Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"It's fine. I'm fine, great even." But my shoulders tensed beneath the heavy tote. "Dom, did you see the blonde woman who was just in here? With the hat?"

He nodded. "I haven't spoken to her. She only does mobile orders, maybe worried about her English. But she's one of the cousins, I'm told. Nuts, huh?"

"Yeah..." My eyes wandered out the window again, scanning the street where I had last seen her.

"You sure you're okay, Kirby?" Before I could answer, he turned around and was pouring out a cup of espresso for me. "Three sugars, yeah?"

"Could I get a macchiato to go as well?"

Dom glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile and slid the espresso my way. "A macchiato, huh?"

Off to my side, the bells above the door chimed. "It's for a friend."

"And how is our Special Agent?" the voice next to me crawled down my back. "Reveling in her big arrest, I assume."

"She is," I replied, taking a sip of espresso without looking up at Pino. Chairs scuffled against the floor and two of the tables cleared out. Behind the counter, Dom kept his back turned as he steamed the milk, creating just enough noise to muffle conversation. "Did you dump her husband's body before calling in the tip?"

Pino rubbed at his silver beard, hiding a grin. "Everyone got what they wanted, Kirby. Grazzi a tia."

"Thanks to me?"

"Your mother—her family is from Northern Ireland, right? And your father's one of the Cernuto boys?"

I reeled back at the mention of my unknown, deadbeat dad. "Your guess is as good as mine."

He slid a leather bound booklet in front of me. "I had the yacht in Favignana transferred to your name. Your new one, at least." As Dom turned back around with the macchiato, Pino greeted him with a bright smile. "Salutamu."

"Hey Joe, the usual?"

"Just two sfogliatelle, please. For Sabina. She flies home tonight."

I couldn't hold back as I took another sip of my coffee. "Did you tell her that her son is in the hospital after almost being turned into a not-so-living painting of her dead daughter's art?"

"Why make her worry for nothing?" Pino mused. "Rafaello is fine. Sometimes it's best to keep the little wife out of it. I know you know this too." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him peeking into my tote. As I shrugged my shoulder away, he chuckled. "Cu nasci tunnu nun po moriri quatratu." He slid a crisp hundred dollar bill over the glass bar. "Grazzi, Dom." Leaning far too close into me, he grabbed his bag from the counter and whispered, "Luca will be waiting for you in Catania. Ni videmu."

I waited until he left before looking at the booklet. I already knew what it was, but I flipped the first page open and sighed into my last sip of espresso. "He could've at least let me pick my own photo," I mumbled, looking over the passport. "Dom, was he calling me boring? I heard something about dying a square?"

Dom shook his head as he handed me my bag of pastries. "It's an old saying. Someone born a circle cannot die a square."

"Once a thief, always a thief," I murmured, lowering the heavy tote to my elbow. Carefully, I tucked the passport inside and placed the pastries on top of the bronzes, adjusting it back on my shoulder to grab Desirae's macchiato.

"For what it's worth, I don't believe it to be true."

I nodded. "Thanks, Dom."

"Stay outta trouble, Kirby."