Page 33 of Shadow Of Sin

“It is a coincidence.”

“Wolfe, I’m dumb about a lot of things. I’m not dumb about that.”

I take a bite of chicken parm and chew slowly because I don’t have a good response and chewing buys me time.

“She talks about you,” he says.

I stop chewing.

“Not a lot. E doesn’t talk a lot about anything. But she mentioned you twice this week without me asking, which for her is basically a press conference.” He grins. “She said you eat cereal for dinner every night and she finds it disturbing.”

“Cheerios are a perfectly balanced⁠—”

“Yeah, she told me you’d say that.” He shakes his head. “Look, I’m not going to do the whole overprotective brother speech again. I already did that.”

“You did.” I drop my hand and tap my fingers against my knee.

“But I will say this.” He stops polishing the glass he’s been working on and looks at me. “She’s been different since you showed up. Not a lot. But enough. She’s less...” He searches for the word. “Wound up. Like she’s got one less thing on her shoulders.”

I don’t know what to do with that. My brain tries to process it and doesn’t get very far because the implication underneath his words is that I’m doing something good for Eva, and I don’t know if that’s true. I’m lying to her about who I am. I’m using her as an intel source, a spy. And I’m sitting at her brother’s bar eating his food while he tells me his sister seems happier, and the disconnect between what Sal thinks is happening and what’s actually happening makes my throat tighten and my gut churn.

“She deserves someone who’s straight with her,” he says. “That’s all I’ll say.”

Damn, that one lands like a brick to my chest.

The glass is clean. He’s still polishing it.

That’s when the chime over the door jingles.

Before I can turn my head, the hairs on the back of my neck shoot up.

Two men walk in. Gold chain guy and his short, neckless sidekick. I recognize them from my camera feeds. They’re in expensive suits but still manage to look like they have zero taste.

His spine stiffens. His grip tightens on the glass. His fingers tighten and his knuckles change color. I don’t know what he’s feeling. I never really know what people are feeling. But I know what his body is doing, and his body just went rigid.

“Gentlemen,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

Gold chain leans on the bar. Too close. “Just checking in.”

“I’ve got a payment coming Friday. Same as always.”

“You’d better be on time with it.” He picks up a menu, flips through it without looking at a single page. “Mr. Hoxha isn’t happy with late.”

Hoxha. I make a mental note of the name.

The shorter one scans the room. His eyes pass right over me. A guy with a half-eaten plate of chicken parm and a ginger ale doesn’t register as a threat, so his eyes keep moving.

“Tell Mr. Hoxha I’m good for it,” Sal says. “Never missed a payment yet.”

“You missed two weeks ago,” Gold chain grunts.

“I was one day late. One.”

“Late is late.” Gold chain drops his voice and steps closer to the bar. “We’ve been patient. But patience has limits.”

Sal doesn’t flinch. His jaw locks and the muscle near his temple jumps, but his voice doesn’t waver. “I understand.”

“Friday. First thing. And you’ll give us the full amount this time. No more installments.”