Chapter Two
I don’t mean to laugh.
Really, it’s not funny.
It’s horrifying, and impossible, and a lot of other things—but not funny.
“No, I’m not,” I say, shaking my head.
“Yes, you are.”
“What next, you want me to blow OJ?” I ask, eyes widening. “He killed the last woman he fucked. His wife or whatever—I don’t know, someone he was fucking, that bitch sleeps with the fishes now. No way.”
Reaching into his pocket, Antonio draws out two photographs. I expect this to be some kind of blackmail, some added “incentive” to do his bidding—or at least a picture of Mateo Morelli, in case I don’t already know about his dreamy eyes and muscular build. Obviously that makes me feel better about the wife-killer thing. Obviously.
“That’s not true,” he says, showing me a picture of some girl instead. “This is the last girl he fucked. She’s alive and well over in Evanston. I can’t get to her though, she’s with some nobody family member of his. Anyway, you look alike,” he says, holding her picture closer to my face.
I take it, frowning at the picture. “I mean… not really,” I say. We’re both thin and pretty with good hair and blue eyes, but that’s really not looking alike. I’m also older than this girl; apparently, he’s also cradle-robbing these days.
“Close enough,” he says, taking the picture back. Then he shows me another picture of another girl at a club, dancing in a strapless black dress, more tanned with dark hair. “This is the one he killed. You don’t look like her.”
“Oh, well, good; I’m sure he won’t kill me then.”
Antonio nods, like this logic makes sense, but probably just because he doesn’t give a single fuck. I’m super expendable.
“Look, I can’t… even if I could get to Mateo Morelli—which I can’t, because again, I am not a part of this world. But even if I could, I can’t kill a man. I don’t know how to fire a gun, and these ones?” I hold up my thin, unimpressive arms. “Not gonna take down a mob boss.”
“You’re okay with your husband getting whacked but not the boss who put a hit on him?” Antonio asks, bushy eyebrows drawn together. “Whatever your husband was, honey, I promise you, this son of a bitch is worse.”
“I do not doubt that, but this son of a bitch is not my problem.”
“He is now.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just stare, wishing my floor would open up and swallow this guy. How the hell do I get out of this?
“Can’t I just pay you the money?” I ask.
“Debt just doubled,” he states coldly. “You got $30,000 tucked away in your freezer?”
I want to say he can’t just double a debt like that, but I guess he can.
“You don’t say yes in the next few seconds, it just might double again. You might owe me more than the one favor, if that happens.”
“Okay,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, exactly, but I don’t want favors piling up. Catching my head in my hands, I exhale slowly, trying to figure out where to go from here. “How am I supposed to do this without getting killed?”
“It’ll be risky, but long as you time it right, you’ll be okay. I’ll have a crew following you, they can help you. All you gotta do is slip something in his drink and your job’s done. He drinks his drink, you go home. Whatever it takes to get to that point, you do. Once he’s been dosed, my guys clean up the mess.” He brushes his hands several times. “Done.”
I’m cold all over at this point, but I try not to appear shaken. The idea of actually killing someone… I don’t think I’m capable of that.
“They’ll know it was me.”
“Could’ve been a bartender. Server. Lot of people hate him. Use your maiden name though, just in case.”
“I can’t do this,” I say quietly, shaking my head.
“Then you better get ready to have another funeral, honey,” he tells me, kicking the ruined picture frame with the toe of his loafer. “You won’t need a big casket for this one.”
---
If I somehow survive this mission, I’m definitely going to have to find a new job.
Eddie, the sleazeball who lets me keep his books, takes another stroll past the desk they had to put me at. Usually I work in the back by myself, but according to Antonio Castellanos, we have to be better showmen than that. I have to be visible. A bored, sexed up receptionist doing her nails without a care in the world.
I think they’re overestimating how much effort it takes to catch a man’s interest, but I let them make the plans. I just play the part as directed.
It’s an elaborate play, too. Eddie’s not the smartest guy in the world, but he does know better than to get mixed up with the mob. Antonio paid him a little visit after me, though, and now here we sit, Eddie shaking in his boots, me fiddling with nail polish, waiting to see if he shows up.
Mateo Morelli.
I guess you can’t really request an audience with him, but Eddie did what Antonio asked, and now we all wait to see what happens.
“I’m glad your fucking husband’s dead,” Eddie tells me, spitting into a cup.
Eddie has a gross habit of chewing tobacco, even more so when he’s nervous. I try not to look at the cup, thinking about how much tobacco-colored spit must be inside, but it’s impossible. A couple ounces? Gross.
I don’t take offense to his vicious tone. I’d be pretty pissed at me, too. “I’m sorry.”
“This is my business,” he states, his eye twitching.
“I know. Just keep cool. You have the money. Everything’s going to be fine.”
I have no idea if that’s true. Personally, the plan to take mob money and then be late enough paying it back that they send someone seems like a terrible plan to me—especially for Eddie. But the idea is, instead of a kneecap, they offer me.
I’ve seen Mateo Morelli, and wife-killing mobster thing aside, he’s handsome and rich; I don’t think the man has a hard time scoring chicks.
But hey, it’s Antonio’s plan. If it fails, that’s not my fault. Maybe he’ll give up using me for this, since I can’t very well show up as bait twice without looking suspicious.
As tempting as it is to hope I fail to impress the rival boss, I’m also afraid of what might happen then. Antonio made himself very clear—I get this job done, or else.
I’m sick just letting my mind skate close to that, so I stop and redirect. I can’t work myself up—not now.
Finally, a dark Escalade pulls to a stop in front of the shop.
“Oh, fuck,” Eddie says, moving away from my desk, spitting into his cup again, then putting it on a nearby desk. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Calm,” I murmur, unscrewing the white lid of a bright red nail polish. “Calm the fuck down, Eddie.”
“You’re gonna get us all fucking killed,” Eddie hisses.
“Shut up,” I snap, trying to look at the door without moving my head. Someone’s getting out of the car. I take a steadying breath and slowly paint my thumbnail, like I don’t have a care in the world, when in reality everything is riding on me.
I glance at my small green purse. Inside there’s a fake lipstick. Looks like any ordinary lipstick, but you take off the cap and pop off the lipstick, it’s actually a vial. I looked at it, at the powder inside. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know how careful I have to be about getting it on my hands. All I know is if I can’t get Mateo Morelli to ingest it at some point tonight, I’m fucked.
And if I do, I might be fucked, too.
The door swings open and three men come inside—none of them Mateo Morelli.
My stomach sinks at the realization.
He didn’t come.
We did all this for nothing.
The guy who steps forward has an intense, serial-killery look about him. He’s not a big guy, medium build, but the entire left side of his face is scarred. He’s wearing a suit, like the rest of them, but the scar disappears into the collar, making me think it probably goes down farther.
“Eddie,” he says, nodding in greeting.
“Adrian.” Eddie grabs the cup again, spitting into it.
The scarred man watches, and I hope he can’t tell how unsteady Eddie’s hands are. I sure can.
“Why’m I here, Eddie?” Adrian asks.
I don’t know if this is rhetorical or an actual question, but Eddie hurries over to his desk, drawing an envelope out of the top drawer. “I have your money. I’m so sorry it’s late.”
Adrian waits wordlessly for Eddie to bring him the envelope. Eddie looks reluctant to approach, but since none of the men move to take it, he has no choice. It’s painful to watch him approach the one called Adrian, each step more reluctant, like he’s walking toward a lake of fire instead of a man.
Adrian takes the envelope, tucking it into his left breast pocket. Then, with absolutely no warning, he pulls back and punches Eddie in the face so fast that I rear back, gasping.
Eddie’s stumbles back, actually falling on his ass with the unexpected force of it. Adrian takes a step forward and Eddie skitters back like a crab, then he holds up a hand. “Wait, wait! I—I have something for him.”
“A gift, yeah,” Adrian says, dismissively. “Mateo doesn’t do gifts.”
Jabbing his finger in my direction, he says, “Please. I thought he’d get more out of her than you probably get from beating the shit out of me.”
Adrian scowls, his gaze jumping to me, taking a quick appraisal. “Your gift is a person?”
“I just... I thought….”
Adrian looks disgusted, which I find impressive, given he’s clearly a gangster. “You fucking people,” he mutters, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck.
A guy behind Adrian with dark hair, brown eyes and a big nose leans in toward Adrian. “You want me to get him?”
“I guess,” Adrian answers, sounding less than impressed.
I can’t quite believe it. Adrian approaches me and I’m a little less comfortable as he looks me over. Since I was supposed to be all sexed up, I’m wearing the shortest black skirt I’ve ever owned, and a snug white tank top, with green bra straps peeking out. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“Meg,” I offer, glancing up at him. “Meg Milano.”
He nods, looking at my desk, the arranged nail polishes, the messy stacks of paper, the multi-line phone. “You work here, Meg Milano?”
I nod my head. “Yeah.”
“Answer the phones?”
I nod again.
“So, why’re you still here?”
I frown, not understanding.
“Shop closed a few hours ago,” he points out.
My heart slams against my rib cage, but I try to keep cool. “Eddie asked me to stay. For… well, this.”
“So you could whore yourself out to Mateo Morelli? He at least pay you extra for that?”
I flinch, and it’s not even playacting. That’s a little harsh, man.
When I don’t answer, Adrian steps away.
I don’t think he likes me.
The larger-nosed man opens the door again, and suddenly all the noise is sucked out of the room as Mateo Morelli walks through the doors.