Page 14 of Unforgivable Ties

Vito loved to portray himself as a family man, so he pivoted the conversation to his children. He talked about his youngest children, Tony and Bella, with a spark in his eyes that suggested they were the heir to his heart as much as his empire. He described Tony’s aptitude for math and how Bella sang like a nightingale.

Of course, his family man persona was only a facade. I knew he had a mistress on the side, whom he’d accidentally gotten pregnant. There were talks about killing her, but Vito liked her more than his wife, so they let her live. The child was about two now, and there had been rumors about a second pregnancy circulating.

Our small talk dwindled, signaling the start of our business discussion. The booth we were seated in was elevated, giving us a vantage point over the rest of the restaurant. We could see the bustling waitstaff and hear the clinking of glasses and silverware, but we were safe from prying ears in our secluded corner.

Stephanie’s face had gone grey. Fuck. She probably had seen another celebrity and was star-struck, even though I had told her not to gawk.

“C-can I talk to you for a minute?” she whispered into my ear.

“We’re about to start dinner,” I said sternly.

“But it’s urgent,” she pleaded, her wide eyes begging me to listen to her.

I looked at her for a moment, my gaze flickering between the nervousness in her wide brown eyes and the thin line of her lips trying to keep her emotions in check.

Sighing, I rose from my seat. “Excuse us for a moment, Vito.”

Vito waved us off expansively, more interested in the olive oil-drizzled bread that had just arrived.

Stephanie dragged me to a deserted side of the restaurant, where the dimmed lights gave a semblance of privacy. Her hands clutched onto mine, her grip tight and desperate. I could see the worry in her eyes, even in the dim light.

“Do you see the man at the bar? The one with the port wine birthmark on his face?” she asked.

I turned around casually, to avoid drawing attention, and glanced towards the bar. Sure enough, I saw a man with a large, reddish mark staining his cheek, drinking with a woman.

“Who is he?”

“That’s Lucas Decker, a Special Agent in Charge with the FBI,” she said, her voice a hurried whisper.

My mind immediately began racing. What was a federal agent doing here? I frowned, a chill of uncertainty coursing through my veins. An FBI agent could mean many things, none of them positive. I could understand Stephanie’s alarm.

“Are you sure it’s him?” I asked, keeping my voice steady and calm.

“Yes. I had a class on spotting criminal activity and treating criminal patients. My teacher was so excited to have him as a guest speaker,” she said. “I’m not confusing him with anyone—his birthmark is one of a kind.”

Was him being here a coincidence, or was there something more sinister going on? Had our recent activities been flagged? Or worse, was someone from our own ranks a mole?

I glanced back over to our booth and studied it with new scrutiny. Vito was still enjoying his bread, oblivious to the tension brewing between Stephanie and me. I carefully examined each inch of the booth when I saw it—a small black device. The device was tucked neatly beneath the edge of the table, barely visible, but clearly suspicious in its placement—a bug.

“Stephanie,” I said, under my breath. “We have a problem.”

“What is it?” She asked, tilting her head to the side, her eyes reflecting the fear she was trying to hide.

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I said, holding her hand and leading her towards the exit.

Even though my blood pressure was through the roof with our current situation, holding Stephanie’s hand feltalmost...soothing. It was soft, unlike mine, which were covered in calluses from years of fighting and shady dealings. Despite the difference, she laced her fingers within mine and held on tight.

We strolled out casually, as if we were just another couple leaving after a satisfying meal. I wasn’t sure if it was paranoia, but I could sense Lucas Decker’s eyes on us.

Once out in the chilled night air, we quickly walked to my car parked a few blocks away. I didn’t want to wait for the valet. I opened the door for Stephanie and quickly moved to the driver’s side. My mind was racing, spinning a hundred scenarios to explain Decker’s presence and the existence of the bug.

“What is going on?” she asked as I started the car and pulled away from the curb, my eyes darting around for any signs of a tail.

“There was a bug on our table.”

“Wait...you mean a recording device?” she responded.

“Yes,” I confirmed, glimpsing at her in the rearview mirror. Her face was as pale as the moonlight that shone through the windows.

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