Page 5 of The Don's Secret Heir

Down, boy.

I’m supposed to meet my best friend and right-hand man, Giovanni, in less than twenty minutes.

“Are you going to kill someone?” she asks, excitement making her dark eyes light up.

I give her a half-grin, amused. “Maybe.”

“Can I watch?”

I chuckle, unable to help myself. “No, sweetheart, Too dangerous.”

She pouts. “Oh, alright. You’ve got my number, right?”

Nope.I’d made a show of putting her contact information into my phone but I hadn’t saved it.

I don’t do repeats. Not ever.

Learned my lesson about that five years ago.

I turn around as she gets dressed, not wanting more temptation.Finally,I get her outside and waiting for my driver as I slide into my muscle car.

“Bye, Dario!”

“Bye, sweetheart,” I mutter, giving her a big fake smile as I back out.

It’s late, almost two in the morning, but this is the time when mobsters do their best work.

I make my way to the diner Giovanni and I always meet at, and he stands from his booth in the back, waving at me.

He makes a show of looking at his watch. “You’re late. Again.”

“Yes, Dad, sorry I missed curfew,” I drawl, and Giovanni laughs, shaking his head.

“You were with a woman, huh?”

I spread my hands apart as if in defense, grinning as I sit down across from him. “Guilty.”

He groans and sits down himself. “Only you would have a one-night-stand that is really only a few hours.”

“A fewfunhours,” I correct him, flashing the waitress a smile that makes her blush. “Just some black coffee, sweetheart.”

“Same for me,” Giovanni says, and she heads off to the coffee pot, still flushed but smiling. “Quit hitting on the waitress.”

“Make me.”

Giovanni rolls his eyes. “Did you get rid of her or did she follow you like the last girl?”

I wince. The last girl had been... needy, to say the least.

“Got rid of her. That won’t happen again, don’t worry.”

“It better not. We don’t need aFatal Attractionsituation on our hands,” he jokes, and I laugh out loud.

“Speaking of fatal,” I murmur, leaning across the table as the waitress brings our coffee and takes our orders—home fries for Giovanni, the steak nachos for me. “What’s the word on the new shipment from the Cubans?”

“On track,” he says easily. “Supposed to be dropping around two, so once we’re done here, we’ll head over.”

“No issues from Enrique?”