Page 127 of Brutal Vows
She smiles sweetly at me. “It’s only got space for one more. I was saving it for yours.” She opens the door and gets out.
After she’s gone, Kieran looks at me in the rearview mirror. “I really like her.”
“That’s because you’ve got the common sense of a carrot.”
“Just because ye don’t know how to handle her doesn’t mean I can’t like her!”
“I know how to handle her perfectly bloody well!”
He smiles. “Sure ye do. Let me get back to ye when my eardrums have healed, and we’ll have a lovely chat all about it.”
Muttering, I exit the Escalade and walk around the back to where Reyna’s waiting. I’m all ready to have a scuffle over her not buttoning my suit jacket, but to my great surprise, she’s done it.
“Ready?”
“I’m not sure going in there alone is a good idea.”
“We won’t be alone. Everyone else is already here.”
She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Who’s everyone?”
I can’t help the smile that lifts my lips. “You’re in the Mob now, darlin’. You’ll never be alone again.”
A flare of emotion warms her eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Either way, she looks away before I can decide.
I expect her to pull away when I take her hand, but she doesn’t. She lets me lead her from the parking lot around the side of the building to a door at the top of a ramp. A big bald man in a black suit waits at the top, his hands folded over his crotch, his legs spread apart, and his face as blank as a brick wall.
“Patrick.”
He inclines his head respectfully, greeting me in Gaelic. He also inclines his head to Reyna but doesn’t look her in the eye. He’s three hundred pounds of pure muscle, but he can’t bring himself to gaze directly at her face.
Funny how everyone else can sense she’s a swamp witch, too.
He opens the door for us. We go inside with Kieran following. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low light.
Standing in the middle of the shadowy, empty warehouse isa group of five men. All are in expensive dark suits. All exude an air of danger and power.
Declan’s the only one I recognize.
Standing several feet away from the group are more men in suits, but these are soldiers, not leaders. Though they’re all Italian, and I’ve never met any of them, I can spot the difference a mile away.
Lining the walls of the warehouse are our lads.
I wonder how many of them are nursing nasty hangovers from last night.
Declan turns, sees us, and lifts his chin. Hand in hand, we slowly walk toward him.
Under her breath, Reyna says, “The one with all the hair to the left of Declan is Massimo, head of the DeLuca family. He’s clever, but he can’t be trusted. He’s only out for himself. To the right is Tomasi Berlasconi. He’s as dumb as a rock. Next to him in the dark gray suit is Alessandro Ricci. He’s a good man. Brilliant strategist. Enzo used to call him the General. In the pinstripe is Aldo LaRosa.”
The tense note that crept into her tone when she said that last name makes me look at her. “What about him?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Tell me now.”
She hesitates. “He can’t be trusted, either.”
I’d press her for more details, but we’ve crossed the warehouse and are now standing in front of the group. Kieran stands off to the side with our men.
