The question startles me, sinking deep into my gut as I stare at him, wondering why he would ask me that.
Helping people is engrained in me—a passion I love and miss terribly. When I first arrived in Ridgewood, I considered finding a space to start another clinic, but ultimately dismissed the idea. As much as not helping people hurts, I decided to leave that part of me in New York.
Aside from my name,everythingabout me will stay in New York.
La famigilia.
My passion for helping people.
My knowledge of medicine.
The love of my life.
I want nothing to do with any of the things I once cherished and held near and dear to my heart. They bring too much pain.
Everythingreminds me of Vincenza.
And I need to do whatever it takes to push the reminder away.
Still, the honest answer floats to the tip of my tongue, and I turn to Nixon. “Sì. Helping people is what I do best.”
A grin overtakes his face from where he sits in the chair, still receiving his tattoo. His energy is contagious, and I find myself smiling back at him.
Outstretching his arm, he hands me his cell phone. “Good. Put your number in. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
Chapter 2
Sly
Aweek passes before I hear from Nixon, and when I finally do, the text message simply holds an address and a time.
I’m more than aware that this could be some sort of setup, although I cannot imagine why hewouldset me up. Still, the thought crosses my mind, and as I pull up into the parking lot of a bar called Andromeda, I glance at my surroundings with slight trepidation.
The rumble of another motorcycle nears as I cut mine off, popping the kickstand down. As I climb off, another biker pulls up next to me, lowering his feet to the ground before his motorcycle comes to a stop.
Nixon smiles at me as he pulls off his helmet and hops off his bike. “You made it.”
“Sì.” My tone is cheerful, albeit forced.
The lot is full of cars and other motorcycles, but it is not yet dark. Evening sunlight in shades of oranges andpinks sparkles off the windshields as the clouds slowly hug tighter together.
Dropping his helmet onto the seat of his bike, Nixon nods toward the doors. “Since you’ve been in town a couple weeks now, you heard of Sinner's Warlord yet?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I reply, shaking my head.
We start to walk, and he fills me in. “The Sinners are the local MC. We like to think of ourselves as Ridgewood’s very own vigilante group. Strict set of rules, but above all, we protect our women and children.” He pulls the door open, and I walk through it. Once he’s beside me again, he continues. “You don’t have to join if it’s not your thing, but you strike me as the type of man who likes to do good in his community.”
Looking around the bar, I find many people enjoying an afternoon drink, settling around tables as they laugh and enjoy the company of others. My eyes fall back on the man next to me, and I realized we’ve stopped walking. “Sì, I do.”
“We’ve got a spot to call our own upstairs, but the bar’s about to be under new ownership. Hopefully, the new fella holds up their end of the contract and lets us stay.”
“If there is a contract in place, they will have no choice, amico.”
“True, I guess. Anyway, I want you to meet the prez. He’s new to the Sinners, but a real good dude. I alreadyvouched for you, so all you need to do is meet him and decide if you want to join us.”
My brows come together in confusion at his words. “Why would you vouch for me when we’ve met once?”
Nixon shrugs one shoulder. “I usually can get a pretty good read on people. You told me helping people is what you do best. Shitbags don’t typically like to help their community.”
