Page 62 of City of Wind and Lies

"So, what's your favorite color?" she asks, tongue darting out to sweep away a rogue drop of water.

"Purple."

"Really?” she snorts. “Why?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"There's just so much I still don't know about you."

"Yeah," I heave a sigh. "I actually wanted to talk to you about-"

"Well, well, well, the view really is better out here."

My jaw tightens as I swivel my head around, glaring at Gabriel Belluci approaching our table. His muddy eyes tour Wren's body and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Who is this fine woman gracing you with her company?"

Wren smiles politely, blushing as she lifts her hand toward him. "I’m-"

Absolutely the fuck not.

Her forehead wrinkles as I snatch her hand out of the air before Belluci can take it, threading my fingers with hers and lowering our intertwined hands down to the table. "This is Wren," I answer for her.

Gabriel licks his lips again, flashing a sleazy grin at Wren before shifting his eyes toward me. "Awfully brave of you, Sorrentino. Putting your woman on display in times like these."

I can feel the vein in my neck start pulsating in irritation from his presence alone, and with his insinuation, it takes more effort than normal to keep my face from reflecting my agitation.

"And what times are those, exactly?" I sneer in response.

"Tsk, tsk, you really are as out of touch as they say you are. Word on the street is things are shifting."

"I wouldn't trust the word of the low lives you associate yourself with,” I grumble.

"Trust is fickle, Bowie, and it seems that there's been some second-guessing in la famiglia."

Cazzo. I glance toward Wren, trying to gauge her reaction to his words. Her lips are pursed, a crease forming between her brows. Her eyes are flooded with confusion as she meets my gaze.

"Leave, Belluci," I spit, snapping my head back toward him and tipping it in the direction of the patio doors.

Gabriel's eyes don't stray from Wren's face as his lips curl up into a sneer. His mouth opens, ready to spew more insolent shit, but he’s interrupted by the waiters appearing with our food. They place our meals down in front of us quickly, as if they can feel the animosity hanging heavily around us, then scamper off.

"Well, I'll let you two enjoy your dinner,” Belluci grumbles wryly, as if he’s suddenly polite and it’s his idea. “I'll see you around Sorrentino. And Wren, it was lovely to meet you." He reaches a hand into his suit jacket, pulling out a business card and flipping it on the table in front of her. "Call me if this stronzo proves as incapable of catering to your needs as he does for la famiglia."

"She'll do no such thing," I grit out.

"Hmm, possessive, I see." His eyes finally shift to mine as he strokes his chin. "Careful Bowie, you're showing your cards."

"It's a good thing I've got the winning hand, then."

"We'll see about that," he says in a patronizing tone of voice that sets my teeth on edge, then pivots on his heels and strides away.

I watch him carefully for a moment as he recedes into the crowd, still seething at his thinly veiled threat. Then I swing my gaze back to Wren and I instantly wish I hadn't. There's a storm of emotions raging in her baby blues. This is not how I wanted this to go. I squeeze her hand and release it.

"Bowie..." she rasps. "What the fuck was that about?"

"I'm sure you've got a lot of questions now," I mutter, carding my fingers through my hair.

"Uhm, obviously." Her face twists with discontentment. "That guy gave me the icks, he wouldn't stop staring at me. How do you know that jerk, anyways?"

"Wren, there's something I need to tell you about my work."

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