Page 72 of Filthy Little Games

At this point, there’s not much I can do but see how it plays out. If it comes down to it, barehanded I’m sure I can kill the old man before he kills me.

One of my more easy-going guys and recent penthouse guard, Matteo, is waiting in a chair near the reception desk. He gets to his feet when he sees me.

“Thank you for bringing Zara down,” I tell him. “Escort her anytime she wants.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want me to wait for her?”

I sigh. “No, go back upstairs.” Even though I could probably use the backup. The kid is Gianni’s nephew, one of my capos, and only in his mid-twenties. He’s got his whole life ahead of him.

Once he’s gone, I lean against the receptionist desk, scrolling through my phone while I wait for Emilio to show.

He finally does a few minutes later. He steps off the elevator with two of his men, no Saint tagging along, which is surprising, since I thought he was supposedly showing him the ropes.

“What’s so important it couldn’t wait until the morning?” I ask, trying to act like my usual cranky self.

It’s funny that I have to even try with all that’s going on. There’s something about being around Zara that instantly brightens my mood. It doesn’t matter that I was dog tired or frustrated when she walked into my office. As soon as I laid eyes on her, everything else in my head got shoved out of the way to make room for only her.

In some ways, she reminds me of Carmine with the way she so easily makes me feel lighter, happier. It’s strange how quickly she stepped in and filled that space he left.

“This isn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone,” Emilio replies tersely while swiping his palm over his slick head.

“Fine. We can talk in one of the conference rooms after you hand over phones and weapons.”

He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a cell phone, and tosses it into the box on the desk. “No weapons,” he says as Jace, our receptionist, pats him down. “The guards will stay here.”

Once Jace gives me a nod, I lead the way down the hall, giving Emilio my back to literally try to stab me in it if he so chooses.

I’m not suicidal. I don’twantto die. But the risks outweigh thereward of finally figuring out if Emilio wants me dead, so I can get retribution for Carmine.

“Why not your office?” Emilio asks, nearly making me flinch before I catch myself.

“Because there’s a half-naked woman sprawled out on my desk, waiting for me to return,” I tell him, which is partially true. I’m going to have Zara in that exact position as soon as this meeting of ours is over.

Emilio grunts what may have been a scoff or a bark of laughter as I walk in and flip on the lights for the smaller conference room that can accommodate six people.

I take a seat at the head of the table, and Emilio shuts the door, then pulls out the chair to sit at the other end.

“Any updates on Izaiah?

“That’s why I’m here.”

Well, fuck.

“It’s not…it’s not looking good. There’s no sign of him. If Aiden had him, he would’ve folded by now and made demands, which makes me think he’s most likely dead.”

“I’m sorry, Emilio. That’s shit, not having any closure, can’t be easy. I know there’s nothing I can say to help.”

“Right,” he agrees as he folds his hands together in front of him on the table. “There is something you can do to help, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I want your permission to, ah, question a few dealers in Queens, possibly in some of the other boroughs as well.”

“Dealers?”

“It’s possible Izaiah was killed by an H dealer, someone thatputtanawas probably fucking on the side.”

It takes all the restraint in my body not to launch myself across the table and wrap my fingers around his throat for calling Zara a whore yet again.

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