She looks up and blinks, almost like she’s lost track of time. Then she bends her head back down over her paperwork.
Elijah pulls out a chair, plopping down. My brother and I take after our father in preferring slacks and button-downs.Three years ago, when we first met Ren, she didn’t know where to buy one.
“It’s good to see you again,” Elijah charms. I slide into a seat, wary. If I had it my way he wouldn’t be here, but that’s because his charade as a nosy motherfucker is my least favorite.
She grabs the cigarette and runs a hand through her styled hair. “Shut the fuck up and state your business.”
“We want a meeting with the Ghost,” I say without preamble. I like her no-nonsense straight-to-the-point attitude. There’s never any need for idle chatter.
Her brows lift slightly, but she otherwise keeps her thoughts to herself. “Yeah, all right.”
Elijah and I glance at one another and then back at her.
She shrugs, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I can ask but no guarantees he comes to the table.”
“People say he’s so far off the grid it might be hard to find him.”
“Well, his number sure as shit isn’t in the phonebook, but I’ll figure it out,” she replies.
Elijah leans back in his chair, spreading out. “Any gossip on him?”
Ren places her elbows on the table, the cigarette dangling from her lips again. “Yeah, I heard he’s a fan of theReal Housewivesand prefers Christmas over Thanksgiving.”
“90 percent of his hits are legitimate,” I say. It’s why no one cared when he first appeared in town—he was here on business. It was Uncle Dima who first realized something else might be going on. “You ever hire him?”
I don’t think she’ll answer, but she shrugs, her favorite form of expression. “No, he works direct. Started with the O’Connell’s until the Akatov’s ran them off.”
“That happened three years ago,” Elijah says. “He been laying low all this time?”
“In this city, yeah, but other’s. . . no.”
“Anything else you want to share?” I ask.
“I’ll ask him for a meeting,” she replies, all business. “But I can already tell you he’ll probably decline.”
“You made the offer before?”
Her smile is sarcastic. Mocking. Like she knows something I don’t. It’s all part of the new persona she took on. The person she became after Roma fucked her over.
“Gloria came in five days ago wanting to set up a meeting.”
“Marissa’s second?” I sit up straighter.
“What Uncle Dima hasn’t put it together, yet?” She mockingly pouts and it pisses me off how she knows so much about our family. “Marissa is number one on his shit list.”
And this is why we come to Ren. Fujimori’s is a revolving door of gossip, but she hardly gives it out. Normally, what’s spoken at the table, stays at the table. She’s not loyal to the Ghost, but there’s no annoyance, which makes me believe she likes the kid so far.
Marissa on the other hand, not so much. Our mutual hatred of the woman is the only reason she’s sharing the tidbit.
“Why?” I ask.
She stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray. Aunt Macy and Ren are the only people who’ve ever been allowed to smoke in here. If I tried to light up, the woman behind the hostess stand would tug me by the ear and throw my ass out onto the street.
“You’re going to give yourself cancer,” Elijah notes when she lights a new one.
“The cancer’s already here,” she says without looking at him. “Figure it out on your own. In the meantime I’ll ask. If he agrees, it’ll be my normal scheduling fee. If I don’t call let’s just assume he said no.”
My chair scuffs back against the black and white vinyl flooring. I’m not upset about the dismissal. I would, after all, rather be at home fucking my wife.
