Page 39 of Sexted By a Stranger
Fingers slipped into my inner pocket, screen lighting up—"Sheila."
I swiped to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. Lennox had already stepped forward half a pace with perfect timing, seamlessly taking over negotiations with that sly dog.
"Hey, Luca." Her voice came through the waves, soft as a spring breeze brushing past my ear.
"What's up?" I glanced out the window, gaze passing over that stunned old face with disgust.
"I'd like to buy you coffee."
"Alright."
"How about tonight?" Her voice instantly perked up.
"Sure."
"I'll text you the place. See you tonight."
"See you tonight," I responded quietly.
Pocketing my phone, I stood, buttoning my suit. "Dylan, my terms—take them or get the fuck out with your goods."
I headed for the door, Lennox following closely.
"Mr. Bellomo. I'm in."
The sly dog scrambled after us, hands offering the agreement.
I signed casually, signaling my men to escort him out.
In the corridor, Lennox murmured his report, "Boss, Ragnar's intel—Connor's crew showed abnormal activity in the docklands this afternoon. Our mole confirms they're still eyeing that shipment of ours."
Fucking Irish bastard!
"Keep your eyes glued to the docklands and his usual dens," I ordered without breaking stride. "Tell Ragnar to scout their numbers and firepower. We'll prepare a 'return gift'."
"On it."
Oakley Café huddled on a relatively quiet street corner. Small storefront, warm yellow light spilling through glass windows, casting a cozy glow in the deepening twilight. The air carried the aroma of roasting coffee beans.
I arrived ten minutes early.
Lennox and his men melted silently into surrounding shadows. Pedestrians on the street gradually thinned out.
Then that slender figure appeared.
In the twilight, she walked briskly toward the café. Her chestnut hair lifted by the evening breeze, a few strands playfully sticking to her pale neck. A simple cream cotton dress outlined her graceful form.
She kept her head slightly lowered, a smile playing at her lips as if thinking of something. Those amber eyes lifted, and across a dozen meters, precisely caught me standing at the café entrance.
In that instant, her eyes lit up like two small sparks, glowing brightly in the darkening sky.
She stopped before me, looking up. Evening wind stirred the hair at her forehead, amber eyes reflecting my image.
"Luca," she began, "about my mother, I really want to thank—"
Piercing gunshots tore through the peaceful air without warning, sharp reports instantly drowning her unfinished words.
"Sheila—."
