Page 84 of Be With Me
I took a sip and handed it back to him. “Not bad.”
“It’s a Gesha from a micro-lot in Panama, lightly roasted to preserve its jasmine and bergamot notes.”
“Tastes like coffee.”
He sighed. “You’re a lost cause. Let’s get back. I want to get a few more names from him before we wrap up for the night.”
Two weeks ago, I'd called Alessio and asked if he needed an extra pair of hands at the palace.
He'd seemed surprised but told me to come by whenever I wanted.
I’d been showing up every day since.
I started the car. “It’s not even four. You’ve got somewhere else to be later?”
“I’m having dinner at Nero’s with him and his wife.”
I arched a brow. “Well, aren’t you two fucking cozy?”
Nero De Luca was Rafael Messero’s consigliere. At one point, he had a brief stint working for Alessio. The position had been meant as punishment, but somehow, the two of them had become friends.
“You bringing a date, Les?” I asked.
“Nah.”
“Why not? Not seeing anyone?”
“Mind your own fucking business.”
I laughed and began to drive. He was always cagey about his personal life, which made me think he didn’t have much of one. In our world, the women were terrified of him because of what he did for the family. But he had to get laid once in a while, right? He was twenty-seven, good-looking, and covered in tattoos that stretched all the way down to his fingertips. Although, maybe spelling out the words “MORE PAIN” across his knuckles wasn’t the best way to attract the opposite sex.
“There’s gotta be someone out there for you,” I said, passing through a green light. “Someone who’ll even like the hair.” His long, dark strands were tied in a low knot, and I liked to give him shit about it. “You just have to go looking for them, Les.”
“I’m used to being alone. I don’t mind it.”
Lucky him. For me, solitude was the perfect breeding ground for thoughts of her.
Twenty minutes later, I parked outside the palace. Alessio and I got out and moved through the massive warehouse, past stacked shipping containers, toward the reinforced room at the center of the building—Alessio’s interrogation chamber.
The guy we’d been working on was slumped over in his chair. He was a low-level recruit who’d been brought into the fold about six months ago on a recommendation from one of our made guys.
He'd turned out to be an undercover agent. It didn’t seem like he’d managed to get any information we needed to worry about, but we wanted to be sure.
I narrowed my eyes. He was too still.
“Shit,” Alessio swore, shoving his half-finished coffee into my hand before rushing over. He pressed two fingers to the guy’s neck, waited a beat, then muttered another curse under his breath.
“This is your fault, Rom.” He glared at me. “I told you we were going too hard.”
My jaw clenched. “Thought he could take it.”
“That’s my call to make, not yours.” His sharp eyes scanned me, sizing me up. “Why the fuck have you been so goddamn angry these past few weeks? I don’t need that shit in here.”
Alessio was steady. Always. He had to be, given the kind of work he did. An emotional interrogator wasn’t one who was good at his job. And Les was really fucking good at his job.
I exhaled through my nose. “Look, my bad. It was an accident, all right? It won’t happen again.”
He folded his arms, unconvinced.
