“You know who her brother is. You’ve known him for years.” Carlo glared at her. “And I think you should answer her question, Lola.”
For the flash of one second, Brianna saw the fear when Lola’s amazing light eyes widened, and she studied the four of them. In particular, she looked from Nova to Carina as if it all clicked into place. Then just as fast, a shield of icy confidence seemed to fall over her.
“You should leave.” Lola stared at Carlo as she said it. “I told you before, I’m not interested.”
“Vafanculu!” Carlo shouted at her. “I’m not leaving!”
“No, vai a fanculo tu!” Lola shouted without backing down as she pointed at the door. “Uscite! O vi farò buttare fuori!”
Brianna didn’t know what Lola said, but something about it made Carlo turn and pull a gun on the doorman so quickly she gasped.
“Drop it, motherfucker,” Carlo growled. “I’m a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kinda guy.”
Brianna didn’t see it, but she heard the distinct clank of metal landing on marble.
The doorman raised his hands slowly. “Her father’s coming,” he said, as if Carlo holding a gun on him was a minor annoyance. “Best to clear off.”
“Who’s her father?” Carlo shrugged. “You think I can’t take him?”
“Maybe you can.” The doorman still seemed unfazed. “But can you take the twenty men he has with him?”
“We’ve got friends too.” Nova looked as ice-cold as the doorman, which had to be an act, because he was a nervous wreck the entire ride there. “So I guess it depends on who her father is.”
“Carmine Brambino.” The doorman said it like he expected them to quake in their boots.
The Brambinos were one of the original New York mafia families with a hundred years of violent history to back them up. Any normal person would be taken aback by that, because Carmine Brambino had been one of the more visible dons lately, especially since he’d been brought up on racketeering charges in a very public trial that got him off with time served last year.
But it must have occurred to all of them that the doorman didn’t know they were with the Moretti Borgata.
“If you want it, you have to pay for it,” Lola said in that same icy voice. “I told you before, talk to my father, but it’ll cost you more than a pretty face and a cup of coffee. Not that you’d know where to find a good cup of coffee.”
“You cunt.” Carlo’s voice was shaking in fury. “If you think—”
“We’re leaving,” Nova cut him off; his gaze was on Lola as he said, “If it’s more than a cup of coffee—”
“Yes, it’s a lot more.” Lola took a shuddering breath, her eyes widening in a strange sort of relief, but her tone didn’t change. “So take your guns and go home before you get hurt.”
“Fine.” Nova put his gun into the back of his jeans.
“What the hell?” Carlo asked in disbelief. “Fuck, no! You think I’m scared of—”
“Let’s go.” Nova gave Carlo a wide-eyed look, as if trying to silently communicate something.
It said a lot for the trust they had for each other that Carlo cast another furious glare at Lola but put his gun away. “She’s not fucking worth it anyway.”
“Oh, I’m worth it,” Lola said without hesitating. “But secondhand bastardi don’t get to fuck on the Upper East Side.”
Carlo actually jumped at her. Lola leaped away just as fast, as if he wasn’t the first man to do it. Nova caught Carlo’s shoulder and jerked him back so forcefully Carlo nearly landed on his ass.
“Let’s go!” Nova growled, this time squeezing his shoulder tightly. “Now!”
“Fine!” Carlo pushed past Nova and walked to the door before he stopped and turned back to Lola. “I fuck on the Upper East Side all the time, sweetheart, and I don’t have to pay a troia to do it!”
Lola took one sharp, hard gasp as if Carlo stabbed her, but she didn’t respond. She just turned on her heel and went back to the elevator like the confrontation never happened.
* * * *
Once they got outside, Nova said to Carlo, “Give me your keys.”
