“Can I interest anyone in an appetizer?” The unlucky server chose the wrong break in conversation to return.
“I’ll tell you what. Don’t fuckin’ come back here unless you want to be pickin’ your fuckin’ teeth off the carpet,” Anthony snarled.
Mom gasped and cowered under his grip, a reaction so painfully familiar to both of us.
“There’s no need for violence,” I said, doing my best to sound bored despite the fact that Sloane and I had each other in a stranglehold beneath the table.
“Oh, but I think there is. You and your fuck buddy feds have had your fun. It’s time to put it to rest, or I’ll put everyone you care about in the ground. Starting with these two lovely ladies.”
“Fuck. You,” Sloane said, wielding the butter knife at him.
My mother’s lower lip began to tremble, and she looked as if she were trying to melt into the back of her chair.
Anthony smirked. “Little girl’s got a big mouth to go with those tits. Heard about the arson. Thought that woulda taught her to mind her own fucking business.”
I was halfway out of my chair, but Sloane was faster. She leapt to her feet and wielded the useless knife at him, drawing audible gasps from the tables nearby.
“I’m a librarian, asshole,” she said. “Everything is my fucking business. Because of you and your dysfunctional relationship with your son, I almost lost friends. So if you think for one second that I’m going to let you sit there and threaten us, then you’re an even bigger idiot than your son.”
“Thank you for your input, Sloane,” I said, removing the knife from her hand and setting it on the tablecloth. “You’ve been warned by my woman. Now you’ll listen to me. Take your hands off my mother, and get the fuck out of here. If I ever see you anywhere near me or anyone I care about, I’ll drop you where you stand.”
Anthony stood and smoothed a hand over his jacket. “You might have cash and class, but I got something you never will.”
“Questionable fashion sense?” Sloane guessed.
“Killer instinct. I know when someone’s outlived their purpose, and I ain’t never once been afraid to end their journey. You have forty-eight hours to give me everything the feds have on me along with a few million in reparations, or I’m gonna start ending journeys,” he said menacingly.
My mother was crying silently. Sloane was vibrating with rage next to me.
“You have that same forty-eight hours to get your affairs in order, because by the time I’m done with you, there will be no journey left to end. I will dismantle your business, your life, your family, your fucking face. And I’m going to enjoy doing it,” I said.
My mother reached for her water glass with shaking hands. Sloane, however, was looking at me like I’d just rescued a litter of puppies from a flood, shirtless.
“Dunno. From where I sit, you’re the one at this table with the most to lose,” he said with an insipid smirk.
“When you have everything to lose, you’ll do anything to keep it,” I said darkly.
Anthony snorted, then slapped the table like it was a bongo drum. “Forty-eight hours. Can’t fuckin’ wait.” He turned to my mother. “I’ll be seein’ you soon, doll.” Then his gaze centered on Sloane. “But I think I’ll be seein’ you first.”
“Gee, that’ll be tough after I claw your eyes out,” she said with a feral smile.
Anthony pointed his fingers at me like a gun and mimed pulling the trigger.
Sloane lunged, knocking over a water glass and sending several sets of utensils to the floor.
I hauled her back into my side. “Easy, Pix.”
Together we watched Anthony Hugo slither his way out of the restaurant. With the snap of a finger, four men in suits followed him out.
Sloane breathed a sigh of relief. Meanwhile, my mother was slumped in her chair, one hand covering her face. Everyone in the entire restaurant was staring.
“I didn’t know we were getting dinner and a show.” The amused comment came from none other than Maureen Fitzgerald, who looked both angelic and sinful in a glittery cocktail dress the color of champagne.
“Wow. Killer dress,” Sloane said.
“Now is not the time, Maureen,” I told her.
“Oh my God. You’re Maureen Fitzgerald?” Sloane whispered.
“The one and only,” she said, winking at Sloane. “After witnessing Anthony’s little hissy fit, I thought I’d stop by your table and offer my services.”