what I do to people.

“His daughter’s boyfriend was putting his hands on her,” I answer, tossing my empty wrapper into the next dumpster we pass. “She tried to leave and he put her in the hospital. Vinny asked for a favor, so I paid the guy a visit and made sure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

“You killed him?” he asks, his voice dipping low.

I turn my head to study his expression, looking for any sign that this is more than he can handle. It’s one thing to get blood on your hands seeking revenge for someone you love. But cold-blooded murder for money and order is a whole different beast. Does he think I’m a monster?

He sips his coffee, meeting my eyes as he waits for my answer. I don’t see a flicker of reservation or fear, but there’s only one way I’ll know for sure.

“Yes, but I gave him a taste of what it feels like to be helpless first. I beat him as badly as he beat her, until he was a bloodied, whimpering mess. Then I put a bullet through his temple.” I don’t feel a damn thing as I recount what I did to him. There wasn’t any thrill in it, but there isn’t any regret or shame either. I suppose there is a certain amount of pride in knowing he won’t be putting bruises and burns on anyone else’s daughter.

Sparrow shivers and moves closer to me, his expression that same dangerously cold one he wore when he walked into Death & Company.

“Good,” he murmurs.

My heart stumbles over its next beat. I stop in my tracks and he takes another couple of steps before realizing I’m not next to him anymore. He turns towards me and I tighten my grip around my coffee cup and the bag I have clutched in the other hand. He seems to have an uncanny ability to read my mind, because it only takes half a second before he closes the space between us and grabs my tie, slamming his mouth into mine in a biting kiss.

I chase his tongue with mine, forgetting for a minute that we’re standing on a crowded street and Lorenzo may very well still have someone following me. A kiss like this is worth any trouble it might cause. I gasp at the sharp sting of his teeth against my bottom lip before he pulls away, leaving me aching.

“Who’s the other sandwich for?” he asks, jarring me back into reality.

“Her.” I point at the woman sitting on the stoop a few buildings down. We start walking again, slowing when we reach her.

She looks about the same as last time, her clothes two sizes too big and unwashed. There’s a fresh bruise around her left eye that she isn’t even bothering to try to cover. She gives me a weak smile, her gaze flickering to the bag and the extra coffee.

“You gonna kill him if he doesn’t pay up today?” she asks just as casually as she’s asked every time I’ve stopped by over the last few months.

“Maybe,” I answer unemotionally. Strictly speaking, dead people don’t tend to pay their debts. But at a certain point, some people are worth a hell of a lot more dead than alive. “You finally take out life insurance on the bastard like I told you to?”

She hesitates, then nods. “Not much, but it’s something.”

“Good.” I hand over the coffee and the sandwich, then set my own mostly full cup on the crumbling cement stoop next to her before turning back towards Sparrow. “You sure you want to come in? You could stay out here and keep Loretta company.”

He squares his shoulders, tilts his head back, and chugs down the remainder of his coffee, placing the empty cup next to mine when he’s done.

“Let’s do this.”

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