Willie Boy dragged a chair over, gestured to Luciano. “Sit.”
As Luciano eased down, he spied Stuart pulling out his phone. Luciano trusted very few, but those he did trust—Stuart being one of them—he trusted completely.
“Dante is interested in doing business with you,” Willie Boy said.
Inwardly, Luciano cringed. His cousin was so fucking stupid. “Are you a clothing designer?”
“No,” Dante replied.
“An apparel distributor?”
Dante fiddled with his large diamond pinky ring. “Also, a no.”
“Are you in the spirits business?”
“Like ghosts?” Dante blurted.
“Whiskey.” Luciano bit back a growl.
“No, I’m not,” Dante said.
“Mr.—?” Luciano asked Dante.
Dante stared at him.
For fuck’s sake.“What’s your last name?”
“It’s Dante, just Dante.”
Luciano glared at his cousin. “Non farmi perdere tempo.”
Willie Boy raked his hands through his hair. “You know I don’t understand Italian.”
“You’re wasting my time, Willie Boy.”
“Mr. Santini,” Dante said, “I need a million counterfeit. When I told your cousin, he thought you could help me.”
Stupido idiota del cazzo. Stupid fucking idiot.
Luciano’s pulse didn’t jump, his blood pressure never wavered, but a growl ripped from his throat. He rested his ankle over his thigh, paused for a few seconds while he eyed the stranger across the table.
Dante parted his dark hair on the side and slicked it back with product. He’d made the bonehead move of wearing Luciano’s competition, but he’d come dressed to do business. The suit cost several thousand. While Luciano wasn’t impressed with Dante’s flashy pavé ring or matching diamond-stud earrings, he’d noted that Dante concealed his eyes behind rose-tinted glasses.
Luciano never trusted anyone who kept their eyes in perpetual shadow.
He regarded his cousin. “Willie Boy, how do you and Dante know each other?”
“Old friends,” Willie Boy replied. “We’ve known each other for—what—a few years now?”
“Yeah,” Dante replied, fiddling with his ring. “Sounds ‘bout right.”
Luciano exhaled a huff. He was getting nowhere with these two. “Have you done business together?”
“Have we done business together?” Willie Boy parroted back.
When Willie Boy repeated back a question, he was stalling. Yes, the two had done business. Maybe this Dante guy ran a money laundering business. Could have been any number of illegal activities. Or he could be undercover FBI, hoping to arrest Luciano for the white-collar crimes they could never pin on him. Whatever the hell it was, Luciano wasn’t taking the bait… and he was done with this bullshit meeting.
“Dante, I run Santini International. I can’t help you.”