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Twenty minutes later, Dominik pulls up outside a brown, crumbling building. I peer through the window at the shit heap my surrogate calls home.
I’m experiencing the same shock Laila felt at the sight of my apartment building yesterday, only in reverse.
It’s an ugly brick façade with squat, iron-barred windows set at sloppy angles. Trash pools along the cracked sidewalk. I see rats skittering in and out of the yawning, mold-encrusted mouth of a sewer.
“Thisis where you live?” I bark, echoing her words exactly.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
I point to the rusted fire escape that’s barely clinging to the side of the building. “If a fire doesn’t kill you, tetanus will.”
Her lips flatten. “My mother and I have gotten along fine in this apartment for the last few years. We’ll be fine for the next few, too.”
Before I can say another word, she jumps out of the car, slams the door in my face, and speed-walks towards her hideous tenement.
“Damn. One night with you and she’s already fed up,” Dominik teases from the driver’s seat. “That has to be an all-time record.”
“Fuck off, Dom.” I continue glaring at the building, picking out all the safety hazards my child will have to overcome in order to be born.
Dominik twists around, an arm resting on the back of the passenger seat. “Testy, testy. What happened with you two?”
“Nothing good,” I admit. “I crossed a line with her last night.”
“Did you try something freaky with her? Is she not into kinky shit?”
“She’s mad because I reminded her of the nature of our relationship this morning.”
“Riiight… the whole baby-making business. As romantic as it gets.” Dominik shakes his head. “Still can’t believe you got her to agree to it.”
More and more, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have.
Laila Barnes might be more complicated than I gave her credit for.
I get out of the back and climb into the passenger seat next to Dominik. “What happened at the club last night? Did Enzo show up?”
“Sure did.” He nods. “Alessandro did, too, actually. But he only stayed half an hour.”
“Did they meet with anyone?” I crack my knuckles as the familiar coldness and comfort of my duties settles back in place. The mask is on, and the lingering glow in my chest fades. I no longer smell honeysuckle.
“Just the standard characters: Alessandro’s lieutenants, a couple of Enzo’s cronies. Looked pretty normal.”
“They’re not likely to be conducting business in a shithole like Midnight Divas, anyway,” I say. “Especially if they’re discussing the Pobeda launch.”
“Aw, come on. All the details of the launch have been kept hush-hush since the inception. Surely?—”
“I’m not going to take the risk of underestimating anyone,” I interrupt. “Those Italian scum have a way of siphoning information they should never be able to get their greasy paws on.” I crack my knuckles again.
Dom’s brow drifts higher. “You okay, bud? You’re doing that thing you do when you’re all worked up.” He nods at my knuckles, just in case I missed the point.
“Just drive, man.”
He pulls away from the curb while I stew in silence. I’m so keyed up from yesterday that my daily shot of espresso, which normally doesn’t affect me in the slightest, has me feeling jittery. Now, I can’t even crack my knuckles in peace.
“When we get to HQ, call Miguel for me,” I order gruffly.
“Miguel? You in the market for new real estate?”
“A three-bedroom with en-suite bathrooms. Somewhere quiet. Preferably with a yard.”
