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“Fuckin’ fabulous.”

Now all Trev could think about was tinfoil swans and splattering brains, gangsters busting in with tommy guns and blood dripping from the ceiling in thick streams, but everything was totally going to be fine.

Right?

The restaurant was in the historic district of Strassen Springs, the first story of a corner building with big glass windows and checkered awnings. Trev immediately assumed it was an Italian restaurant because it looked like every other Italian place he’d ever seen.

Trev and Cold had ridden here in the back of a limo driven by Jerry. Jules was waiting for them out front and came over to open the door after Jerry pulled up.

Trev must have looked worried because Jules dipped his head down to say quietly, “Don’t worry, boss bro. You got this.”

“Thanks,” Trev muttered, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

Jules clapped his hand on Trev’s shoulder and nearly knocked him over.

Cold led them the short distance over to the restaurant’s front door, where two large men in—what else—suits were waiting.

Judging by their ear pieces, Trev assumed they were members of the mayor’s security detail.

The shorter of the two men said, “Hello there, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, we need to conduct a little search for weapons, all right?”

“Of course.” Cold nodded politely.

Trev held up his arms to tuck behind his head at practically the same time Cold did, and he smirked. “Not your first time being frisked, huh?”

“Hardly.” Cold snorted.

The security detail was especially thorough, and Trev almost told one of them to buy him dinner next time. He’d made a promise to behave himself or whatever, so he resisted.

He hated this.

He hated the suit, the restaurant, and how his nerves were already fried, though they’d only been here a few minutes.

In that brief time, Trev had counted six men in the security detail, established at least two exits in the restaurant plus a possible third since there was likely a back door, and he spotted three cars with occupants inside who didn’t seem like they were getting out anytime soon.

Cold and Trev were left waiting with Jules while the security detail at the door talked amongst themselves and the others paced around.

Cold didn’t look at Trev, but he asked quietly, “What do you see?”

“What?” Trev frowned.

“You’ve been checking our surroundings. So. What do you see?”

“Six men in the detail, all of them armed. I think there’s two ways in and out of the restaurant, probably a third in the back, and a few creeps out on the street sitting in their cars. One in the truck, another in that Ford sedan, and one in casual but seriously ugly clothes in the SUV.” Trev shrugged. “Truck and Ford guy are wearing suits, but it looks like they shop at the cheap mafia bitch warehouse, not the fancy mafia bitch one, so, probably cops.”

“Not bad.” Cold nodded. “There are seven men on the detail. One’s in the bathroom. The man in the sedan has adjusted a shoulder holster, so, yes. Probably a cop. The man in the SUV has been listening to something and he keeps checking his ear. Could be another cop in plain clothes.”

“Okay, so what about the guy in the truck?”

“He’s likely going to be arrested for indecent exposure. He’s masturbating.”

“What?” Trev looked back, snorting out a laugh when he caught the telltale jerk of the man’s elbow. “Jesus Christ.”

“Tamerlane is on the roof of the building behind us, but don’t bother looking.” Cold smirked. “You won’t see him. Jerry and Lorre are nearby as well, along with a handful of other… supporters.”

Trev did a cursory glance as if he was just looking at the buildings, and he only saw a woman walking her dog and a guy delivering a package.

Maybe the woman with the dog was a ruthless killer.