Page 6 of Texting My Mafia Savior

“We should exchange phone numbers,” I tell her. “I’ll be able to keep you informed.”

“Sure.” She reaches into her pocket, takes out her cell, types a few buttons, then hands it to me. “Just put your number in.”

I quickly type it out, giving her my personal cell number rather than my business one. I want nothing mob-related on the record. That’s also why all the documents I gave Arria were completely fake. I need to handle this outside the law, just like in the old days.

When I give her the cellphone, our hands brush, but I do my best to ignore the warmth that flares up my arm, the feeling that grips my chest, the tightness, the inappropriate hunger.

“I still don’t like this,” she mutters.

“If you want to find work in this city, save more money, go traveling, you’d better learn to like it.”

“You’re quite bossy, aren’t you,Mr. Savior?”

I grit my teeth. I can’t show her that the nickname gets to me. The article called me ‘The Savior,’ but there was a time, back when I was an enforcer, when some people called me that for a different reason. I’d always help the young and misguided youth of the mob world. Arria can never know that.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like the nickname?”

“I’m working for you for free, remember?” I tell her.

Her expression softens. Some of the sassiness leaves it. I’m not sure which I like more, her sass or her genuine remorse. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Nico.”

“It’s fine. I’ll keep you informed of any developments.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Really. I mean it. I’m going to trust your judgment on this.”

I can tell this course of action pisses her off. At least she’s seeing reason. Hopefully, I can get this brushed under the rug and move on with my life. I’ll forget about this attraction, pretend I never felt it. Myniece—what’s wrong with me?

The club looks almost the same as when I worked as an enforcer: always depressing in the daytime, no music playing, the bright lights switched on. I’m sure the liquor stains on the floor are the same pattern.

Enzo is waiting for me in the back room. He was just a kid when I moved regularly in this world. He’s all flash, even more so than his father. Dominic—the man who took such a strong and sick liking to Lucy, I had to marry her to make him back off. Sometimes, this city feels absurdly small.

Enzo grins at me, standing up and clapping his hands. “As I live and breathe, Nico Barberi.”

“Enzo Caruso,” I say, shaking his hand, even if it bothers me. I don’t like how these men look at me as if they still have any say in my life.

“Drink?” He gestures for me to sit with him at the table. “I’m having one,” he adds.

The mob world is full of egos, ready to be bruised. He wouldn’t have added this last part unless he wanted me to say yes because, otherwise, he might perceive it as an insult. “Thank you, Enzo. Yes, please.” That hurts to say. It’s not even three pm, but I take a reluctant sip of the whiskey after seeing him take one first.

“Do you think I’m going to poison you?” he asks with a grin. He noticed.

“I was savoring the smell. I’m not used to such a luxurious vintage.”

“You’ve got a way with words, Nico.”

“Thanks.”

He drains his glass, then pours himself another. I take another tiny sip. “So, you want to talk about the girl who assaulted me in my club?”

I grit my teeth and clench my jaw—then, a moment later, I relax. I can’t let him see how revolting he is to me. I need to squash this weird protective instinct that grips me. “Yes, I’m here to ask you to forgive her.”

“She’s your niece, right?” he says. “I recognized the name. She clearly doesn’t know who I am. Hilarious, right? I laughed when I saw her name. I asked her if she believed in God. Or maybe this city is just far smaller than it feels sometimes.”

“You’ve got the hottest club in town,” I say, stroking his ego. “It’s only natural they’d come here.”

He wags his finger at me. “There’s that way with words again…”

I shrug. “It’s the truth. We both know it. But I agree. It’s a coincidence you chose her friend.”

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