Page 29 of The Woman on the Jury

“I got some ideas. Two for sure I think deserve more than what Leon is offering. Got more to offer than he lets ‘em.”

“Okay. I want to meet them,” I said. “Tonight,” I added.

“Got it. I’ll grab the others from other soldiers, try to keep shit even.”

“That’d be good,” I agreed. “Bring them to me to work shit out. We need to figure out a schedule by the end of the night.”

“On it,” he said as he double-parked in front of my apartment building. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Try to find some time to sleep,” I suggested.

“I can sleep when I’m a multi-millionaire,” he said, shrugging it off.

Like I said.

Young. Hungry.

I went into my building, catching sight of Lily’s parents as I went toward the elevators.

We all pretended we didn’t know each other. It was for the best that way.

But I was suddenly worrying if they were at risk too. Especially since Lily showed up in court that one day. She’d wanted to show her support. And it had been nice to see her able to actually leave the apartment for a change. But I’d made sure to remind her just how fucking dangerous it was both to my case, and to her safety, to be seen with me.

As far as I could tell, she hadn’t left her apartment since.

Sure, that might have sucked for her mental health. But it was probably for the best for her physical well-being if these fuckheads were feeling vengeful.

I made it up to my apartment just twenty minutes before the first of Miko’s recommended men showed up in the lobby, looking to be let up.

You had to appreciate how eager they were for possible advancement.

Venezio was younger than even Miko. Tall and a scrappy sort of fit. He carried himself the way street kids did, ones who were used to having to throw fists, all forward shoulders and arms held out slightly from his body.

He didn’t dress like Made men did. ‘Cause he wasn’t Made. He had on jeans, Timbs, and a tee that he wore under a leather jacket. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a biker, not associated with the mafia.

Typical shit with his good bone structure and dark hair. But he had one and a half brown eyes. Yeah. A fuckinghalf. Meaning he had one fully brown eye and the other was half brown and half green.

No way was he skating by in a lineup if he ever got caught doing illegal shit.

“Miko said you’re someone worth meeting with,” I said as I walked over toward the bar, pouring myself a drink, but not making him one, wanting to see how he handled the slight.

No reaction whatsoever.

“Miko is good people,” Venezio said in a voice that sounded like he was gargling rocks.

“Christ, you have a ten-pack-a-day habit since grade school or something?” I asked.

“Genetics, man,” Venezio said. At my drawn together brows, he shrugged. “Deep voices, they come from people with larger and thicker vocal cords. Old man had it. Gramps too. Genetic.”

Interesting.

Not so much the vocal cord thing.

But the fact that he knew that.

Not an idiot, then.

I liked that.

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