Page 13 of Burn With Me

Vinny Morroni. Head of one of the families that run the Mafia and not someone to mess with. Why on Earth had my uncle gotten involved with him?

After he pours himself a cup of coffee, he unlatches the lid to the strawberries and starts to eat straight out of the container. It reminds me of when I was younger, when he used to drop by my grandmother’s house unannounced on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. She’d always have fresh fruitready for him to pick at while he and I caught up with whatever was happening at boarding school.

Back when he was still head over heels in love with my aunt and they made me believe in happily ever afters.

“What are your plans for today?” he asks as he checks the vintage Rolex on his wrist.

Should I tell him I planned on going into Decadence to see if Ginny is working? After last night, I can’t get the little spitfire out of my head. Seeing her at Désirer without her knowing it’s me will be fun. And I plan on using everything I learn at the club outside of it to get her into bed.

It’s been a long time since a woman has made me work for it, and I have a feeling she’s gonna work me like a sheep dog.

“I’m meeting up with Tripp to go over some acquisitions.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily, and there’s only a slight twinge of guilt for not telling him the truth.

As if he can sniff out the lie on my scent, he narrows his eyes and holds my stare for a moment before I finally shake my head and raise my brows. “What?”

“It’s Saturday. You expect me to believe you’re working?” He looks at me like he can see right through my facade as easily as looking through a clean glass window.

Pushing off the counter where I’m leaning, I don’t meet his eyes as I head for my bedroom. “Work hard so you can play harder, Uncle. Isn’t that what you always taught me?”

And I intend to play hard today.Veryhard.

Decadence is busy with the Saturday morning brunch rush. Which is exactly what I was hoping for, so it’s less likely for Carmela to see me and rat me out to my uncle.

The hostess this morning is another pretty brunette who flashes me a smile as fake as her veneers. “How many today, sir?”

My eyes bounce around the room–looking for Ginny while trying to avoid Carmela. “Is Scarlett in today?”

Her smile falters for half a second, eyes guarded as she sizes me up. “Who’s asking?”

Annoyed by how long this transaction is taking, I hone in on her hard chestnut eyes as a group of people step into the space behind me—a cold gust of the New York spring air accompanying them. “Jackson Tailor.”

Recognition blooms across her face and the corner of her plump bottom lip disappears behind her teeth. Normally, I would think that was a genuine reaction to my name, but the sly smile she’s now wearing tells me that isn’t it. “Ginny works at the clinic on Saturdays. Chillard Women’s Center on Lexington and 63rd, close to Equinox.”

Warily, I eye the name tag the woman is wearing. It saysBianca,but I have a feeling that isn’t her real name, just like Ginny’s says Scarlett. It was too easy, the way she gave up where Ginny is, to a man she doesn’t know, which makes me wonder if the reason is because Ginny told her about our little encounter yesterday.

“Do you always give out the locations of women who work here, and their real names,Bianca?” Another cool blast of air causes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as I fight the shiver that wants to roll through me.

There’s nothing I hate more than the cold.

It reminds me of the mornings at boarding school when I would get bullied by the older boys who weren’t scared of my last name and unending wealth. I’d been tied to the flagpole in nothing but my underwear more than once before I finally hit puberty and began to fight back.

Bianca drops her voice to a whisper so the customers around us don’t hear. They’re getting restless at being ignored and I can hear a male behind me muttering something under his breath about meflirting with the hostess.“She told me all about your little run-in yesterday,Mr.Tailor. So I already know you know her real name. As for telling youwhereshe’s at? Well, let’s just say that I have a feeling she can use some friendly banter today. Just don’t piss her off too badly.”

Reaching into my suit jacket, I pull my wallet out and discreetly hand her a crisp, fresh hundred straight from my safe at home. “Thanks for the information.”

Her eyes light up as she plucks it out of my grasp and tucks it away down the front of her button-up blouse and into the top of her bra. “Anytime, bossman.”

Chillard is a beige brick, three-level walk-up that looks like it’s seen better days. As soon as I walk in, a cheerful sandy blonde-haired woman in a neon pink and blue windbreaker greets me with a Southern accent as thick as her waistband. “Why, hello there, handsome. What can I do for you today?”

She’s sitting behind a glass window and beyond her I can see a few other women mingling and working away on computers. “I’m looking for Ginny.”

Instantly, her bright gaze darkens as she peers at me over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. It feels like I’m about to be scolded and an uneasiness settles between my shoulders as I tense for her to tell me I’ve already been put on a no visitation list. “Ginny’s in with a client right now, young man.”

“Does she have a break?” I don’t know why I’m bothering. All I have to do is go to the club tonight and I’m sure she’ll be there. But she doesn’t knowthatman is me, and I want to obtain her as a client of the clubandas myself.

The lady looks at me skeptically before she checks something on her computer. “It looks like she has something coming up at eleven. It's not a break, but you look like you could use some couch time.”

Grinning, I let out a small laugh, earning a scowl in return as she scolds, “Therapy, son.”

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