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Dillion and I both nod.
“Understood,” I utter. “We will be alert.”
“If trouble should arise, don’t call me. I have plans.” He smirks. “Going to find out if this blonde Beckett brought in is really true wife material.”
Something about what just came from his lips pisses me off. With guys like Enzo Romano, Briar wouldn’t have a choice. If she didn’t want him, he’d force himself on her—I know it. I might not know shit about the girl, but there’s something in her eyes that makes me not want to see her get hurt either.
I was brought here to protect her from outsiders, but who is going to protect her from her own fiancé?
“With lips like hers, I’d take her as my wife.” One of his thugs laughs beside me, looking at his crewmate. “Or that ass.” He rubs his hands together. “You are a lucky man, Mr. Romano.”
Enzo laughs along with them. Never indicating something is wrong before pushing his chair back leisurely. Within seconds, I know what’s coming next. I think Rossi and I both see it a mile away, even though the two morons doing the drug deal tonight are still cackling.
Standing up, Enzo walks around his desk unhurriedly, almost like a cat ready to attack a mouse. Reaching into his pocket, he flips open a knife and brings it to the guy’s neck. As he presses his face closer to the man, his expression is somewhere between a smile and an angry scowl.
“Talk about my Ms. James again, and I’ll behead you right in front of her,” he growls. “Understand?”
I’ve been trained not to flinch in times like this. And to be honest, it’s not even all that hard anymore. I mean, fuck, I’ve seen a lot worse than this.
What’s getting to me most is that the poor, helpless girl I saw earlier today is going to be alone with this villain. And that right there is enough to make me fucking crazy.
“There they are,” Rossi utters as the headlights come into view. “Let’s get this shit the fuck over with and get out of here. These are the jobs I can’t stand.”
“Oh, calm down, will you?” I taunt him. “Gonna be fine. We’ll be in and out of here before you have time to cry for your wife again.”
“I didn’t cry for my wife, asshole,” he grumbles, opening his door. “I just … had something in my eye that time. Allergies.”
“Uh-huh. Is that what it was?” I chuckle before adjusting my gun in my waistband and pushing my own door open. “Time to go to work,” I mutter.
Dillion Rossi might be an agent like me. But unlike me, the dude has a wife and a kid back home. And I know these types of nights are not his favorite. Ever since his wife found out she was pregnant, she’s wanted him to get out of this shit we call work. And I get it; it’s too risky. But Rossi has worked undercover for years to bring the Romanos down. And though he hasn’t said it, I have a feeling this might be the last time he takes on a job this dangerous.
A blacked-out Mercedes parks, and two large figures climb out from the car.
“You Enzo’s boys?” one says, keeping his expression stone-cold and his eyes narrowed.
“Yes, sir. That’s us.” Rossi plasters on his usual carefree demeanor.
Out of the two of us, he’s the one who could talk his way out of anything, I swear.
“What’s the word then?” the other asks, tipping his chin up.
“Magic dust,” I utter. “Now, if we can get this show on the road, that’d be great.”
They look at each other before nodding. One steps forward, handing me a wad of cash, while the other opens the trunk. I pass the cash off to my math magician, Rossi, and he counts it to make sure these two clowns are paid up. If we went back to Enzo short, he would blame us. I’m not dealing with that bullshit tonight.
“All good,” Rossi whispers, and I open the back of my SUV and begin transferring the drugs to their trunk.
Within minutes, the exchange is done, and they’re back in their car, backing out of the street. Once I’m back behind the driver’s seat and Rossi is in the passenger seat, we head out on a side road. But not before we see a car driving toward us.
“Fuck, I don’t have a good feeling about that car,” Rossi grumbles.
When it passes us, only to quickly turn around and drive right behind us, I know he’s right.
“Here we fucking go,” I whisper, looking over at him. “Can’t ever be easy, can it?”
“Course not,” he answers with a slight grin, but I know he’s nervous. “If it was easy, they’d do it themselves. Not send two knuckleheads to take care of it.”
“True,” I say just as the car comes up beside us, laying on the horn. When I glance over, seeing the man in the passenger seat holding up a gun, I groan. “This night just got a helluva lot more interesting.”
