Page 64 of Dirty Pool

“Again,” Sal said.

Michel put the second stack in as the Capo worked on the bills in his hand. “I started classes at the beginning of the month, so this is my last one.”

Here it was the end of September, and he barely blinked.

Sal nodded. “If you want to keep this up while you’re there—”

“I would rather not, actually.”

A chuckle left the Capo.

“Keeps you busy, huh?”

Not that busy.

Michel was simply done, at least for here in Detroit. He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t recognize some of his problems for what they were in the grand scheme. At home, he never would have put up with some of the shit he did here simply because he was Dante Marcello’s son. A boss’s child dabbling in the family business, and nothing more. That afforded him respect he didn’t get here.

Was it petty of him?

A little.

Didn’t change the fact it was true.

“I need to focus,” Michel said, “so this is my last one.”

Which also wasn’t a lie. He tried to keep up the dealing for the month as he started back with classes for his second year of pre-med, but it was a fine line. And not one he wanted to walk.

“Sounds fine.”

The machine beeped, and a number only a few dollars off from the first half of Michel’s payment popped up on the screen. Sal made a noise under his breath—appreciative and approving because that was the only way he said anything to let his people know that he thought they had done a good job over the month to bring in money.

Michel never did this for the money, though.

That sound meant nothing to him.

“You’re good to go,” Sal said, scratching Michel’s total into the notebook beside his initials. “And remember to keep your head down, huh?”

Michel nodded. “You got it.”

Turning around, he was ready to make a beeline for the door, and head the hell out of there. He had plans that afternoon, and he wanted to get to them sooner rather than later. Especially as those plans included a sexy redhead with green eyes that he swore was the whole world staring back at him when she looked his way.

“Oh, one more thing, before I forget,” Sal called at his back.

Michel’s steps slowed to a halt as he tossed a look over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“At the end of October, we’ve got a meeting. You were requested to be there.”

“What kind of meeting?”

“One you’re to attend.”

Except he was only one month into his second year of pre-med, and he really didn’t have time to be running around because Sal told him to. “Yeah, but—”

Sal glanced up, and his gaze narrowed in on Michel. “It’s not a request, and it wasn’t permission for you to ask questions, either.”

Well, then …

“All right,” Michel muttered.