Page 32 of Carnal Wagers

“Helps that I didn’t really lie. Might have to market him some of my side products to sell it though.”

I started making chemical agents to help out my brother’s hitman business years before he took over the mafia side, but at heart, I was a perfume girl through and through.

“Adrien won’t like it,” Erel grumbled as my ride rolled up.

“Good thing it’s not his business.”

I waved my arm to flag the driver down and glanced over my shoulder, in case someone was following me. It didn’t look like Cillian had sent a tail after me, but it was better to be safe than sorry, just in case.

“I’m taking a taxi. I’ll get off six crossroads down, two blocks over. Pick me up there.”

As planned, Erel and Tessa’s car idled where the cab dropped me off. Out of one vehicle and into another one. I slid into the front seat as Erel continued his current phone call.

“You could take the time off, mon ange. Come with us,” Erel said, his French accent thick.

Immediately, I knew who was on the other side of the line: my best friend. The lovey-dovey sweetness of their two-year long-distance relationship was adorably sickening.

“God, I love it when you call me that,” Maeve’s disembodied voice stated over the car’s speakers.

You and me both, I thought. What I wouldn’t give for a man to call me his angel, his love, his treasure, whatever, just randomly in conversation.

“But you know I can’t. We just broke ground on the new construction site. Can’t you stay longer? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He groaned. “You are killing me.”

My door clicked shut, and he put the car back in drive, heading for our hotel.

“Alizé, babe, that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Let him stay, will you? Pretty please, for me. I need to ride me my Frenchman. It’s been too long. Don’t deprive me of a good dicking. Your girl needs it. Bad.” I smothered down my laugh at Erel’s scratchy throat-clearing and pinkened cheeks. “Just a couple of days, and then you can spirit him back to France.”

“You make it sound like I spend my free time cockblocking you.”

“If you say no, you definitely are.”

I chuckled and flipped down the sun visor to check my makeup. “We can’t stay this time—”

“Killjoy. You’re definitely enjoying this.”

“What? Me? Never.” I gasped in outrage with gusto. “Tell you what. We’ll come back. End of the week for me.”

“Quoi?” What? Erel asked. His head swiveled to me, then back at the road.

“Tessa,” I asked, clocking her reflection in the rearview mirror. “You’re staying in San Francisco for what? A day? Two?”

“Just for the visit.” The prison visit to her brother, which I now needed to be in on.

The timeline wasn’t surprising. She never stayed for these visits longer than half a day despite the long trips and jet lag. Considering how her father had sold her off into human trafficking right out of their San Francisco home, it made sense. At least the bastard was dead.

“Then back to France, yes?”

“Yes…” Now came Tessa’s hesitation because she knew me well enough to know I was leading her answers.

I’d tell her why soon, but for my plan to work, when I came back to Boston, she couldn’t come with me. With the stark scarring around her bright-green eyes, it’d only be a matter of time before someone figured out that she was not only the sister of the imprisoned Californian Italian don and the wife of the French Côte d’Azur milieu, but also that I was her sister-in-law. It was too early to give the game away just yet.

“The new school year is about to start,” Tessa supplied. This would make her third year studying at the Lyon National High Conservatory of Dance and Music toward her bachelor’s in violin.