Crow (Boston Underworld, #1)

by A. Zavarelli

Proof. That’s what it always comes down to. They aren’t going to leave proof. They’re the fucking mob. What do these people expect, a giant neon sign that says we do underhand business dealings here?

Agent Cameron is wrong. And there, on the creaky vinyl with a cabbie who smells like salami, I find a smile in the bleakness.

“Family, loyalty, honor, and blood. ‘Tis the only thing that’s true.”

I do not fancy myself a good man. Like any Catholic, the guilt of my sins often weighs heavy on my conscience.

If I thought he had heartstrings to pull, I was dead wrong.

The waiter brings our food, and we eat in silence. It’s all so very… date-like. If I were on a date with a serial killer who was sizing me up like his prey, but whatever.

My body responds to him, but even worse, so does my mind.

I’ll protect ye and, on occasion, boast because ye’re mine. That’s just the way it goes.” I bite back the wave of emotion his words bring on. It’s something I’ve always wanted, though I’m too proud to admit it.

I open my eyes, and that’s when I see him. My angel on the threshold with an assault rifle in his hands.

I don’t know what Mandy’s talking about, but I know one thing for certain. The porch light is on, but nobody’s home.