Riding Dirty: Luciotti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) - Kara Hart Page 0,39

I get what I came to collect.”

“Got a last name?” he asked me.

“Buchwald,” I said. “Sometimes goes by Whiteman. Last seen in Detroit.”

“Two last names? He didn't get creative with it, did he?” He laughed. “I'll contact my guys. I should have something for you in a few days, a week tops.” He got out of his seat and extended out his hand.

“Sounds good.” He shook my hand and headed back out to his Volvo. “Nice car,” I said.

“It runs.” He shrugged and started the engine.

* * *

We were close to figuring this thing out. Only problem was, I didn’t want the job to end. Not yet, at least. I looked up at the pretty woman leaning over the table and said “Not you, honey. Her.”

Today was a nice day. The sun was shining and the air was breezy. It was the kind of day that begged you to rest. “Come on,” it beckoned. “Take a day off.” Fine. I will.

The woman tapped her pen against the table. “Sorry, hun. I was specifically told to help you today.”

“Who are you anyway? I’ve never seen you before,” I said, looking around at the rest of the café. It was surprisingly packed. What the hell is going on? I wondered. It was as if suddenly the town of Monroe was considered a popular destination.

“Well I’ve seen you. Everyone has,” she said, tapping her pen harder against the wood. She pressed her tongue against her cheek when she talked, which annoyed the hell out of me. I tried to shoo her away.

Everyone in the café seemed to be looking at me. Nobody ever looked at me before. Why the attention now? This wasn’t good for business. “Look, tell Dahlia I need to talk to her. That alright with you, honey?”

“We’re very busy today, sir. Can you please just tell me wha—” I put my hand up in front of her face. Probably a rude gesture, but I didn’t really give a damn. It’s not like I actually came to this place for the quiche. Hell no. I came for the pussy.

“Here. Take it.” I grabbed a twenty-dollar bill and gestured for her to get away from my table. Of course she grabbed the paper like it was candy. “Just get me Dahlia, dammit,” I muttered, placing my fingers against my temple. I had a headache that wasn’t going away today.

The woman walked up to Dahlia, who was pulling a shot from the machine, and whispered into her ear. I watched as she rolled her eyes, poured the shot into the glass, and yelled “Espresso!” Then she came my way.

“Yeah?”

“What the hell is your problem, missy?” I asked her, almost smiling at her irrational behavior.

“Can you just order something and let me work?” she spat out, eyes on fire. Her cheeks were a pale-rosy hue and she tapped her heel loudly.

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever you get me,” I said. “What’s wrong? I thought we had a good time the other night.”

She set her notepad down and grumbled loudly. “Let’s just not talk about that ever again, okay? Look, I’m not mad at you or anything. I just don’t think it’s good to associate with a drug dealer considering my past.”

I burst out laughing, slamming my palm on the table. “A drug dealer?” I bellowed.

“Keep it down!” she hissed. “This is a restaurant. The locals already think you’re an odd character.”

“What’s wrong with them anyway? Why do they keep looking at me?” I asked her.

“Don’t you have a calendar? It’s the 4th of July weekend. This place is always packed for the parade and fireworks. You sort of stick out, you know.”

I looked down at my outfit. All black, heavy jacket, and the gauze over the hand that beat André’s face in. Yeah, I guess I stood out. “Alright. I hear you.”

“Anyway, that’s not the point. The other night was fun. Until I woke up with this taped to my door. How do you know him?” she asked me, on the verge of tears. I had no idea what she was even talking about.

She threw a note onto the table. On it was scratched black pen, complete with rapid and frightening lettering. It read:

Dahlia. Love of my life. Mother of my child. I know I’ve done you wrong. There’s no way to repair our past and I don’t aim to. I’m a sinner and a thief. I can get violent too, I suppose. But all that has changed now. I’m a new man. I’m writing