Page 119 of Snaring Emberly
Roman turns to me, his features tightening, his eyes conflicted. I don’t think he wanted me to know that Jim’s people were still trying to get me, but I’m glad Gil blurted out the truth. “Those corrupt cops don’t give a shit if innocent people get murdered along with their targets.”
“They want you to hand me over?” I ask.
He nods.
A shudder runs down my spine. “Wait. I thought the cars were bulletproof?”
“They are,” Gil mutters. “But the moment Sal opened the door, the bastards had a clear shot. He didn’t have a chance.”
All the euphoria of the night drains away, leaving me cold with dread. What if Jim’s people are watching us this very moment with weapons trained at our heads?
The food in my stomach turns to lead at the very prospect, and I inch away from the window. I take a seat, not trusting my legs not to buckle.
The restaurant manager steps in with a clipboard that I can only assume contains the check. “Mr. Montesano?—”
Roman holds up a finger, making the man’s mouth click shut. He turns to me and asks, “Is that the man who gave you shit when you applied for a job?”
“Yes?” I rasp, wondering why Roman is asking about this when he should be more concerned about Jim and his lackeys murdering Sal.
“Do you remember this woman?” Roman asks the restaurant manager.
“Sir?” The other man frowns.
“She applied for a job at this restaurant, and you turned her away.”
The manager’s jaw drops, and his eyes widen. He stands frozen, his gaze darting between Roman and me.
Any other time, I would rise off my seat and chastise the man for being such a snob, but I’m still shaken by the news that Jim has escalated his attacks.
The manager clears his throat. “I see many applicants, sir. I cannot remember every single detail.”
I roll my eyes. My interview was last week and just hours before my run-in with Lafayette.
Roman’s nostrils flare. “You mean to tell me that my date was forgettable?”
He flinches. “Of course not. The young lady was inappropriately dressed and didn’t have the required qualifications or experience.”
My eyes narrow at the blatant lie. “Since when do you need a degree and a business suit to clean floors?”
Roman grabs the man’s throat and slams him against the wall. “Big mistake,” he growls. “You were too busy looking down your nose at her to recognize her talent. Now, I’m insulted.”
He gasps. “Sir, I-I didn’t realize?—”
“Apologize to the lady.”
The manager turns to me, his complexion matching the pristine white tablecloths. He places a hand on his chest and clears his throat. “I apologize profusely for any insult or discomfort you may have experienced.”
My lips tighten at his passive-aggressiveness. What he said was another variation of I’m sorry you feel that way. He’s only sorry that Roman took offense at his shitty behavior, but whatever. I don’t give a damn.
Roman grabs him by the lapels. “You call that an apology? Get on your fucking knees and grovel.”
The manager’s features tighten. It looks like he wants to tell Roman to get lost, but he’s smart enough to know it will result in disaster.
He turns to me, his eyes hard with resentment, and sinks to his knees. As he sucks in a deep breath to gather himself, Roman slams a hand between his shoulder blades.
“This is your last chance to crawl to the lady and grovel,” he snarls.
My heart pounds, and I sit straighter in my seat. This is insane. It was only one snide incident among many, but Roman insists I should be afforded the same level of respect as a mafia don.