Matteo lets out a snort. “Great, so what the hell do we do now? If someone did that hit, they might have been trying to set it up so Conor takes the fall. Then we’re all up shit creek.”
“Look, Patty is gonna be watching closely and he’ll let us know if anything points in our direction.”
“I don’t like this, Dante. What in the fuck would Conor be doing with the Russians? Because I seriously doubt it was just a gambling debt that degenerate owed them.”
I scrub a hand down the front of my face. “I don’t know. But let’s face it. He’s too much of an idiot to carry out that kind of a hit on his own.”
“What are you thinking?”
I sigh, leaning my head back against the wall. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not usually the guy who comes up with the theories about ‘who’ or ‘why’. I just carry out the ‘what’ and ‘where’ parts of the plan, you know?”
“I know, thinking isn’t your forte.” Matteo’s dry laugh makes me cringe.
“Fuck off,” I grumble. “I just don’t have enough information, and since you need me back in Vegas, I don’t have time to pull it all together.
“So you don’t think you should high-tail it to Hell’s Kitchen, find Conor, and put him through a little rat torture to get him talking?”
“As satisfying as it would be to make the cocksucker suffer like that, I think we pull back on the reins a little bit.” I shake my head. “And by the way, you don’t sound like a boss right now. You sound like a guy who wants to make his wife’s enemy suffer.”
“He is a common enemy, as much to us as he is to her,” Matteo grunts. “And he should fucking suffer. Him, his father, and his other schmuck brothers.”
“Easy, bro. “You know Niall and Quinn can’t do anything in their positions. They aren’t gonna stage a coup or anything. They’re being led around by their dicks because they have no other choice.”
“Patty did,” he says darkly.
“Patty is a different guy. Plus, we both know he’s not gonna do anything to get his pretty face smashed in. So, right now, we watch and wait. I guarantee it won’t be long before Conor pulls something and I’ll be all over him like fucking flies on roadkill.”
“You’d better be right,” Matteo says. “If anything happens to Heaven and Aisling—”
“Nothing will.” My jaw tightens. “That’s why you have me.” And as I say the words, I know it’s only going to be that much harder to tell him I’m moving on after we handle this business with Conor. I need my life back — outside of Sin City.
And not just because I’m perpetually on the run from my own demons.
Killing is what I’m good at, the only thing I’m really good at, for that matter.
I don’t allow myself to ever get comfortable in one place.
Not anymore…
Matteo is silent for a second. I know he wants to tear Conor apart with his bare hands. I don’t blame him. But if we want to see the bigger picture, we need to keep him alive.
For now, at least.
His time will come.
Fuckers like Conor always go down in flames because they can’t see past their own noses.
And if we’re talking about noses, Conor is the type to do more snorting than looking, anyway.
“Okay,” he finally says. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Good. Now take the rest of the night off, have few drinks, and fuck your wife. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Fuck my wife. That’s a good one. Sure, I’ll see if I can slip something in while the baby sleeps for like an hour. Christ, we need this au pair so badly.”
“Oh pair of what?” I furrow my brow.
“Not ‘oh pair’, dipshit. An au pair, you know, like a nanny.” He groans. “Maybe then I can have sex again.”
“So you’re not getting any.” I smirk. “Makes sense why you’re wound tighter than usual.”
“Screw you, Dante.”
“Yeah, see, I’m not the one having an issue with that.”
“I’m flipping you off right now,” Matteo says with a loud yawn.
“Okay, so you go to bed and not fuck your wife. I’ll wrap things up here.” Speaking of wrapping things up, where in the fuck is my killer kiss?
“See you tomorrow. Safe flight. I had one of my guys drop off your car in short-term parking at the airport.”
“Good,” I reply. Matteo doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve got a side job to handle once I get back to Vegas, the first one I’ve taken in months. And an Uber won’t give me the fast getaway that I’ll need.
Soon enough, I’ll get instructions for the hit and I’ll finally be able to scratch the damn itch that’s been plaguing me for months.
I click to end the call, letting my hand drop to my side. I look over my shoulder. Nobody is coming. I could just peek my head inside the bathroom—
I shake the door handle.
Locked.
Dammit!
I stuff my phone into my pocket and rap on the door with my fist. I don’t really want to attract any attention to myself, but an uneasy feeling eats at my gut as I stand there with my ear pressed to the door.
I don’t hear a thing.
Of course, the blaring music could be the reason for that.
I jiggle the handle again. It’s not strong. Flimsy, at best.
I take another look over my shoulder and kick open the door, figuring I’ll deal with the hellfire that erupts after I get some answers.
The one-person bathroom is tiny, barely enough room for a toilet and a sink.
My gaze drops on the red fabric hanging out of the trash can positioned next to the single window to the outside.
She didn’t even bother to close it.
“Motherfucker!” I yell, kicking the trash can so hard, it falls over. The lid tumbles off and my mystery woman empties out of it.
Dark brown wig, tight red dress, small handbag.
She completely stripped herself bare to the point where she may as well be a ghost.
I grab the bag, pulling it open for no good reason considering the fact that anything of value would be on her person.
And that would be an interesting sight to see.
What kind of clothes could she possibly have fit into this tiny purse?
Of course there isn’t a single clue in the bag. I throw it against the wall and let out a loud roar.
She played me like a violin.
And there was no way she was gonna stick around and get caught for whatever indiscretion she committed earlier tonight…like murder.
I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her.
But since my ‘angle’ managed to escape my clutches, I’m not as clueless about her involvement as I am about Conor’s.
I open the window and climb out of the small opening, feeling a little like a contortionist maneuvering my way out of it. I straighten up, quickly jogging around the front side of the building and then back down the side street to see if I can find…Christ, I don’t even know who I’m looking for right now!
Not that there’s anyone in sight.
For all I know, she could have called someone to come pick her up.
Someone she’s working with.
Someone I might want to get acquainted with.
I fist my hair and stalk toward the back door of Velvet Lounge instead of shoving myself through that window again. I push open the door so hard that the girls standing right inside jump back with looks of horror on their faces.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole!” one of them yells as I push past. I stop for a second and silence her with a menacing glare.
Lucky for her, she gets the message I just impaled her with.
I shove past people grinding against each other on the dance floor, my cock now limp as a fucking overcooked spaghetti noodle.
Patrick looks up from his phone with a single eyebrow lifted when he sees me.
“I thought you were with her in the back.”
“I was.”
“Well, where is she?”
“Gone,” I say through clenched teeth, picking up my shot of vodka and sucking it down before slamming the glass down again.