Page 282 of Alessio

He tipped his head to the side, considering.

Fuck it.

When had he ever cared about that?

Never.

That’s when.

Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it to the sidewalk, and headed for the entrance of the fancy restaurant. Taking the steps three at a time, Alessio yanked open the door, and stepped into the smells of rich sauces, and lingering spices. Something that, on another day, he might have stopped to appreciate.

Not today.

Today, he had other things to do.

The girl dressed in a tight, black dress behind the podium looked up and met his gaze when the bell above the door chimed at his entrance. With a tablet at the ready in her hands, she opened her mouth to greet him.

As she should.

It was her job.

Alessio simply passed her by before she could even ask her question. Her shout of hey at his back fell on deaf ears because he didn’t give a shit. His task was simply to find the man who owned this place, and have a chat. All it took were a couple of carefully placed calls to the right people—everyone in this life had contacts to use, him included—and Alessio knew exactly where he had to go to find Andino Marcello.

He heard the woman’s heels clicking against the floor as she followed him through the bustling restaurant, still hollering at his back like he gave a single fuck about her. He didn’t. Not at all.

His contact said if Andino wasn’t having business in the private dining section of the place, then he would be in the back office at the far end of the kitchen. Passing the private area with a quick glance said Andino was in the office, so that’s exactly where Alessio went.

Cooks in the kitchen yelled at him, too.

Fun.

He ignored them as well.

“Sir, you can’t be back—”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Alessio came face to face with likely one of the biggest men he had ever seen in his life when he turned the corner around a rack in the kitchen. At least four inches taller than Alessio’s nearly six-foot-three height, and probably a good sixty pounds of extra muscle than him, too. He had more of a boxer’s quality. This man looked like he needed to be on the defense line of a fucking football team.

The guy stood in front of the open doorway that led into the office, and directly behind his very wide shoulders, he found the man he wanted to see sitting at his desk.

Beside that desk sat a ruddy-colored pit bull.

More fun.

“Me?” Alessio asked.

The muscle—no doubt, an enforcer for Andino’s crime family who kept him protected while he worked—cocked an eyebrow like he wasn’t here for this shit. Well, surprise, asshole … neither was Alessio.

“Who else am I looking at?” the enforcer snapped.

“Well, I’m not important,” Alessio said, smiling just enough to piss the man off. If the guy wanted to try to make a move on Les, then he was more than welcome to come right on ahead and do it. All he had to say about that was the bigger one was, the harder they fucking fell when Alessio punched them in the throat. He pointed around the man’s large shoulder, saying, “That man right there is who matters at the moment, and I have a meeting to speak with him.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, actually.”

The enforcer’s lips flattened into a grim line. “Listen, I don’t know who the fuck you—”