judge me all you want, but I know my children. Joaquin will fall on the sword for you and your uncle, but Violet—she’s a wildcard.”
“I don’t even know what the fuck that means.”
“It means she is defenseless against your world. People are going to get wind of her, they’re going to use her and try to break her.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Your daughter is stronger than you think. She’s loyal and—”
“She’s a mess!”
Anger fills me as I’m engulfed with the dire need to protect and defend. Clenching my jaw, I fix her with a glare and close the distance between us.
“The only mess I see is standing in front of me,” I grind out. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll happily take Violet off your hands.” I pause for a beat, swiping a hand over my face. The urge to tell her that the daughter she calls a mess is the only reason she’s got a fucking restaurant eats at me. But that ain’t my story to tell.
“Your arrogance is going to bite you in the ass,” she warns, drawing my attention back to her. “Violet will turn on you. She won’t mean to, but your enemies will fill her head with lies and she’ll think she’s saving you. Where does that leave her?”
I stare at her for a moment. There are so many pieces of that statement to dissect, but I think the one thing that stands out most is her knowledge of my enemies and what they’re capable of. A woman like Flora, someone who as far as I know hasn’t had any affiliation with the mob, shouldn’t sound so sure of herself in that regard. Still, I force myself to push her comments to the back of my head.
There’s no place for doubt.
Not now.
“I’ll take my chances,” I grind out, point a finger at her. “Stay out of my way, Flora, or I’ll make Mitch’s threats to your livelihood look like a walk in the park.”
Those words wipe the smug expression off her face, and I watch as her brows pull together. I don’t elaborate, though.
Let the miserable bitch draw her own fucking conclusions.
~*~
My altercation with Flora left me in a bad mood and I decided to push back the visit with my sister. I didn’t have it in me to go ten rounds with another disgruntled woman. I left the restaurant and went straight to Uncle Vic’s realtor. The ball to get Violet a place of her own was in motion and with any luck I’d have a bid in by the end of the week.
Stepping outside the realtor’s office, my gaze darts toward the street to where Johnny and Richie are cluelessly bickering over the Yankees and the Mets. I’m about to make my way over to them when I an odd feeling washes over me. Ever since the shit in Miami, I’ve been making a conscious effort to rely on my senses and be aware of my surroundings. A man can have a whole fucking roster of bodyguards and still catch a bullet.
Feeling as if someone is watching me, I stop in my tracks. My eyes sweep up and down the block, pausing at every storefront and each car. I watch a mother push a carriage down the street. An old man feeds the meter. A man and woman chat as they wait for the bus. Nothing out of the norm. I take another step forward, but I can’t shake the nagging in the pit of my gut. I lift my head and reposition my sunglasses on my face. That’s when I see the man in the coffee shop across the street, with his camera focused on me.
My jaw clenches as I start for the street.
“Yo, boss, we’re over here,” Johnny calls.
Ignoring him, I continue to stalk toward the coffee shop, stopping traffic along the way. I reach the sidewalk and stand in front of the window. Pulling my sunglasses off, I watch the man lower his camera. Our eyes lock and for a split second I see the fear in his eyes and my adrenaline spikes. I crook my finger, silently commanding him to join me outside the coffee shop. He hesitates for a moment, but the second I reach into my suit pocket he jumps from his chair. Biting back a smirk, I pull out a pack of smokes and wave them in his face. I flip open the pack of Parliaments, pulling out a single cigarette with my