Mercenary (Gangsters of New York #3) - Bella Di Corte Page 0,11

enough, we took a hand and pulled each other closer.

His nose crinkled when I offered him the seat next to Adriano after we’d broken apart. Nicodemo moved his chair over a bit before he got comfortable. “I heard about the trouble in America,” he said, declining food or drink from the waitress, still who refused to look at me. He didn’t eat out many places either. “It has only gotten worse. You are a wanted man.”

“You going to claim the price on my head?”

He shrugged. “If I needed the money.”

Nunzio made a sound in his throat that Nicodemo didn’t even bother acknowledging.

“I’m glad it’s still about the dollar,” I said. “I need to find someone.”

“The woman,” he said, sitting back a bit, getting more comfortable. “Alcina Parisi.”

I nodded, refusing to say anything else. I could tell Nunzio was starting to catch on—there was a reason why I’d been coming here, searching specific areas where I could catch her scent. Adriano looked out at the water while stuffing his face, trying to listen to the man playing the mandolino, not a fucking clue.

I hadn’t told any of the men why I was here. They reported everything back to my grandfather. If he found out about the deal between Silvio and me, they’d be ordered to take me somewhere else. Somewhere that didn’t have cars small enough to fit on the street.

“Italy becomes a big place when looking for one small woman,” I said.

Nicodemo grinned. The girl almost dropped the bottle of Amaro Averna in his lap when he did. She wasn’t attracted to him; she was fucking scared. He didn’t react, just told her in Sicilian to bring another chair to the table.

“Italy becomes a big place when one small woman doesn’t want to be found,” he said.

I waved a dismissive hand—neither here nor there.

“I do not understand your logic,” he said, ignoring the trembling girl as she sat a chair next to Nunzio. “People talk. Word travels. I would not return to a place when your eyes are set on it.”

I opened the bottle and poured myself a glass. I shrugged. “I’m getting to know her.”

That was the fucking truth. I watched her parents do what they did every day. I imagined her walking the streets here. Going to church. Raising her voice and waving her hands when she wanted to be heard. I had a clear picture in my mind of Alcina Parisi, though the features of her face and body were not in focus. If Junior didn’t take a picture of her, I wondered how attractive she was.

“Ah,” Nicodemo said, accepting a glass from me. “Your leads have turned cold, Scorpio.” He nodded to the tattoo on my hand, between my thumb and pointer finger.

They had, but I needed to widen my search some, go further out. I thought she would have stayed close, but all roads led me back to Forza d’Agrò.

The four of us grew quiet as seven men entered the restaurant. I put the glass up to my mouth, watching as Giuseppe led them to the table the girl had prepared. The older man, the head, took my attention right away. He was the one calling the shots. The other ones, besides the middle-aged man who was a younger version of pops, were all muscle.

I figured Giuseppe would leave their table after he welcomed them, head back to the kitchen as usual, but instead, he took a seat. Angela served them instead of the young girl. Every once in a while, she would turn her eyes my way, catching me staring.

Her eyes were not laughing.

“Tell me,” I said, nodding toward the table.

“The Balistreris,” Nunzio answered, keeping his voice low. He patted the spots where his guns were hidden underneath his shirt. Then he stood. “Let us go.”

I waved my hand down, ordering him to sit. “Relax and enjoy your dinner.”

He glanced at their table before he took his seat again.

“A problem, cugino?” Nicodemo said to me. He called me that sometimes. Cousin.

I turned my eyes away from the table and met his stare. He didn’t care either way. His eyes were asking me if I had a problem with what I was seeing. For some reason, it bothered me, Giuseppe sitting down to break bread with these men in his restaurant. He knew what kind of man I was the moment he looked at me, and I could feel that I was unwelcome from across the street.

The same feeling was strong toward these men, too,