Page 99 of Shadow Of Sin

Except Sal isn’t a hacker being coerced. Sal is a small business owner who just wants to make good food and take care of his people. He doesn’t have the instincts to see this coming. He doesn’t know what a trap looks like because he’s never been inside one.

Not like I have.

“When’s the meeting?” I ask.

“Thursday. He wants to come by the restaurant after close. Just us, casual, talk numbers.” Sal is practically vibrating. “E, this could be it. This could be the thing that takes Rosario’s to the next level.”

“Yeah.” I smile because if I don’t smile, he’ll know something is wrong. “That sounds great, Sal.”

His forehead creases. “You don’t seem excited.”

“I am. I’m just…processing. I mean, you could be the next Mario Batali. It’s a big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal.” He reaches across the bar and squeezes my hand. “Things are finally turning around, E. For both of us. I can feel it.”

My throat closes up. I squeeze his hand back and hold on for a second longer than normal because this man, this beautiful, optimistic, trusting man, has no idea that the thing he’s excited about might actually be designed to get him killed.

“I’m so proud of you, Sal,” I say. And I mean it with everything in me.

“Right back at you, sis.” He squeezes one more time and lets go. “Now eat your bruschetta. Both of you. I didn’t grow the basil for decoration.”

We keep eating because it’s Sal, and not eating is the worst kind of insult for a chef. But my stomach churns with each bite I take. Sal talks about the patio expansion, the winter dessert menu, and the new cocktail he’s testing that involves something he calls “smoked rosemary simple syrup,” which sounds disgusting and will probably be delicious.

Wolfe’s hand stays planted on my thigh. His thumb presses into my leg in a rhythm that isn’t his usual tap. It’s slower and steadier, like his own version of Morse code telling me something he can’t say out loud.

I hear it. I hear everything he’s not saying.

We leave an hour later. Sal hugs me again at the door. He really is the world’s best hugger. His arms wrap tight around me like a giant security blanket, and I let my eyes close for a brief second, thanking God I have him in my life.

I need to keep him safe. I need to do whatever is necessary to protect him, just like he’s always done for me.

“Come back soon, okay?” he says against my hair. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat to cover up any stray emotion because that will definitely tip him off.

And fuck, he heard it. He pulls back and looks at me with furrowed brows. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nod and force a smile. “I’m great, I promise. I’m just happy for you.”

“Okay.” His expression clearly says he’s not buying what I’m selling, but he lets it go because he trusts me. He always trusts me. Because Sal Moreno has never once in his life considered that the people he loves might lie to his face to protect him.

I would know. I’ve been doing it for months.

The second we’re in the car, I turn to Wolfe and in a shaky voice, I say, “James Andersen.”

“It’s Dmitri.”

A shudder ripples through me. I knew it, but hearing Wolfe say it makes it more real. And a fuck ton scarier. “He’s using Sal as bait.”

“Yes.”

“Thursday. After close. The restaurant will be empty. It’ll just be Sal and whoever shows up.” I press my fingertips to my temples. “Wolfe. You know what this is. It’s a kill box.”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just starts the car and pulls away from the curb. His jaw tenses and his knuckles are white on the wheel.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to Sal,” he says through gritted teeth.

“How can you say that?” My voice rises. “How are we supposed to keep him from meeting a guy whom he believes is going to turn Rosario’s into a fucking gold mine franchise?”