Page 26 of Dangerous Men (Fortune City Mafia #1)

SEBASTIAN

“Earl gray tea,” I tell the girl with faded purple hair behind the counter, my eyes fixed on the café’s board of specials. “With a quarter inch room for cream. And an egg white and cheese croissant sandwich.”

The nametag pinned to her apron this morning tells me her name is Jade—she/her pronouns—but even without the pin, I’m fully aware of who she is.

A sizable portion of my work for our organization is research.

My specialty is knowing exactly how to find out everything there is to know about a person.

Including all the skeletons buried in their backyard.

Metaphorical and literal.

After the digging I did yesterday, I know more than I could ever need to know about Jade.

Born to Korean immigrants, with only one sibling—a brother, currently studying computer sciences on the other side of the country—she’s an open book to me.

After the dossier I compiled on her, I could tell you Jade’s credit score, past sexual history, and what she likely had for breakfast this morning .

(A single strawberry pop tart, straight from the package, if I were a betting man.)

I pay for my drink and wait until she’s turned away, focused on making it for me, before I slip a stack of twenties into the café’s tip jar.

After combing through their store’s financial records and tax returns last night, I’m all too aware of the razor-thin profit margin they’re operating with.

Even with Alec coming here and trying to buy out the bookstore practically every evening.

And while I would love to not be wasting my time in this godforsaken place, it won’t hurt my wallet to be a little generous.

“One earl gray,” Jade announces, turning and setting it on the counter in front of me, “for the big spender.”

Her eyes flick to the tip jar and back to me, an easy smile forming on her face.

Fuck . I clench my jaw tight as I take my drink, not meeting her eyes.

Of course she saw. It shouldn’t surprise me that a barista keeps an eagle eye on her tip jar in a city like this.

The last thing I want today is attention.

No. The second to last thing I want today is attention. The last thing I want is to be spending my time stuck here babysitting some inane woman my brothers are inexplicably obsessed with. Especially with the possibility that Dante is out there, somewhere.

Alive.

“Your sandwich will be ready in just a few minutes,” Jade tells me, and even though I’m not looking, I can tell from her voice she’s still smiling at me. “I’ll have it brought over to you, if you’d like?”

I give a small nod in answer and make my way over to one of the tables set up around the café.

High-quality furniture at least, albeit a little small for someone of my height.

I make myself as comfortable as I can—which isn’t very—before setting my laptop up and booting up my proxy software, settling in for another long workday in the most uncomfortable environment possible.

Don’t get me wrong, this place is cozy. Cute .

But I prefer my desk, chair, and multiple monitor set-up in my office with the air conditioning on high and the smiles on zero.

I work best without distractions. And this place is full of distractions.

Speaking of… I’ve barely finished setting up when my phone flashes with a message.

Sterling: I want updates. Anything that happens to her.

I roll my eyes and go to swipe the notification away. The screen flashes again almost immediately.

Ashton: How’s our girl today?

Our girl. Fucking idiots, both of them. I had hoped that after the charity banquet, they would have moved on to their next shiny new toy, but no.

Apparently, this one is here to stay—at least for the next few days.

I swipe Ashton’s message away and flip my phone over for good measure, happy to leave them both waiting.

No distractions.

Maybe once they actually fuck her, they can get over this new obsession of theirs.

Sure, my brothers can get a little fixated from time to time—It’s what makes Alec a successful businessman, and what makes Ashton a great fighter—but fixating on a woman like this? That’s new. And irritating as all hell.

I’m half tempted to just leave. The only reason I’m even here is because Alec is out of town and wants eyes on his new pet , and Ashton is stuck in meetings covering for him all day. Otherwise, they’d both be here, sitting together at this cramped little table.

And I’d be home where I belong.

I shift a little in my seat, uncomfortable with the lie. Okay, so maybe I would be here even if Alec hadn’t insisted. I’m a little curious about her, myself. Curious about why she, out of all their playthings, has them acting like this.

She’s no one special, as far as I can tell.

My fingers go still on my laptop keys as I catch sight of someone approaching my table, plate in hand. Even in my peripheral vision, I can tell it’s not the colorful barista with the subpar credit score and junk food addiction.

It’s her. The girl.

“Be careful, it’s still hot,” she tells me with a polite smile, setting the plate down next to my laptop. She’s dressed in a blue sundress today, and she fills it out well. Well enough that I’m reminded of what she looked like wearing nothing at all.

I manage a curt nod that could be interpreted as a thank you without looking up from my work, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me alone. She doesn’t. She hesitates, instead, twisting her fingers together and hovering next to my table.

“I never thanked you,” she says. She pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear, nervously. “For helping me at the party, I mean, when I twisted my ankle. So…thanks.”

I keep my eyes on my screen. “It was no problem,” I tell her. “Any physician would have done the same.”

“It’s funny seeing you here alone,” she adds conversationally. “Without Ash and Alec, I mean.”

I say nothing. On my laptop, I flip through the dossiers of potential suspects I’ve managed to curate over the last twenty-four hours. A who’s-who list of organized crime fuck ups who might be stupid or vengeful enough to come after us, all while pretending to be the big man himself. Dante .

I still don’t want to believe he’s back.

Occam’s razor dictates that the simplest explanation is usually the truth, but I can’t seem to logic out which would be the simplest explanation here.

That Dante is alive, somehow, and managed to stay under our radar for this long, biding his time?

Or that someone with an axe to grind and at least some knowledge of his organization is trying to fuck with us?

“Nice, I mean,” she corrects, fidgeting. “It’s nice seeing you here.”

The desperation to be seen as likable and pleasant coming off this girl is so thick it’s almost nauseating. She wants me to like her. She wants to impress me.

It’s enough to make me want to vomit.

I flick through the dossiers, ignoring her.

Steven Aster, a mid-level thug we’d worked with under Dante for years, would be a likely candidate…

if he weren’t currently in jail for an ill-conceived Ponzi scheme that is almost embarrassingly childish in its planning.

Who thinks they can get rich selling vitamins , of all things?

I move him from the maybe column to the unlikely column.

As the seconds tick by, I can feel her staring at me, and I can tell she’s waiting for me to engage in this unnecessary conversation. Fine.

“Sterling and Ashton would be here if they could,” I assure her.

I flick through more profiles. Marcellus Koll, deceased as of last year, also goes in the unlikely pile.

“Sterling is already in Empire City, and Ashton is picking up his slack at our main office. But since I can do my work from anywhere?” I wave my hand, indicating that her little shop falls under the broad category of anywhere . “I’m making do.”

To my surprise, she laughs.

“You can work from anywhere, huh? I don’t know, Doc , I’m not sure that’s how medicine works. ”

Her tone is teasing enough to make me glance over at her. Her smile is more genuine now. Warmer.

“I have a medical degree, but I don’t have my own practice,” I clarify. “I used to be Ashton’s personal physician, back when he was still making a living fighting.”

I know I’ve said something wrong when she reels back in surprise, blinking those doe eyes at me. “Ash used to fight? Like… professionally?”

Fuck, she doesn’t know anything about them at all, does she?

“Mixed martial arts.” This conversation has already gone on longer than I would have liked, and I have more important things to occupy my attention.

Luther Almay, incarcerated for murder and currently on death row in a different state, also joins the others in the unlikely pile.

“He still does it, occasionally, but it’s…

rare now. Now that he’s retired, I make myself useful in other ways.

I’m Sterling’s accountant. I run the books for all his businesses. ”

It’s only partially true. I run the books, sure, but I also run security for our compound. I keep us safe—all four of us.

“They just think it’s funny to call me Doc,” I add. There’s a hint of bitterness in my tone, but she doesn't notice.

“You’re a doctor turned accountant, then. That’s… unusual.” She leans her hip against the table and watches me closely, like this conversation is oh-so interesting to her. “Do you like it? Doing their accounting?”

Annika. My heart stutters when I reach her dossier, and I hesitate with where to sort her. I’ve never known where to sort her. I flip to a different dossier instead—deciding to leave her for last—and distracted, I nod.

“Ashton loves the limelight,” I say. There are fewer than ten profiles left, and I’m quickly running out of suspects. “ And Sterling was born to boss everyone around. Viper and I, we prefer working in the shadows. It suits us.”

“Who’s Viper?” she asks, curious.

Fuck .