“He put a knife to your neck,” Zane dryly states, sardonic tendencies coming with his comment. He doesn’t look at me to shoot me a look of sarcasm. Instead, he draws our car closer to the SUV and parks.
“True, but I’ve had worse than a nasty nick to the neck,” I muse lightly, and I see Zane remembers what Big Al did to me. A small superficial wound to my neck is the least of my worries. “Now, let’s go so we can get these damn things and head home. I need to look good for the party tonight.”
“What’s it for again?” Zane asks as he turns the engine off and prepares to get out of the car.
“Who said there was reason?” I ask as we start to get out. “You need to be ready for impromptu parties like this. They’re basically pissing contests.”
“Sounds like fun,” Zane remarks, his tone anything but excited for the evening’s events.
It’s time Zane got a taste of how Italians party. The last dinner party ended with a man poisoned and another with his jugular severed. The last party I attended ended with the news Zane had been shot. Zane’s less than animated response is very much a reflection of my own. I intend to get merry and stick in a corner.
We both walk together as we approach the building and the moment we enter, I notice two guys in the middle of a heated conversation over something.
“Roscoe?” I call out to the unknown man and his henchman. It was the only name I was given, and I wasn’t aware we’d be meeting little and large. My calling of the name has them turning around to look at me.
“You’re late!” the smallest of the pair says. He looks positively livid with us so I smile sweetly while Zane carries himself like a poised and polite gentleman. “Bobby V said you’d be here by four, it’s almost five.”
“Traffic in downtown Manhattan is a bitch,” Zane states, deliberately sounding sarcastic. “But we were told it was a clean pickup. You hand us over the cigars and we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Nah,” Roscoe says and already he’s irritating me. “It don’t work like that. We were told four, you’re an hour late. We’re only here still because Bobby V said he’s forever in Salvatore’s debt.”
“Well, in that case, give us what we’re here for and we’ll leave,” I reply, unable to keep every ounce of annoyance out of my voice. “Or I could make one phone call to my father and have this sorted another way.”
Apparently, the acknowledgement of who I am has the midget piqued with intrigue. I have his interest, but it doesn’t take me long to realize it’s not for a good reason. The look that twists upon his face is of sudden merciless greed. He sees in me what everyone does – an opportunity.
“Oh, he sent his little princess to do his dirty work. Well, in that case, I think you should both come with us because I was told the great Salvatore would be here for me to meet. If he’s not coming, I want something that will force him to step up to his business deals.”
For fuck’s sake! Seriously, what is it with botched dealings lately? I don’t know about the midget being pissed off, but if he thinks for one second I’m about to let him change the plan and take advantage, he’s got another thing coming. From the way his eyes roam over my body, I already feel an itch to bite.
“Look, I can tell you now that there is no way you’re getting lucky like that,” I state and edge forward. “My father, whom I’m more than sure you’re aware of, won’t tolerate you fucking us around. So we were late, it’s called traffic, maybe Bobby V should have picked a more convenient time and shouldn’t send such narcissistic, petulant children to do his business deals.”
“Are you disrespecting me?” Roscoe asks, taking a few heavy steps toward me, his fists beginning to clench.
“Just as much as you are me,” I say, pointing to Lurch. “You know, it’s not very polite to eye fuck a lady.”
“A lady would never have such a dirty mouth on her,” Roscoe comments, his henchman still not looking away from me.
I can feel the sanctimonious smirk twitching at the corners of my mouth, tugging hard. “I prefer to play dirty. It’s the Abbiati in me.” I offer a shrug and shift a little on my feet, getting a reminding jab of the revolver stored in the back of my pencil skirt. I don’t want to use it because that would just aid provocation, but in the same sense, I am not about to be threatened with abduction. “Look,” I begin to say with exasperation, “I can make one call and have you two swimming with the fishes or you can do as we were told. It’s entirely up to you.”