Page 8 of Assistant to the Mafia

She set her things down beside his and smiled at the frowns still aimed her way. “My apologies for the interruption,” she said in her most placating tone. “Mr. De Salvo’s had to step away, so I’ll be taking over the rest of the meeting on his behalf.”

The late-forties businesswoman with the silver-dyed hair who was seated three seats in on the right lifted her pointed chin, eyes narrowed. “And who are you that we should tolerate that? This is unprofessional. I have half a mind to march right down to Dante’s office this very second.”

The man on her immediate right nodded like a bobblehead, loudly humming agreement.

Grace’s smile didn’t falter. “My name is Grace Mariner, and I assure you I have Dante De Salvo’s authority today. But I’ll be happy to file any and all complaints at the conclusion of this meeting.” She hadn’t personally met any of the individuals in the room before, but she wasn’t surprised by the dawning recognition that settled on most of their faces. DS Industries wasn’t her company, but Grace did a damn lot of the work keeping it running. Including making and maintaining connections.

Mrs. Edwards averted her gaze. “Well, I suppose we can hear what you have to say.”

The portly man at the opposite end of the table offered a smile that felt genuine. “I believe Romeo was just about to crunch the numbers for us, if you’d be so kind, Ms. Mariner.”

He should have fucking known the Ink Blots would resurface during the worst month of the year. The upstart gang that had first picked a fight with their family back in August of the previous year had gone eerily silent in the wake of Cristiano’s killing of one of their more prominent members. The big names they’d managed to learn—Cezar Barros, Gustavo Ramires, and financial backer Brendan motherfucking Coughlan—had all vanished in the night.

Romeo knew he wasn’t the only one who’d figured they were regrouping, probably trying to think up a smarter strategy. He also knew they’d all waded through the holiday season like they were walking through a fucking minefield, constantly waiting for the crap to start up again.

Apparently, it was time, or some low-ranking Ink Blot had just gotten bored of sitting on his hands. Either way, the family hadn’t forgotten. So when word hit that one of their properties was being tagged, they took it seriously. Especially since the moron doing the tagging wasn’t even being subtle about it.

Romeo cursed at the image on his screen as Mo drove him to the necessary location. All their properties were outfitted with top-of-the-line CCTV, which Mikey and his specially chosen team of tech nerds kept running at optimum capacity. It didn’t seem like the gangster had even looked for cameras—not that theirs were easy to spot—before he’d started spraying. Black spray paint dotted the long wall, each time in more or less the same shape.

A goddamn, motherfucking four-leaf clover.

No way in hell this wasn’t a message from Coughlan himself. The arrogant bastard.

Romeo thumbed open his contacts and dialed his younger brother. As soon as the line connected, he asked, “Has Cris seen this yet?”

“I didn’t see the point in pissing him off, since he’s out of town,” Mikey said.

Romeo let his head drop against the headrest. “When’s he due in?”

“Depends on the weather. Could be tonight.”

“Then I better get whatever answers I can on my first crack.” The whole family had something akin to trigger-rage when it came to the name Coughlan, but none of them worse or with more justification than Cristiano. They’d all lost to the Coughlan Mob, in some capacity, decades before. Not one of them had lost more than Cris, whose parents had been brutally slain while he was just a boy. Romeo remembered his cousin—more like a brother to him—just sitting in deathly silence for days, and being told not to pester him. He remembered his own father crying, and not understanding why or even how such a strong man could be made to cry.

He also remembered the shock and fury they had all felt to learn that the sole surviving Coughlan was the power behind their new, endless pest problem.

“Ryoma’s holding the scene for you,” Mikey said, drawing Romeo’s focus. “I think he’s been a little bored lately.”

Romeo snorted and straightened. “He should’ve gone with his buddy, then. He does usually.”

“Right. Would you be playing third-wheel with either of the newlyweds in our family?” Mikey didn’t pause long enough for a response. “Just let me know what you need from me. I’ve got a crew on standby.”

Romeo lowered his phone to his lap again, the call already disconnected. His brother was right, of course. It was kind of nauseating being in a room with Dante and Iris or Cris and Felicity, let alone both couples, for too long. He was happy for them, genuinely, but actually witnessing that?

His eyes betrayed him, gaze sliding to the empty seat at his side. He’d known taking her to lunch was a risk, but he’d thought he could handle it. It wasn’t something they’d never done before. Until she’d said that outrageous thing about being replaceable.

It still pissed him off.

Almost as much as the tears he’d seen in her eyes after he kissed her. After her quiet reminder, practically a question, of how recklessly irresponsible it was for him to have touched her at all.

He knew she’d responded. He’d felt it. No matter how brief or soft the movement had been, he couldn’t have missed it. Between that and the tone in her voice when she’d finally spoken, he was sure he wasn’t the only one who felt something. The difference was that Grace was a good girl. She probably kind of needed her job, or at least the possibility of a good reference from it, and he would be the world’s biggest fucking asshole to pressure her once he understood all that. No matter how badly he wanted her. No matter how strongly he wanted to brush away her tears.

It had been a long time since Romeo acknowledged regret, but he’d messed up that afternoon, and he hadn’t yet figured out how to fix it.

“We’re here, Rome,” Mo said as the SUV came to a stop. “Need me to come inside this time?”

Romeo blew out a breath, unbuckled, and belatedly remembered to turn off his phone. He’d have Mikey clean that up later. “Let’s see what the scene’s like. I’ll probably have you holding down the house.”

“Got it.”

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