Page 69 of Petrichor

“Meeting him again was a coincidence,” I feel the need to add.

“Was it? And meeting with Arturo Enzino? A coincidence too?”

“Who?” I feel the frown forming on my forehead. “The only person working for Enzino that I know is Jerry.” That damn fuckhead. “I didn’t know he was part of a mob family when Imethim. And I fucking hate him,” I hiss.

“Right, your violent ex-boyfriend is an Enzino soldier. Another coincidence.” His voice is completely unsympathetic.

“He’s not my ex…anything,” I mutter.

He ignores my words. “But, Mr. Locke, I’m talking about Jack Enzino’s son, Arturo ‘Art’ Enzino.”

“What?” I exclaim. “Art, my friend Art, a mob prince?” I almost snort at him. But the more I think about it, the more convincing it is. Why didn’t he tell me?

“Eight billion people live in New York City, and you manage to live with my right hand, have aconnectionto Jerry Evans, and become friends with Jack Enzino’s son. Not to mention your past. Do you see how unsavory that looks?”

It does look bad. How the hell did I get myself in the middle of a Mafia feud? Even when I was a kid, the Leones and the Enzinos were fighting over power and control. Relations must have gotten more strained with time.

“I ordered Marco to keep an eye on you.”He did?“He would’ve never agreed to your insane proposal otherwise.”

What is he trying to say? That Marco didn’t want me around? I already knew it, since he told me several times.

“But despite your half-truths, I know why Marco wants you close. You have a confusing candor about you. It’s quite alluring and very…irritating.” From insulting me to praising me to creeping me out. This man makes all my alarm bells ring. He looks all supercilious and haughty, imposing on me while imperiously standing with one hand on the armchair back and the other inside his pants pocket.

“Let’s just cut to the chase. What is it that you want?” he asks in an almost bored tone.

What I want, he can’t give me.I keep my mouth shut this time.

“Money?” Is he seriously trying to buy me? Criminals and their lack of tact and humility.

“No.” I look straight into his eyes when I reply, hoping to convey my total disapproval through my stony gaze.

He stalks toward me, leaning over the sofa and invading my personal space. It’s totally different from Marco’s earlier caging. This time I feel uneasy and uncomfortable.

“Do you prefer a place in the Leone family? Perhaps in my bed?” He smirks, letting his calculating gaze slide over me. “You’d be welcome to both. You have a backbone, persistence, and your body is just my type.”

I slip under his arm and jump up from the sofa as he straightens. “I’m not interested.” I face him, hands balled into fists.

Don Sebastiano snaps his fingers at the men behindhim—stopping their advance. Their hands slide away from the guns on their sides. Fuck! I need to remember who I’m talking to.

Art told me Marco grew up with Don Sebastiano, but does he acknowledge this menacing man as a brother? He just hit on me knowing I’m with Marco. Maybe he doesn’t know about it. And can I even say that I’m with Marco?

“Your eyes are truly something. You’re very easy to read, Mr. Locke. You should work on it.” Is he scolding me or complimenting me? “I’d like that espresso now,” he suddenly and capriciously changes his mind.

I frown, but warily move to the kitchen happy to put space between us, while trying not to give him my back. In his case, appearances are very deceiving. Under the gentlemanly talk, lofty behavior, and shiny surface, I can see a very unfeeling mind.

“If I wanted you dead or worse, you would be by now, Mr. Locke.” He declares it with such an unfazed tone I doubt his humanity for a moment.

Not a single muscle in my body loosens. I stiffly prepare the coffee, and then make two small cups—one is for me. Need something sharp to keep me alert with this man.

“Marco has a haunting past,” Don Sebastiano suddenly says as the fragrant smell of coffee spreads around the room.

“Who doesn’t?” I deadpan.

His eyes harden for a moment before the iciness engulfs them again. “The bracelet he wears, have you ever noticed it?”

I place the espresso cup in front of him on the counter with a glass of water. One of the men leaves a little bottle of hand sanitizer near it before taking his post at the door again.

“The leather one, with that intricate pattern on the sides.” I nod. “He touches the metal pendant often. His expression turns dark when he does.”

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