Page 117 of Tony

“Define cool.”

“Like… do I get a costume?”

“Oh, every supervillain gets a costume. So that’s a big yes.”

“Does it come with a cape?”

“And a hood.”

“Can we fuck in the costumes?”

I laugh. Jesus. This woman kills me. “Only if you promise to cook in it too.”

Which makes her grin and wink. “I do make a good Bolognese.”

“Yeah. I hear your cannolis are better than getting a blowjob in the alley.”

She guffaws again. Rolls over on top of me. Kisses me on the mouth and murmurs words past my lips. “Hmm. Wow. This all sounds like a super good deal.”

“We’re gonna be quite the team.” I whisper back.

And she replies, “We already are.”

EPILOGUE 2 - BELINDA

Winning a game is all about knowing when to make a move.

Go too soon, you lose momentum and the element of surprise.

Go too late and you miss your chance.

After Midnight’s little visit we sat inside Anna Ameci’s for a couple hours talking in low whispers as we sorted through all the information.

One thing was for sure. Soshee and Tony were leaving on that plane the next day at noon. So this was our last chance to come up with a plan.

Leave it to Midnight to save us?

Uh… no. We’re not the kind of people looking to get saved by anyone, let alone some smarmy fake counter-culture wanna be. I don’t care that she’s some leftover assassin like Creepy Wendy. Those little Company girls might be good killers but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say they probably have a pretty bad record when it comes to saving innocent people.

And we are innocent.

I reject the idea that doing good deeds will get you in the end.

It’s not supposed to be that way. And fine. Creepy Midnight can call me naïve all she wants.

I don’t care what she thinks. I’m not naïve, I just have high standards.

If she wants to—

“Hey, hey, hey,” Vann says, wrapping his arms around me as he spoons me from behind. “Calm down there, killer. Plenty of time to plan a murder when the sun actually comes up.”

“What are you talking about?” I don’t snap it. But I kinda want to. Thinking about Creepy Midnight does that to me.

“I can hear the wheels turning in your head. You’re making plans.”

I turn to face him and match his charming grin with a devious one of my own. “You’re mostly wrong. I was making plans. But it wasn’t about anything dangerous. I was thinking about making your whole family breakfast this morning. I can’t take another oatmeal special.”

These words wipe Creepy Midnight right out of my mind. Because I live here now. In this cool, ramshackle mansion filled with tatted-up Vaughn men.