Page 37

My phone rings, cutting me off—the caller ID shows “The Gilded Top.”Weird. Who the hell would call me from that divey place?
“Yeah?”
“Enzo, it’s me.” Lenny’s exhausted voice pours through the speakers. “I need to see you… now, preferably.”
“Lenny?” I gasp, standing up immediately and feeling around for my keys. “What happened? Are you okay or this your fucked up way of asking me out for drinks?”
“Shut up,” she groans. “I just spent the last hour running through the streets of midtown in stilettos, chasing The8. Get your ass down here.”
The call clicks off, and I stare at my phone, wide-eyed and confused.
“Well?” Joe grumbles. “What is it?”
“She said she was tailing The8,” I say slowly, not entirely sure I understood correctly. “I need to go see her.”
“Need backup?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Keep going through the laptops. Call me if anything pops up.”
The Gilded Top is a tiny bar on the west side of town, known for excellent whiskey and live jazz. When I stroll inside, I immediately spot Valentina tucked away at one of the back tables. She’s fully engrossed in the music, her chin perched on her hand, tapping her foot to the beat.
I take a moment to study her—the finely chiseled features, long flowing hair, a dreamy look in her eyes. For a second, she looks like the carefree girl she was when I met her, and I fall in love all over again.
As if she feels my gaze on her, she turns, and our eyes meet.
Pure relief washes over her face, and I hurry to the table, dropping into the chair beside her. Her hand sneaks into mine,and I savor the moment, accepting this tiny action as an apology for storming out of my apartment.
We watch the band for a few minutes, pretending we’re here for pleasure, not business. When the waitress arrives, producing a nice bottle of Scotch, Valentina sighs and pours us each a glass.
“What happened?” I ask, dying to know the details so I can add them to the timeline in my mind.
“I went to your office,” she croaks, fear and exhaustion making her hoarse. She gulps down some Scotch and clears her throat. “Your assistant said you’d just left, so I decided to check your penthouse. When I got to the parking garage, there was a woman near my car.”
“What did she look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look at her face,” she says. “But she had fiery red hair, that I know for sure.”
Red hair?I try to scan my mind for any mafia families headed by red-haired women and come up short.
“She bolted, and I ran after her.” She laughs, shaking her head. “It was quite a scene, slipping and sliding down the icy streets in these fucking shoes.”
She sticks out her foot, showing me the shoes in question. I’m already pissed at her willingness to put herself in such a dangerous situation. The impractical boots fan the flames of anger even more.
“Lenny—”
“Listen,” she stops me, her tone hard and unyielding. “She slashed my fucking tires and ran away. I’m sick of this shit. You want to know what I found in my driveway this morning?”
When she describes the bloody mess she stumbled onto on her own damn property, my blood runs cold as rage boils in my stomach.This bitch is going down. No matter what, I’ll find her.
“So, what happened?” I ask, glancing around. “I don’t see a bound and gagged redhead anywhere. I’m assuming you lost her?”
“She managed to slip into a waiting car.” She nods. “No plates, no distinguishing features other than it was a generic-looking sedan. That was right after I chased her down the alley next to this place. I was so fucking demoralized, I just stumbled inside, called you, and ordered a double shot of vodka.”
“You can’t place her, can you?” I ask hopefully. “She’s not someone tied to you in some way? Maybe from out West or one of the cities you’ve been expanding in recently?”
“No, Enzo.” She shakes her head sadly. “I wish it was that easy, but I’m almost certain this is about you.”
When I protest, she shushes me.