Flirting with Death

Dante

A couple days after El’s first ob-gyn appointment, I pull up in front of the same stupid diner Henry keeps insisting we meet at. He called me in the dead of the goddamn night, like I’m not busy, and insisted we meet. Finally, I was able to talk him around to doing this at the crack of fucking dawn, so at least I didn’t have to leave my pregnant fiancée before she woke up. I can see him sitting at the same table as always, but I pull out my phone. Let him sweat.

A few notifications, nothing particularly exciting. I open the one from Tony and skim it, then smile. Third Russian hangout down, more bodies floating in the Hudson. I’ve been letting him mostly run that while I focus on getting regular operations up to snuff, and he’s been crushing it. The other day, I even saw Wing smile. He’s turning out to be much better at handling our “allies” than I thought he would be.

With a sigh, I pocket my phone and slide out of the car. We might be locked in mutually-assured destruction, but