Page 57 of Tasting Sin

“I’m sorry.” He climbed into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him but not starting the car after he put the key in the ignition.

When I looked at him, he was staring at me. It wasn’t his normal stare or the stare that told me he was going to make my body tremble. It was different, something I couldn’t place my finger on but that felt serious. He was magnetic, and I reached toward him, placing my palm against his cheek. “I know.”

He pressed into my hand and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he opened them again. “Let’s get you home.”

I buckled my seatbelt and settled onto the leather, weighted under more questions than I had when we arrived but feeling somehow less anxious about it. I didn’t know what it meant that Ronan was in the mafia and clearly in a position of power, but I trusted I was safe. At least for now.

The streets were darker when we left, and they looked different under the glow of the streetlamps. There were fewer cars, and while businesses were closed, there were people flowing in and out of the various bars and pubs along the street. How many of them lived secret lives?

How many of them were dangerous like Ronan?

“Why did you take me there?” I finally asked when he turned onto my street. He looked at me from the side of his eye, pulling up in front of my apartment building and putting the car in park.

“I needed you to understand.” He looked intimidating under the half-shadow, half-glow. The sharp line of his jaw was accented, but his eyes looked even darker. Maybe they were full of secrets.

I lowered my eyes to his hands. One hung loosely from the steering wheel by a single finger, and the other sat on my thigh. “Understand what?”

“That this is who I am.” He took my hands in his. “And you’re part of me now.”

I knew they would be there. At 9:00 a.m., where else would a couple of cops getting paid too well to follow me around be besides the coffee shop across from my restaurant? “Oh, look, if it isn’t Ronan Moretti,” Stanton said, taking a drink.

Bending forward, I placed my hands flat against their table. Stanton and his scraggly partner looked unphased, but the third man sitting with them widened his eyes. “Gentlemen. I’d say it’s good to see you, but we all know that’s not true.”

“What can we do for you this morning?” Stanton asked, taking a quick scan of the room to remind me we weren’t alone.

“I heard a couple of your cronies were harassing Nellie Giordano. Leave her out of your little witch hunt. She’s not involved.” I lowered my voice, leaning closer to the table.

Detective Ramsey scoffed, taking a drink of his coffee. He didn’t look up at me when he spoke. “I don’t know. The two of you seem pretty involved to me.”

“Listen to me, you little shit.” I slapped the cup of hot coffee out of his hand, watching the steaming liquid splatter everywhere. I didn’t care that it drew attention. Let the entire world hear me. “She isn’t a resource for you or part of your game. Do you understand me?”

“Everyone is a resource for us,” Stanton said, drinking his coffee and ignoring the spilled liquid dripping from the table to the floor. It dropped onto his shoe, and he didn’t move his foot or divert his glare.

“Not. Her.” I reached out and took his coffee from him, taking a long gulp of it. He drank it with too much cream and sugar, and I winced, spitting the liquid back into the cup and setting it down. “You leave her alone, or there will be an issue.”

Stanton stood, pushing the chair back with a loud squeak. “There’s already an issue, Moretti, and I’ll resolve it by whatever means necessary.”

“You heard me. You don’t want to do that.” I turned around and stormed out, looking back over my shoulder when I threw the door open. “Enjoy your coffee, detectives.”

Chapter 37

Nellie

“Idon’t know what to do, Spice,” I sighed, pulling a can of cat food from the cabinet. He jumped up on the counter, bumping my arm with his head and meowing. “What do you mean about what? About the whole Ronan is basically Tony Soprano thing!”

Spice meowed again, climbing up my arm with his front paws. When I dumped the can in his dish, he leapt off the counter, leading the way for me to set it in his normal feeding spot. “You don’t even care that he’s in the mob, do you?” He ignored me, diving into the pureed tuna he seemed to favor.

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, he said I was safe.” I sighed when Spice looked up at me from the food dish. He narrowed his eyes, taking another large bite.

“Okay, fine,” I whined. “I’ll let you eat.”

When my phone vibrated on the counter, I picked it up. There was a text from Ava.

AVA:Something happened at the shop.

ME:What do you mean?

AVA:You should just get here.

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