Page 2 of Risk

She snickered and placed a hand on her hip. “First of all,” she started, raising a finger between them, “I understand English and don’t appreciate being spoken down to. I don’t care who youthinkyou are. Second, I don’t make a habit of giving information out about my regulars.”

His expression became difficult to read as confusion, frustration, and something that looked like fascination overcame him. He stepped closer, and Kiera placed a hand on his chest. It felt like a sturdy telephone pole.

“And intimidation is not going to work on me,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “I have a job to do here, so spit out your questions.”

He stood a little taller and tilted his head. “You’re either brave or stupid,” he commented.

She didn’t back down. “I don’t take testosterone-driven abuse from men. If you want to ask me questions, back up and ask me.”

He paused, but he took one step back. Another half a step. Kiera nodded and crossed her arms. His eyes, surprisingly, didn’t drop to the breasts that were on full display before him.

“Interesting,” he said, looking at her as if he faced a puzzle he hadn’t yet put together.

“Questions?”

“Did you become a manager by speaking to Marco this way?” he asked.

“No,” she replied easily. “I got the job because I know everything that happens in this place. Marco has never spoken down to me, so I give him the same respect. If you aren’t going to ask your questions, I need to get back to work.”

He nodded, his expression hardening once again. Kiera hadn’t noticed the way he’d softened slightly as he listened to her. At what point had his guard fallen?

“Krill Laker. Do you know him?”

She nodded, raising her brows as she awaited the next question. When Vincent realized she wasn’t going to speak, a small smile pulled to his face, smoothing the perpetually present wrinkles between his eyes for the briefest moment before the smile dropped.

“Was he here tonight?”

She nodded, and all the stiffness that had been in his posture a moment ago—every ounce of the unyielding demeanor—returned.

“What time?”

“He left about an hour and a half ago.” She paused. “He didn’t say where he was going.”

His jaw ticked as he looked down on her. He glanced over her and toward Marco. Kiera saw the look they exchanged. She knew that the reason they were searching for Krill was not a good one, and given Vincent’s expression, she feared that if Krill was found, he would never return.

“What’s your name?” he asked her as Marco approached.

She knew the power that names had. It was the reason she purposely gave fake names to the customers at the restaurant, but she couldn’t stop herself from speaking the truth to the tall man before her.

“I’m Kiera,” she said.

“Kiera,” he repeated, turning the name over in his mouth as Marco regained his position at Vincent’s back. “I’ll see you around.”

Shivers ran down her spine as he turned his back and stormed through the door, leaving her pondering if his claim to “see her around” had been made as a threat or a promise.

2

The reason Vincent had been named one of the most efficient soldiers in the Mafia—thus being assigned to a splinter cell in western Philadelphia—was his lack of compassion and familial connections. His lack of distractions.

But now, no matter how hard he tried to tune into the mission—the execution of Krill Laker—his mind continued drifting back to Kiera and how she stood up to him. No woman had ever stood up to his challenges. Most men refused to challenge him the way she had, and it intrigued him.

“His car was spotted around the corner, Vince. He’s got to be close,” Marco said.

Vincent placed a hand on the holster of his gun as they rounded the corner, but nobody was there.

Marco walked behind Vincent, scanning the street with furrowed brows. “He’s here somewhere,” Marco said.

Vincent’s splinter cell operations relied on the fact that targets didn’t know the men who would hunt them. It made it quicker. Easier. Vincent rarely took more than a night to hunt and kill the enemies of his organized crime unit. Krill Laker couldn’t be any different. He had big plans—plans that wouldinvolve hundreds of people dead—so Vincent had been assigned to the job.

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