Page 98 of Shadow Of Sin

“Wolfe, my man. You taking care of my sister?”

“As much as she lets me.”

“He’s doing an okay job,” I say, bumping Wolfe’s knee with mine under the bar.

“Okay?” Sal clutches his chest. “Jesus. Don’t go too overboard on the praise, E.”

“It keeps him humble,” I say.

“Nothing keeps me humble,” Wolfe says drily. “I’m objectively the best option available.”

Sal lets out a laugh. “I fucking love this guy.”

“I know, I know.” I roll my eyes. “You tell me every time I see you.”

“I just wanna make sure you hear it. Now sit tight while I bring out some of my famous bruschetta.” Sal disappears through the red kitchen doors and comes back two minutes later with a plate of bruschetta that smells so good my stomach growls loud enough for both of them to hear. He doesn’t cook at the restaurant all the time, but when he does, oh my God.

“Is there a demon inside of you?” Sal says, his eyes widening. “What the hell was that sound?”

“I told you, I just got off a plane. I haven’t eaten yet today.” I spoon the bruschetta onto a piece of garlic toast and take a big bite. The crunch is so satisfying and the explosion of flavors on my tongue practically brings tears to my eyes, it’s that incredible. But then again, not surprising because everything Sal makes is incredible. I can always taste the love in his food, which is so rare, but so comforting, at the same time.

Wolfe takes a piece of the garlic toast and puts a bit of bruschetta on the top. He turns it over in his hand, studying it, the rough crust, the bright red of the tomato against the golden bread. He takes a bite and the crunch hits first. I watch his jaw work, watch his eyes narrow slightly the way they do when a new texture registers. The crispness of the bread. The tang of the chopped tomato. The sharp bite of garlic underneath.

“The basil is fresh,” he says.

“Grew it myself,” Sal says proudly. “Got a little herb garden going out back. Marco thinks I’m insane, but the customers can taste the difference. They all say so.”

“They’re telling the truth,” Wolfe says. “This is exceptional.”

Sal beams, possibly radiating more light than the sun. I sit there, a smile tugging at my lips as I watch my brother and the man I’m falling for talk about basil.

My brother and the man I’m falling for, talking about basil. Two worlds that were never supposed to touch. And yet here they are, fitting together like they were always meant to.

“So,” Sal says, leaning on the bar. “Business has been really good.”

“Yeah?” I say before shoveling in another heaping toast point.

“Really good. Like, record month good. Marco wants to talk about expanding the menu. We might even look at opening up that back patio for outdoor seating in the spring.” His face is open and bright and full of the kind of hope that makes my eyes burn because six months ago this man was drowning in debt and faking smiles for Albanian loan sharks.

“That’s amazing, Sal.”

“It gets better.” He leans closer like he’s about to share a secret. “So something really cool happened last week. I wanted to wait until I saw you so I could tell you in person. I got a call from an investor who said he heard about Rosario’s through a business associate.” Excitement glitters in the depths of his dark eyes. “He wants to talk about a partnership. Like, an investment opportunity.”

My hand freezes on the bruschetta spoon.

“He wants to meet next week,” Sal continues, completely oblivious to the fact that my jaw just damn-near hit the bar. “So we can talk about expanding, maybe opening a second location. Can you imagine? A second Rosario’s?” His voice rises and he claps his hands together. “I still can’t believe it. But I guess what they say is true. Do what you love and opportunities always find you.”

“Who is he?” I force my voice to stay calm even though my entire body is in full-blown panic mode.

“Some guy named...” Sal pulls out his phone and scrolls. “Andersen. James Andersen. He works for some investment company. Red Sky Capital Partners.”

“And he just called you out of the blue?” I ask.

“Yeah, just like I said. He heard about us through a client. Word of mouth, E. That’s how it works in this business.” He grins. “I told Marco and he nearly had a heart attack. You know, in a good way.”

Under the bar, Wolfe’s hand finds my thigh. He grips it tight because he knows.

James Andersen is not a real person. Or if he is, he’s a front. An investor who calls out of nowhere with an offer too good to refuse, wanting to meet in person? That’s not fucking word of mouth. That’s a setup. The same kind of setup Dmitri used on me. You find the pressure point, dangle something irresistible, and wait for the target to walk in, completely unsuspecting.