Page 33 of City of Wind and Lies

"Feeling better?" I ask, nodding to the barstool as I adjust the growing bulge in my pants.

"Yeah, thanks," she replies, sliding onto the vinyl seat. "Day old chicken fried rice probably wasn't the best pre-club meal."

"Here," I say, holding out a spoon for her. "Eat, Passerotta."

She digs into her oatmeal as I round the counter and pull out a stool and join her. It's nearly impossible to keep the smile from pulling at my lips as she hums in satisfaction every few bites.

"So," she starts, but my phone rings, interrupting her.

"Excuse me," I mumble, reaching across the counter to see my father’s name lighting up the screen.

"Ciao," I answer, only to be met with his clipped tone. Keeping the conversation in Italian, he insists on meeting with me at the 708 club this afternoon. I mutter my agreement, instantly annoyed at having to send Wren home and get back to business.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have some family matters I need to tend to," I say with a sigh.

"Oh, okay," she replies, her chipper tone deflated. Reaching for her clutch, she adds, "I'll call a rideshare and be out of your hair."

"No," I say definitively, sending off a text to Dallas. "One of my men will take you home."

"Your men? Like a driver?" she questions, and I realize that we've quickly arrived at the point in our relationship where I typically bail. The crossroads where I'm going to have to find out what direction she wants to take this and risk her walking away when she learns who I really am.

"Something like that," I answer, exchanging a few more texts with Dallas before pushing to my feet. "But I'd really like for us to talk more. Can I take you to dinner later?"

Her face lights up, a faint blush staining her cheeks as she nods her agreement. I start to clear the counter while she pads off to the bedroom to get dressed. She reappears shortly after, the glittery fabric of last night's dress clinging to her body like a second skin as the heels dangle from her fingertips. I prowl toward her, fingering the delicate strap that lays over her shoulder and slamming my lips down on hers.

Before I even get a chance to enjoy her mouth, knuckles rap against my door. Reluctantly, I break the kiss and pull it open, finding Dallas and Wren's friend standing in my hall. I cock an eyebrow at him as Wren ducks below my extended arm and rushes out.

"Drea?! What are you doing here?" The girls titter, huddling together in the hall.

I grip Dallas' shoulder, pulling him close and murmuring in his ear. "Take them home and stay nearby. I have business, but I want her back here tonight."

He nods, turning on his heel and directing the girls to the elevator. Wren's face splits in a smile, fingers flexing in a small wave as the doors close between us.

Rocco and I slide into the blacked-out Escalade and take off toward the south side. Along the way, he fills me in on what the men found last night: remnants of our drugs, morons didn't even bother to get rid of our packaging, in the warehouse along with two slouches inside.

The warehouse off Aberdeen is in foreclosure, but it's a well-known fact that Belluci runs the area- and I'd bet anything he'd use the empty building as a stash house for drugs or women.

Pulling off into an adjacent lot, Rocco and I check our pieces before heading inside. Dominic and Cade are here, working hard to prove they don't share Adam's work ethic. Dominic leads us to where two men are tied to chairs, their mouths duct taped shut.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I whistle as I stop in front of them, ripping the tape from their faces and enjoying the screams that follow. "Boys, I've got more business to attend to. So let's cut to the chase." I pull the cigar cutter from my pocket, twirling it on my finger. "Tell me where you got the drugs and you might walk out of here with all your digits."

Dread floods their features, but no one talks. Needing to get through this quickly to meet my father, I crouch between them, grabbing the kid on the left’s hand from where it’s tethered to the chair. I slide the cigar cutter over his forefinger and apply enough pressure to break the skin. His body goes rigid and he stammers out, "I don't know! He's new, I think. We were just supposed to repackage it."

Easing back the blades of the cutter, I ask, "Who do you give it to when you're done?"

The other one shoots him a look. "Shut the fuck up, narc," he hisses, shifting his gaze to mine. He lobs a wad of spit in my face.

I swipe a hand down my face, clucking my tongue as I pocket the cigar cutter, and straighten my back. Turning to the mouthy one, I produce my gun from my waistband, palming it before cracking it hard against his temple. Blood trickles down the split in his eyebrow as I stand back, relishing in his cries. Not so tough now, are we?

"Is that how you feel?" I shift my gaze to the first guy, his face pale as he pants, darting his eyes between me and his friend. Then he does the last thing I expect. He cries. The guy goes hysterical, practically hyperventilating in front of me.

"Christ," I mutter, turning and pacing to my men. "You've been here longer, what's your read on them?"

Cade and Dominic share a look before Cade answers. "I think they’re just some lowly associates. They don't hold anything valuable."

I tuck away my gun, instructing the duo to handle this appropriately while Rocco and I head outside, loading up to meet my father.

The SUV maneuvers to the curb in Cicero and I unbuckle my seatbelt, stepping out into the mid-afternoon sun. I'm just lowering my Raybans down my nose as Rocco joins me on the sidewalk, fidgeting with his chain and shooting me another one of the curious looks he's been giving me all day.

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