White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(10)

His eyes narrow to slits. “Less. Competition is always good for business.”

“Then other than the potential for less loss of life, which has dramatically decreased since the NYPD and the Feds are breathing down everyone’s necks, what’s the upside to ending the feud?”

Dom leans both elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “You’re saying we should forget trying for a truce and get back to business?”

Being that he sent me to one of the most prestigious business schools on the planet, Dom tends to listen to me when it comes to certain business matters, which is why I’m in charge of the Upper Ten. To my pride, it remains the crown jewel of his legitimate businesses.

“I’m saying that we don’t let Rossettis disrespect us and then continue to offer them concessions.”

A ghost of a smile hovers on Dom’s lips. “You’ve got more of me in you than I thought.”

It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that in front of another person. I’m partly shocked, but even more ready to bolt out of this room and get Memphis out of here, so I don’t let any reaction show on my face.

Dom plants both hands on the table and pushes up to a half-standing, half-leaning position, and his gaze jerks between me and Enzo.

“Tomorrow, I send the message to the Rossettis that even the fucking idea of a truce is dead to us, with a nice little addition—I’ll put GTR’s head in a jar on my desk and use it for a paperweight if he pisses me off again.” The hint of a smile curls into a full-blown wicked grin. “Prepare for war, boys.”





9





Cannon





I find Memphis in the break room again, except instead of being startled when I enter, she’s asleep in the chair in the corner.

“Come on, baby. Time to go.”

Baby? Is that what she is to me, even after everything? And if not, why did it sound so right?

When she doesn’t wake up, I shake my head, but rather than feeling annoyed, I can’t help but think she’s pretty fucking cute. Now all I can picture is her curled up in my bed, which is not how tonight was supposed to go.

Yes, I planned to bring her to my place.

Yes, I planned to interrogate her. But I didn’t plan on wanting to see her hair splayed on the pillow next to mine when I woke up.

As I determined before, I’m completely fucked.

When she blinks her eyes open, the dark-colored contacts shift out of place for a second before sliding back to cover her aqua-blue eyes. After a moment of confusion, she jerks into an upright position.

“I’m so sorry. I—”

“It’s fine. Let’s go. It’s been a long day.” Without thinking about it, I hold out my hand, and I’m equally surprised when she takes it with no hesitation. There’s so much that needs to be said between us, but the only question I truly care to have answered is the one I asked her at the construction site.

Was any of it real?

My instincts, which are rarely wrong after being honed through a lifetime focused on survival, say yes. It was fucking real. When I mentally rewind our every encounter, I see openings that someone truly opportunistic would have taken, but she didn’t.

Maybe I’m grasping at straws here because I want to believe the narrative I’m spinning in my mind. Hell, there’s no maybe about it. I am. But that doesn’t make it any less possible.

Once she’s on her feet, I grab her jacket off the chair and wrap it around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

She glances up at me from under long dark lashes that at least I know are real. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

The question cuts me to the bone, and my jaw tightens. “We’ll talk about it at my place.”





Our ride there is silent. I still haven’t had time to sweep the car for bugs, but I will in the morning.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Her question repeats in my brain as I park and open the door, but the only real sound is the grating metal of the overhead door closing us both inside my garage space.

When I unlock the entrance to the stark elevator lobby, the scent of pizza greets me. A puffy red delivery bag is sitting inside. Geno.

Of course. Good man.

Memphis’s stomach growls as soon as the rich scent of tomato, basil, and melted cheese reaches her. “That man deserves a medal.”

I crouch down to open the bag and remove the box, leaving the red delivery bag near the door Geno would have entered through. He’ll pick it up in the morning, like he has so many other times before.

“He’s a good one,” I say.

We enter the elevator, and Memphis takes the box from me so I can close the gate and hit the button. It’s a smooth, silent exchange, like we’ve done this together a million times.

This could be us . . . late dinners together after long days at work. Someone to smile with on the good days. And on the bad days, having someone to fight for instead of with.

The thoughts pop into my head, but I shove them down. Not until I hear everything.

With more silently choreographed moves, we enter my apartment, and I slide the pizza across the counter and grab two plates from the cupboard, along with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She waits for me to take a seat on one of the stools and I reach for the box, but instead of opening it, I rest my hand on top of the cardboard.