Page 142 of Handsome Devil
“Lying low.” Achilles adjusted the shoulder holster under his suit. Asshole arrived with enough weapons to start a full-fledged war. “They’ve been beefing with the Bratva, so you’re not their first priority.”
“Maybe Tyrone talked some sense into his cuntbag of a son,” I hedged.
“Oh, my sweet summer child.” Luca chuckled, tossing his arms on the back of the leather sofa. “Tiernan answers to no one. I’ve seen him burn down entire neighborhoods for much less.”
“He sounds like a liability.”
“Not necessarily.” Achilles cocked his head. “Crazy is unpredictable. No one wants to fuck with crazy. I’ll take a smart, pragmatic enemy over a deranged one any day of the week.”
I put a hand to my chest. “I’m touched but also taken.”
“Not for long, according to Dylan.” Rhyland reached for his pint of Guinness, draining half of it.
“Releasing Gia from the contract when her mother dies? What is this, amateur hour? You’re usually a much better negotiator.”
“My head wasn’t doing the negotiations,” I drawled into the rim of my whiskey tumbler. “My dick was in charge.”
Row snorted. “How’s her mother doing anyway?”
“Still alive,” I said. “Tomorrow it’ll be two full weeks since they took her off the feeding tube.”
“Shit,” Achilles muttered.
“Yeah.” I tsked. “Gia’s in shambles. I’m half tempted to finish her off myself. It’s probably what she’d want too.”
Row raised his hands. “Hey, if I’m brain-dead with no hope for recovery, do me a favor, and shoot me between the eyes.”
“Gladly.” Rhyland bowed his head.
“Thanks, bro.” Row and Rhyland fist-bumped.
“Shut up and show some respect, or I’ll voluntarily relieve both of you of your miserable lives,” I warned.
“Her mother’s Cuban, right?” Luca turned to me.
I nodded.
“Catholic?”
“Yeah.” I ran my knuckles over my stubble.
“You should hire a Santeria priest,” Luca suggested. “You know, they’re kind of like psychics. Or mediums. Someone to connect with her spirit. Ask her what’s the holdup.”
I stared at him like he just suggested I fuck my own ass. He didn’t strike me as the spiritual type. People who slaughtered others for a living rarely were. “You gonna sit here with a straight face and tell me you believe in spirits?”
“I’m telling you that your wife might.” Luca’s eyes were hard on mine.
A half waitress, half escort plopped her ass on Luca’s thigh, grinning at him. She had deep cleavage and wore a black-and-white French maid mini dress.
“You know, I think I might be able to help.” Row rubbed the back of his neck. “One of my sous-chefs comes from a semi-celebrity family. His mom is a medium. A very popular one. She’s on TV and shit. Lives in Miami.”
“I want her number,” I said.
Row picked up his phone. “Texting him right now.”
“So, Tate.” Achilles drew my attention, signaling for service without even looking in their direction. Two waitresses bolted toward him like bullets, each taking a seat in his lap. “I have bad news.”
I cocked an eyebrow.
