Page 117 of Fallen Rook

Wow. It was a total mystery why Sofia left him. He was boundlessly delightful.

“What do you need?” I grumbled.

“Can you collect protection money in Chinatown? It’s our first time working with them.”

“For real?” I let out a grunt. I’d already finished my collecting duty for the week yesterday. “Out of all the people in the organization, I’m the only one who’s available?”

“Half of my associates are in the can for one random infraction after another. We’re short-staffed.”

“What?”

“You heard it right. My deal with the NYPD commissioner is down the shitter. I need to figure out why they’re on our ass all of a sudden.”

Fucking great. Like we needed more problems.

“Padlock raid, probably. And the other half?” I asked.

“Business’s booming. The world’s fucked-up, and people are picking up a drug habit. They’re working.”

“Where’s Achilles?” I pressed. After Achilles had decided to blow up the Secondigliano alliance in Naples in order to steal Tierney from a business rival, he’d been demoted. Technically, I outranked him. But in practice, I was still the smallest fish in the pond, who was left to deal with the unglamorous side of business. Normally, I didn’t mind. But now that I had a secret boyfriend, I actually valued my time off.

“Achilles has some important shit upstate, or I’d have called his ass first,” Luca lamented. “Adoption stuff.”

Achilles and Tierney were adopting? Well, fuck. My mood brightened instantly. Heck yeah. Tierney was going to be a badass mom, and I was going to be an uncle again.

“Fine. Text me the address and sum.” I hung up before he ruined my good mood by speaking again.

Twenty minutes later, I sauntered into Sicilia, an Italian restaurant on the edge of Chinatown. It was a saloon-style eatery with dim lights, antique furniture, and candle centerpieces. Dark wooden frames and beige curtains ornamented the windows. I tucked my helmet under my armpit, running my fingers over my hair to slick it back into perfection. A line ran all the way to the maître d’, so I waited patiently. I was still reeling from the news about Tierney and Achilles and hoped they would find success.

A party of five stood ahead, and I could feel some people lining up behind me. I never bulldozed into a place and flexed my muscles. These were innocent business owners, already caught up in an ugly Mafia world. The least I could do was be gracious when demanding our payment.

Before I knew what was happening, someone cut me off, waltzing right past me to the front of the line. “Sullivan. Party of five.”

What a d-bag. The person who was originally behind me started grousing, when a shoulder brushed mine. I instinctively looked to see who it was.

Tom.

Tom was standing next to me. Looking irritated, gorgeous, and smelling like rain and citrus and man.

How did he know I was here?

He’s your stalker, dum-dum, of course he knows where you are.

“Hey.” I grinned at him without even meaning to. Which was when I realized he hadn’t even noticed me. He slowly pivoted toward me, expression flat, wrapped in his usual crisp dress shirt, dark tie, vest, impeccable peacoat covering his holster, and slim-fitted slacks. Not one muscle in his face moved. The blue of his irises was pale and unresponsive.

That was when I knew I’d made a huge blunder in assuming he was here for me.

He simply gawked, hands casually tucked into his front pockets, his coat open.

I swallowed back a blabbering apology and looked away, hoping no one saw and that I didn’t get him into too much trouble. My face was on fire.

He was keeping us safe and discreet, just like we’d agreed.

This was good. Cool. Fantastic.

Then why did it feel like rejection?

“Rothwell!” The Sullivan guy—whom I now recognized as his work partner, Sully—gestured to him from his spot near the maître d’ to come forward. “Call the others. Our table’s ready.”