Yours On The Dotted Line
I’m grateful.
Suddenly, a hand lands at the small of my back.
I turn.
A man, handsome and about my age, smiles at me. Light brown hair, just enough scruff to be interesting, and eyes like liquid ink.
“Mrs. Luciano,” he says smoothly.
“Please, call me Quinn.” I smile. “And you are?”
“Pablo Romano,” he says, leaning in to kiss both my cheeks.
Ah. One of the Don’s men.
“One of the capos,” I murmur with recognition. “Recently promoted, right?”
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