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“Everything is good,” she told me as I flipped through the pages of the menu. Six of them in total. Everything from breakfast to questionable seafood options.
I’d had nothing to do all day but snack on the shit I packed in the car, so when the waitress came back, I just ordered a side of fries.
“And for you?” she asked, looking at the woman as I added a few creamers to my coffee, frustrated when it was still so dark afterward.
“The fried chicken with half fries, half onion rings, a chocolate milkshake, and a small order of the waffles,” she said, making my brows shoot up.
The hoodie was roomy, but I was reasonably sure she was on the thin side underneath. Where the fuck would she be putting all that food?
“You got it,” the waitress said, taking out menus, then walking away.
Across from me, the woman sipped her coffee, prompting me to do the same, wincing at how bitter it was.
“Men,” she said, rolling her eyes as she passed the sugar toward me. “Just add the damn sugar,” she told me. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me who you are.”
“Anthony,” I told her, grabbing a small pile of sugar packets, and ripping their tops off before pouring the granules into the coffee.
“Anthony who?” she asked, pinning me with those stunning eyes. All hooded and sleepy-looking. The kind of eyes I imagined people meant when they called them ‘bedroom eyes.’
I cleared my throat as my mind went right into the bedroom with layers of clothes getting peeled off.
“Costa,” I told her.
It was a name that would likely mean nothing to the average person.
But I saw the recognition in a slight widening of her eyes, in the way her back stiffened.
“Costa,” she repeated, tapping her fingers against her coffee mug, drawing my attention down to her short, unpainted nails, and the way three of her knuckles had recently been busted open.
Interesting.
“Yep,” I agreed, nodding. “You have a name?”
“Not one you’d recognize,” she said.
“I still want to hear it.”
“Saylor,” she admitted. “Granger.”
She was right. That name meant nothing to me. And I prided myself on trying to be on top of any major players in the criminal world.
“Okay, Saylor. Wanna tell me what you were doing casing out the house belonging to a Czech criminal organization?”
“Sure. If you tell me why you were doing the same.”
“It was my job to keep an eye on them, see what they’re up to.”
“Your job. Were your orders given by Lorenzo Costa, Capo dei Capi of the Five Families?” she asked, studying my face as she said it.
“Yep,” I agreed. “Who are you working for?”
“Myself,” she said.
“Yourself? What the fuck could you have to do with a syndicate like that?”
“Oh, because little ol’ me couldn’t possibly have her own agenda?” she asked.
“Not what I meant,” I said, shaking my head. “Most people don’t work alone.”
