Page 68 of Tide of Treason
“Nice suit,” Vito muttered gruffly.
“Nice arms, man.”
“Thanks.”
The knot of my tie was choking the day’s chaos into my windpipe, so I loosened it, letting my skin breathe. I’d spent the morning putting a bullet in a government stiff’s head, the afternoon tying a noose around Task Force 81’s neck, and now held court on Sforza soil while government plates steamed on the drive. Not a bad Monday.
“Lu-Lu!”
Before I could fully process the impending collision, something small and deceptively fast slammed into my leg with the force of an overenthusiastic battering ram. I looked down. Big brown eyes, the exact shape of Francesco’s but lacking the dead-eyed menace, peered up at me with unfiltered adoration.
“You came back!” Sophia accused, as if my absence had been a personal betrayal. “Papà said you were pwob’ly in a dungeon, but I knew better!”
I lifted an eyebrow, throwing a glance at Francesco, who shrugged. Bastard probably thought he was funny.
“Four years old and already calling me a prisoner,” I muttered. “Real nice.”
“He also said you were cwazy,” Sophia added helpfully,adjusting the fluffy tutu that matched her father’s gold chain aesthetic. “But you’re pwetty, so it’s okay.”
“Glad I got the stamp of approval from the only Sforza I actually respect around here.”
“I’m four,” she reminded me solemnly.
“Exactly.”
Sophia gave me a look of deep contemplation, then, reached into the pocket of her tiny pink jacket and pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
“Here.”
I stared. “What the fuc—flip is this?” I was trying. I really was.
Her eyes narrowed. “A bwibe.”
“Okay.” I crouched down to her level. “And what exactly am I being bribed for?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Kill Mr. Potato Head.”
A second ticked by.
Sophia huffed, pushing the bill closer. The little devil knew I couldn’t resist her big brown eyes, so that’s what she gave me. A whole lot of soul-baring vulnerability and innocence, the very weapons I’d been trained to use and resist since I was still using training wheels and shooting BB guns at the range. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I was above being bought out by a four-year-old, but fuck . . . why did she have to look so damn adorable?
I reached for the money.
A feminine, very Italian hand reached for it first,snatching it from Sophia’s grip, and when I looked up, I found Kayla glaring down at me with the kind of annoyance only reserved for men who were supposed to know better. I should’ve felt chastised. I grinned instead, all teeth and trouble, standing slow. My hands found my pockets, and when she did the female equivalent of Vito’s whole once-over routine, I did my best not to let my ego inflate.
“If only the FBI knew their newly promoted director let children bribe him,” she mused, handing the money back to her niece. “And with twenty bucks, no less. You should be embarrassed.”
I rolled up my sleeves in slow motion, ignoring her. Took my time cracking each knuckle.
Mr. Potato Head. The oversised, foam-headed abomination stood across the courtyard, wide-eyed and horrifying, dressed in a cheap, cartoonish nightmare of a suit. Stupid fucking mustache. Stupid fucking top hat. And worst of all, it had been staring at me for at least three minutes.
I’ve killed men for less.
“What’s the rule, Sophia?” Kayla asked behind me.
Sophia huffed a breath. “No bribin’ ‘cause that makes me a cwiminal.”
“And?”
