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Antoni’s face scrunches in confusion as he tries to understand what that physically equates to, how he can provide something so abstract to Tamayo. He glances to Jimmy, who watches Tamayo, who waits for Antoni. And I—with Tamayo’s hand two knuckles deep under my dress on the outside of my thigh—chance a roll of my hips disguised as a shift in weight.
Tamayo’s mask slips for a millisecond, her eyelids drooping and her nails digging into my skin. I hide a smirk behind a sip of my drink.
She sighs dramatically, disappointed. “What’s the cost of disrespect to your boss, Toni?”
His eyes widen, and he sputters the answer. “Broken bones.”
Tamayo hums, her hand sliding around to grasp under my thigh and drag my body further into the nook of her hip. Her fingers don’t leave, digging in just below the crease where my thigh meets my ass; the action merely an excuse to retaliate. I wish I could grin. Instead, I’m scanning the room, looking for the true reason I came to Casa Nostra in the first place—the Birdwatcher.
I find them playing poker, their long legs stretched out under the table and a long finger resting against their cheek. Their tawny skin burnishes in the low lamplight, rich amber in a crowd of chalky white. I’ve seen them twice before. Once when I was twelve and they visited Father before he and Mother closed a deal with the mayor, and again three years ago when they caught me fucking someone outside one of the only queer clubs downtown. They smirked, tipped their nonexistent hat, and continued on their way. And I just pressed the faceless woman harder against the alleyway wall.
My sexuality was never a secret to be weaponized.
Rough movement pulls my attention away. Darius has hold of Antoni’s shoulder, the poor capo’s feet struggling to find purchase as he’s dragged over the thick, wool rugs. Tamayo taps her fingers against my upper thigh, and Pat catches my gaze. I unfreeze on Tamayo’s lap and flick my hair. Pat glances to the Birdwatcher and back to me with a nod.
Jimmy sighs and settles further into his chair. “Thank god for the basement.”
“And even more for the second floor.” Logan raises his glass to the infamous bedrooms on the upper floor of Casa Nostra.
“Not that Tamayo will make use of it.” Jimmy’s grin is wide and teasing, his brows raised.
The district attorney looks us up and down as if we’re thebeginning of a very interesting porn storyline he wishes would unfold more quickly. “Unless Miss Gallo were interested?—”
“I have a bedroom at home, thank you.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
Logan’s grin adapts a lascivious slope. “Not like this.”
I frown, leaning back into Tamayo in discomfort.
She turns an unimpressed gaze onto Logan. “We have dungeons at the Den.”
“The Den?” Jimmy asks.
“My club, Den of Inequity.” She presses a kiss to my shoulder as Jimmy and Logan exchange a loaded look.
“Baby.” I relax further against Tamayo and pout, blocking her view of the lounge. Without looking, I know Pat is picking their way through the lounge toward the Birdwatcher while I do my part. “I need to use the lady’s room.”
Tamayo’s fingers crawl further up my thigh to graze the edge of my ass. “I’ll come with.”
“Can’t be separated for even a second, hm?” Logan taunts. “My assistant informs me that’s called ‘simping.’ Is that right?”
“Fuck if I know.” Jimmy pins Tamayo with a calculating stare. “I have business to discuss with you, but if you need to go…” The implication is heavy in his silence, in the shrug of his shoulders, in the judgment clouding his gaze.
Even if I truly had to use the toilet, I would insist Tamayo stay here. She came here for a reason—multiple reasons, if Pat’s reports about the escalating assaults on Tamayo businesses are true. She needs alliances and deals. She needs to stay.
It just works in my favor this time.
I drag my hand down her arm, to her wrist at the edge of my skirt. “Stay, baby. Order another drink, talk business.” I wrinkle my nose like the idea of it bores me. I’m a princess, after all. This is what they expect of me—beauty, no brains. Violence, no business acumen.
I kiss Tamayo’s cheek, dragging my lips over to her ear. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
Logan cracks an imaginary whip, the sound effect snapping out of his mouth.
Tamayo’s jaw ticks, but her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Take Dar?—”
“He’s busy with what’s-his-face.” I wave my hand toward the hallway where the guard stands outside the stairwell.
She grumbles. “Pat, then.”