Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Clearly, Saff felt the same way.
Though, to be fair, Saff was always looking for an enemy to rail against.
“Dunno if it’ll look good if we babysit ‘em,” I said, going to the front to grab the money out of the safe. Not because the Costas would steal from us—the fuckers had enough money—but because men would be in and out and someone desperate might decide to sneak in and grab something that didn’t belong to them.
“Who cares what it looks like?” Saff said, rolling her eyes.
“Renzo, I imagine. They’re his in-laws.”
“I mean… if I remember their family tree, Anthony is only a cousin or something like that. Not one of Lore’s many brothers.”
“Still,” I said, shoving the cash into a bag to drop at the bank machine on the way home.
“Did you at least put some cameras up?”
“For what?”
“To make sure they don’t bug the place.”
“No more cameras than usual,” I said, going back into my office to grab anything I didn’t want getting covered in paint or dust. “They don’t have their sights set on Brooklyn. They have no reason to bug the place.”
“When did you get so soft?” Saff asked, following me as I piled the shit I was taking on a prep table, then grabbed the trash bags I’d told Kick to leave for me to handle.
Saff didn’t grab one.
I refuse to make any man’s life easier, she’d once said when someone asked why she hadn’t helped Elian clean up at a gathering at Renzo’s place.
And, hey, you had to respect that.
“Don’t think it’s soft to accept the wishes of our boss, kid,” I said, just to fuck with her. She hated being reminded that she was younger than the rest of us.
“Fine. Get bugged, stolen from, and arrested,” she said, leaning back against the wall in the alley, watching me walk back and forth to get rid of the garbage.
“Your concern for me is touching,” I said, shooting her a smirk as we moved back into the building.
“I am not above visiting you in the pen to tell you I told you so,” she said, eyes twinkling.
“Know you won’t. Go on, get home. Clean up those knuckles. Don’t wanna get infected,” I said, hearing the knock at the front door at that exact moment.
“Alright,” she agreed, but followed me out to the front of the shop, then waited for me to open the door to let the contractors in, only to step in their way.
“Are you going to move or what?” she asked, making me snort as Anthony Costa stepped too far to the side and whacked himself against the frame in the process.
“She’s charming, right, guys?” I asked, getting some chuckles from them and two middle fingers from Saff as she walked backward out of the door, shooting me a smile.
“Ready for us to get to work?” Anthony asked as he moved inside.
Some part of me was concerned about being closed down for a week to get this place redone. Worried that I would lose business. Like it fucking mattered.
The thing was… it kind of did.
And for someone who’d been a ‘family’ man for his whole life, it was weird as fuck to care about anything else.
“Yep,” I agreed.
CHAPTER TWO
Kick
“Hold on, you little jerk,” I called through my apartment door as I stabbed my key in the lock.
Through it, I could hear the long, plaintive wail of a cat who sounded like his tail was caught in a garbage disposal.
“You’re going to wake up the whole building,” I called, slamming and locking my door, tossing my keys into the bowl, then rushing across the apartment with my purse still on my shoulder.
I yanked open the window, letting the cat in off of the fire escape.
He wasn’t mine.
Or, maybe, he was?
Honestly, I had no idea what he did after his shrieking made me stumble out of bed at dawn to open the window and let him back out onto the fire escape.
Maybe he had a home, people who fed and loved on him. That he didn’t scratch to shit each time they tried to touch him.
Or maybe he was a street cat who found a sucker in me, who enjoyed some premium cat food, a saucer of milk, and a warm—or cold—place to hide from the elements for a bit.
I didn’t know.
It didn’t matter.
“Evander,” I said, nodding at the tortie cat as he made his way in, half-bitten off ear and all.
Admittedly, he’d gotten rather tubby since I’d been feeding him. But, hey, winter was upon us. We could all use some extra padding to get through the cold. Or, at least, that was what I’d been telling myself each night I got home to make myself three grilled cheese sandwiches that I may or may not have followed up with ice cream bars in front of my TV.