Page 3 of Mob Princess

She’s like me. She only lets me see what she wants me to. If I’m not more careful, she’s going to see me trailing after her like a lost puppy, the kind she patted once and now wants to be hers.

Hell. I’d like her to do a shite ton more than just pat me. I want more than her scratching behind my ears. Though my leg might shake if she did.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Virginia. You have a hint of New York.” She looks at the button panel once we’re on the elevator.

“And you have a hint of French. I grew up in Queens.”

“I grew up in Montréal.”

There’s the French accent. It’s soft, but the way she says her hometown gives it away in what’s a mostly neutral accent. She did it on purpose that time, but I caught a trace of it earlier.

“Do you live there now?” She’s curious.

“Yes. But not in Queens. I’m in East Harlem.” Not that I expect her to know where that is.

But when she shifts her gaze to my hair, then back down to my eyes and grins, I’m certain she knows East Harlem is also called “El Barrio.” It’s one of the best places in all five boroughs to get Latin American and Caribbean food. Before that, it was an Italian stronghold. Chaps the Mancinellis’ arses that I have a luxury condo there. It’s technically still Manhattan, but I only considered Finn as a Manhattanite since he used to live in SoHo. He and his wife are in Queens now. My cousin Cormac is two blocks from me.

“I went to Barnard before Georgetown.”

“Did you know an Anastasia Andreyev?” The bratva wife she reminds me of—now Anastasia Kutsenko—is about the same age, same build, and same hair color as Nicolina.

“No. Why?”

“She went there, and you resemble each other, so I wondered.”

The elevator pings; I hold the door back with my hand. She steps off and could go in her own direction. But she hangs back. There are people here I’m guessing were former students. Many are professors I recognize, and I can tell many are from the intelligence community. They likely work for the NSA or CIA. Perhaps the FBI, but they don’t have the arrogance that usually comes with being America’s top cops. The slang “pigs” comes to mind when I think of them. Oink, oink, motherfuckas. My family’s had some recent trouble with them, so they aren’t on my list of friends.

“Sean, you made it.” I turn toward the voice and wish I could melt into the floor.

“Hi, Amanda.” I went on three dates with her and slept with her for six months during my first year of grad school. She wanted way more than I was willing to give. Now she’s looking at me like I’m a full seven course meal. If I hadn’t met Nicolina half an hour ago, I might return the appreciation.

“Excuse me. I see some people I know.” Nicolina’s voice is soft, but I hear her. I don’t want her to go. Fuck me. I wanted to give her my number. I never do that. Ever.

“It’s been a long time, Sean. It’s good to see you.”

“Same. How’s your husband?”

“We’re divorced. Neither of us was ever home long enough to consider it a marriage.”

She and her ex-husband are collectors for the CIA. They go places I shouldn’t know about and collect human intelligence. Those forbidden locales are where my family does a lot of our business. I’ve kept track of her, her ex-husband, and a lot of our former classmates to ensure they don’t get in the way or get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugs. “I don’t see a ring.” She looks over at Nicolina.

Does she think Lina’s competition? Lina. She’s not mine to come up with pet names for, yet it fits. It sounds Scandinavian, and she’s super blonde. I doubt she goes by that. It’s why I like the idea I might have something of her I don’t share. Possessive as fuck to say I’ve known her for a hot second.

“I’m not married.”

“How long are you in town?”

“I leave when this is done.” I don’t. I hadn’t planned to leave until tonight, but I’m not giving her the impression there’s time for dinner or a fuck.

“What a shame.”

“Mmm. I see some people I know as well. Excuse me.” I make the noncommittal sound as I search for someone—anyone—I know and can escape to. The only problem is, Amanda knows the same people I do.

When I step toward four men I recognize as being in the program a year ahead of Amanda and me, I try to make a beeline for them. But Amanda comes along. I sweep my gaze around the room, and it lands on Lina. I knew it would. But I looked around anyway on the off chance I could find someone else to mingle with. Our eyes lock as they have each time we’ve seen each other. She gives a woman a quick hug before approaching me.