Oh. That's his offended face.
“What the hell, Mads?”
Edgerton, who I've decided looks like the love child of every Guy Ritchie antihero and a prim judgy-but-jacked accountant, slides into the breakfast nook, which suddenly seems undersized. “Something wrong?”
Luca, gape-mouthed, points at me. “This motherfucker has never seen The Godfather. What is wrong with people these days?”
Edgerton grimaces and looks at me, shaking his head. Cracking his knuckles, he asks, a little too convincingly, “What should I do about it, boss?”
Was that a joke?
Be still my heart.
“Take him on as a client, and then, when you ruin his life by taking all the fun out of it, make him watch the greatest movie of all time as consolation,” Luca answers, entirely amused at himself.
Wait, what? No.
I snort. “Why would I let you ruin my life? I’ve got a great life.”
Edgerton arches his brow. “Dr. Laghari, I am relieved to see you got here in one piece. But we need to talk about your stalker.”
I grumble under my breath, realizing I’ve walked right into their trap.
“This is a setup.” I emphasize my complaint with a stamp of my foot, but the cartoon socks somewhat dampens the effect.
Luca shrugs, completely unconcerned. “Of course it's a setup. Anthony told me what happened.”
I glare up at Edgerton, but I might as well be glaring at a brick wall.
Luca pats my arm. “You should feel privileged. You got set up by the very best,” he says, thumbing a gesture between him and Edgerton.
I roll my eyes. “You two are the worst. Even if you are secretly very sweet to worry about me.”
Luca winks at me. “I'm going to make sure the refreshments are in order while you chat with Anthony.”
“But what about the business with the tracker pods? What do you need with that?”
Since we specialize in slim trackable devices covered in an impenetrable film that protects from all manner of nonsense, I can see how a mobster would find tracking various items—and people—useful.
Honestly, I don’t want to know.
“I need, what, four, maybe five hundred?” he asks, looking at Edgerton. Edgerton nods. Luca turns back to me. “You have those key ring ones, right? With the panic button?”
I nod. “Yeah, of course.”
“How's about you sell me a thousand of your trackers. Mix it up like a variety pack or whatever. I’m certain you’ll put together something useful. And throw in a couple hundred hours for your geek squad to come over and show us how to use them. Sound good?”
I narrow my eyes. “A little overkill, probably, but I’m not inclined to disagree with you.”
Luca smiles broadly. “Smart man.”
“When do you need them?”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Don’t you want to know how much it costs?”
He raises his brows, a gesture that shaves three years off the end of my life. “You plan on stiffing me?”