Page 67 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

“Somebody sent a boy to do a man’s job. Just drop me at the Milaga. I’m late for a meeting.”

“We need to round anybody up?”

“Nah.” I blot the blood. It’s a lot, but I’m more worried about my head. “The boys are sorry, and the man’s straight up in my sights. Works for me.”

West likes this. I can tell it even in his driving. He’s showing off a little, speeding down the Bruckner Expressway, crossing lanes like it’s Formula One.

The bleeding stops. I’m coming back.

“Heard something fucked up today,” he says. “Probably a rumor but...”

“What?”

“Some motherfucker messed with your dad’s gravesite. I sent somebody to check it out. I was gonna verify the damage first, but here you are.”

“Mmm.” I fix my cuff links. This shirt is ruined. “Lemme know when you know.”

“Will do.” His demeanor tells me that he’s heard the rumor about me not being a true Zogaj, and I can also see that it’s the furthest thing from his mind that it might be true.

“I know you weren’t the biggest fan of the old man...” he says.

“No, I wasn’t. But you don’t fuck with a man’s gravesite.”

“Fuck, no,” he agrees quickly. “Bad move.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

EDIE

The Milaga is an ornate historic hotel in the South Bronx, much nicer looking than the Belmoreland Arms, where this whole thing began.

A doorman in a red suit and cap comes out from under a red awning and opens the door of my cab for me.

“Thanks,” I say, stepping out.

Orton is suddenly there. Where did he come from? “Luka’s delayed. Come on.”

“Hello to you, too.” I follow Orton into a bright, elegant lobby. There are flowers everywhere and fashionable people I’d like to spend more time looking at. We pass a large roped-off area laden with gifts and a marvelous fountain on the way to the ornate elevator.

The elevator doors clank closed and it begins to move. The inside of the elevator feels like a metaphor for my situation—enclosed by gold filigree walls, rising upward, but there’s definitely a chance I could start plummeting down.

The elevator ride takes forever, and I feel like Orton’s looking at me weirdly. Like he can see my nervousness.

Well, I am nervous. And the silence feels awkward. “So... are all those gifts down there for me?” I joke.

“Saudi wedding, probably. Saudis love this hotel.”

“So none of them are for me?”

Orton frowns at me. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

“Just joking around.”

“Don’t.”

We ride the rest of the way without a word.

Luka’s suite is on the eighth floor—the top floor.