Page 74 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation

“So we’re back to square one,” I say.

“Maybe.” He falls silent a moment. “I listen, but I know talk’s angled to get back to you, to see what they can learn. And for the most part, it’s just talk.”

I get it, I do. It’s pulling out the threads that mean something.

“I guess I’ll keep speculating and looking.”

“Quietly. Sir.”

I smile at that. He’s protective of Lucie, and he listens to Cal, but he knows the family’s a unit. The soft, respectful sarcasm in his “sir” is worth more than actual groveling.

“Always.” Then my shoulders fall as I sigh deeply. “Go home and I’ll call if I need you. I’m going into the bar. It’s the perfect time before the late-night crowds hit.”

“Here?”

I laugh. “It’s fucking New York. There are crowds everywhere.”

“Sir.”

I get out of the car and walk down the street to the bar. I’m positive Mikey will ignore me, and maybe that’s why I can feel eyes on me. Yet I don’t think so. It’s not Mikey. There’s too much tension, too much awareness in the air. But if I’m being followed, looking back won’t help. I might see them, but I might not. What it’ll do is announce that I’m weak.

Besides, I don’t fucking care if someone wants to follow me into a bar.

It’s dark and dank inside, the music classic rock. The bar’s fairly empty, and the bartender is collecting empty glasses and wiping down tables, so I look around, spot my target, and sit down in front of him.

“Brad.”

The man frowns, the tattoos on his face moving like it’s a mask that’s sinking down into his features. “Who wants to know?”

“A man with a gun pointed at your nuts.”

He looks under the table. “Fuck!”

“Dude. That’s not subtle. Have you been selling things to a very pretty black-haired lass?”

He actually looks upward as he mouths numbers, then he meets my gaze. “That answer will cost.”

Gobshite.

I nod. “Yep, it’ll cost you your nuts.”

“I sell to lots of people.”

He’s hedging. He’s not going to tell me, and I don’t think I have time to drag Ava information, if he even has it, out of him.

I’d love to say he knows who I mean, but I know fuck all about his clients. And the way he sits here, he’s either a middleman or has some convoluted system where he plays this role, sends it to a salesman, and then comes in to close the big deals.

And his expertise might be the explosives arena, but I wouldn’t be shocked to find he dabbles in other shit.

Fuck, dabbling in things like guns or stolen goods or even drugs could have sent him to Rikers, too.

“But you knew Paddy?” I ask. “Also known as Piotyr?”

His head jerks, and I smile. Now we’re getting somewhere. I’ll be taking that as a yes he’s dealt with my lying bride.

“I know you deal with all kinds of highly illegal things.”

He taps his finger to his head. “I sell know-how. Some occasional parts, you know.”