She didn’t mind.
Now, she could watch him cook.
21.
Alessio
“Why are you in New York?”
“Pretty sure,” he replied to Dare, “that I didn’t have the chip put in for you to track me just because.”
“No, it was for emergencies only, but—”
“This is not an emergency.”
“You didn’t pick up my last three calls, or reply to Cree’s texts,” Dare said quietly, “and yes, to me, that is warrant enough to check up on your tracker.”
All League members had them—or most. It was an option they were given simply because it was one thing to be forced into having a tracker put into your body, and it was another to willingly accept it. That was just about one of the only choices The League allowed the assassins to make for themselves.
Alessio understood the need for it. In their business, they made a lot of fucking enemies. A client one week could be a problem the next when a new client came in to take out the previous, or attempt it. Their business was dirty, no doubt about it.
Sometimes, in an attempt to get back at The League, the first thing someone tried to do was go after the members. The trackers at least gave Dare and Cree a chance to retrieve their man or woman, and hopefully, still alive, if they moved fast enough or got the team out. It didn’t happen often, but even once was too much.
Corrado opted for a tracker, too.
“I’m not on a job, right?” Alessio asked into the phone.
Dare sighed. “No.”
“Then, I can be wherever I need to be.”
“Answer my calls, and I won’t check in.”
Something akin to guilt stabbed Alessio in his chest. He should have picked up those calls, or at the very least, answer one of Cree’s many texts over the last week or so. It was entirely unusual for him to ignore both of them, never mind the fact he hadn’t been into The League’s complex since Corrado headed out two weeks ago for that ... fucking favor.
“What’s going on?” Dare asked.
“Nothing.”
Lies.
Alessio wasn’t a liar.
He wasn’t.
He would be right now, though, for Corrado. Because if this favor for Andino Marcello was something that might get him in trouble with The League—not that Alessio knew that was the case for sure—then he wasn’t going to be the one who delivered the news.
“Then why are you in New York?”
Alessio gave the café he passed a quick glance, trying to figure out a way to end this conversation so he could get on with his plans, and the day. “I have something to handle.”
“Corrado?”
“Corrado is in Toronto, which you know.”
“That doesn’t change the fact—”
“Everything is fine.”
“Alessio,” Dare murmured, “I am not asking about things for The League right now. I know you think that’s all I care about most of the time, but you have been my priority from the time you were ten.”
His walk slowed until he came to a stop altogether. People blew by him on the sidewalk, but Alessio simply stared up at the cloudy July sky. In Nevada, the heat would be dry, which he liked. Here, it was fucking humid.
Which he hated.
And still, here he was looking for answers because he couldn’t not seek them out. When it came to Corrado, Alessio didn’t know how to leave things alone, but especially not when something just felt off.
This favor?
Andino Marcello?
Yeah.
It all felt off to Alessio. Like something was going on, or whatever was happening might bring Corrado a world of trouble, and Alessio wouldn’t even be able to help him because he didn’t know what it was. For two weeks, he’d practically crawled out of his skin with the feeling that something was up here, and it was going to end badly.
So, here he was.
In New York.
Alessio was going to get those fucking answers one way or the other. He knew where to go, and how to go about doing it, too. If Corrado couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell him, then he would go to another source to get the details.
Simple as that.
Because God.
What in the fuck would Alessio do without Corrado? That, more than anything else, was what had been keeping him awake these past two weeks. He didn’t like not knowing things, but especially when it meant something could be wrong.
Add Corrado into that mix?
People were begging to feel pain.
Alessio didn’t fuck around.
“Les—”
“I just have business to handle,” he said, stopping Dare before the man could ask more. “That’s it, and that’s all.”
“Business dealing with him, no?”
“Even if it is, that’s for me to take care of.”
Dare sighed. “I wish you would learn the difference between something healthy and something that ... turns you into someone you don’t recognize when you look into the mirror at the reflection staring back, Alessio.”
Funny.
“I don’t even remember who I was before him.”
“I can tell.”
Alessio smirked, though Dare couldn’t see it. “And I’m fine with that.”
• • •
If it were possible for the ground to combust simply from Alessio glaring at it, then the pavement would be ashes under his feet currently. No doubt, it was his mood and current surly expression that allowed him a wide berth of space on the New York sidewalk as he headed down the busy block. People avoided him, parting the crowd for him to walk straight through.
He wasn’t going to complain.
This city was not Vegas. Of that, he was most sure. Even in the bright light of day, New York still had a dreary, dark quality to it. Now, that would typically be Alessio’s style. He liked all things moody and black—it reflected himself, after all.
Not when he was in this mood, though.
Alessio came to a stop in front of a Brooklyn restaurant. The gold lettering on the windows spelling out the name, and the satin curtains pulled back to expose the lavish décor let him know he was not dressed appropriately for the place in his black jeans, combat boots, and leather jacket.
He tipped his head to the side, considering.
Fuck it.
When had he ever cared about that?
Never.
That’s when.
Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he tossed it to the sidewalk, and headed for the entrance of the fancy restaurant. Taking the steps three at a time, Alessio yanked open the door, and stepped into the smells of rich sauces, and lingering spices. Something that, on another day, he might have stopped to appreciate.
Not today.
Today, he had other things to do.
The girl dressed in a tight, black dress behind the podium looked up and met his gaze when the bell above the door chimed at his entrance. With a tablet at the ready in her hands, she opened her mouth to greet him.
As she should.
It was her job.
Alessio simply passed her by before she could even ask her question. Her shout of hey at his back fell on deaf ears because he didn’t give a shit. His task was simply to find the man who owned this place, and have a chat. All it took were a couple of carefully placed calls to the right people—everyone in this life had contacts to use, him included—and Alessio knew exactly where he had to go to find Andino Marcello.