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  I clear my throat and give Silas a smile that can’t possibly appear sincere. “It’s a little late for warnings at this point.” It’s nice to know that I’m capable of speaking the truth . . . apparently, just not when it counts.

  His brow furrows and a moment later, he pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a card with the initials S.B. and a number on it.

  “I probably shouldn’t offer, but if you ever need anything, or ever get yourself into trouble . . . I spend a lot of time in the city, and I’m damn good at keeping secrets.” His gaze sharpens as I tuck the card into my pocket. “And I also watched a lot of the Investigation Network when I was studying for my last role.”

  That’s when I realize what I’m seeing on his face is knowledge. He’s feeling me out to see if his suspicions are right, and whether I’ll admit I’m not who I say I am. A chunk of ice in the form of a ticking time bomb forms in my stomach.

  Stay cool. Act cool. Be cool. My mantra repeats in my head.

  “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Bohannon. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll get you that mineral water, and please let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

  He gives me a slow nod and returns to his seat.

  That feeling of someone walking over my grave? It’s back with a vengeance.

  6

  Cannon

  I’ve been watching her on the security cameras like I’m some kind of degenerate stalker. My fingers itch to look her up online now that I know her real name, but I won’t. Dom has access to the same security footage I do, and it wouldn’t be hard to zoom in on my computer screen.

  Since taking over the club, I’ve lived in a world that’s the equivalent of a fishbowl, but it never really bothered me until now, when I want to order Memphis Lockwood into my office and demand a complete explanation for what the hell is going on. I glance at the clock again, hyperaware that only ten minutes have passed since the last time I checked the time.

  Why today of all days? When I can’t leave and take her with me and say fuck this place and everyone in it?

  Because that’s life. Always putting obstacles in front of the things you truly want, just to test your resolve. My patience is strong, but this afternoon it’s getting the workout of the century.

  I will get my answers, and I’ll get them today. Or rather, in the early hours of tomorrow, when I’m finally able to escort her back to my place for an interrogation that will do the Spanish Inquisition proud.

  With that decision settled, I glance back at the security cameras again and still. Silas Bohannon, hotshot actor extraordinaire, has her cornered. He’s handing her something. What the fuck?

  Drew—no, Memphis—scurries away to the kitchen while tucking a card in her pocket.

  What the hell? Is he part of her scam? Is she here to get information on him and not the family?

  Or is she already moving on to new territory and getting ready to jump ship?

  Over my dead fucking body.

  Despite the anger that’s been rolling through me at a steady boil today, a spike of jealousy pierces my chest. My hands curl into fists as I shove back in my chair. Less than sixty seconds later, I’m standing beside Bohannon’s table.

  “Mr. Bohannon, why don’t you have a cigar with me? On the house. I’ve got something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Memphis approaches the table, a green bottle of Perrier clutched in her hand, and she trips on a nonexistent wrinkle in the carpet when she hears me.

  Bohannon looks up at me, assessing and suspicious.

  Memphis silently places the bottle on the table and then backs away, and Bohannon’s attention goes with her before cutting back to me. He doesn’t respond until she disappears into the kitchen again.

  “I have a feeling I know what you want to talk about,” he says, relaxing deep into the leather chair and threading his fingers together on his lap. “But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m not trespassing on your territory, Freeman. Just offering assistance if it happens to be needed.”

  All I see is red.

  “If you’d like to retain your membership in this club, I suggest you keep your offers of assistance to yourself.”

  Instead of looking shocked or insulted, he throws his head back and laughs.

  What the fuck is so goddamned funny? I grind my teeth silently as I wait for him to speak.

  “Oh, you’ve got it bad, man. I only recognize it because I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there. It ain’t fun either.”

  I glance around us out of habit before I lower myself into the chair across from him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  He lifts his chin in the direction of the kitchen where Memphis disappeared. “I think we both know that you’ve got an unusually strong interest in one of your employees. I don’t need to know what the hell is going on to see that you’re fuming, and because of that you’re ready to piss all over your territory. Man, I’m telling you that you don’t need to. I’m not trying to steal your girl. I’ve already got more women problems than I can handle as it is.”

  His startling accuracy has me leaning back in my chair to match his posture.

  “I haven’t heard a single word about you and a woman, so you’re obviously better at keeping things under wraps than I am.”

  Bohannon’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Grow up at the bottom of the food chain in Hollywood, and you learn a hell of a lot about how to keep shit quiet. You need any tips, I’m here.” As if giving tips, unwarranted advice, and assistance is his hobby, he waits for me to respond.

  I think of how I deliberately forced the idea of a relationship with Memphis to protect her from my father. “Too late for that.”

  Bohannon studies me as he takes a drink. “Something’s not right. I have a feeling I know what it is, but given the situation, I think it’s best we both let it lie for now.”

  Having a conversation like this, in the club, is bad for both of us, and he clearly knows it. But I would bet my Chevelle that he somehow has seen through Drew’s disguise . . . which means things are even more perilous than I realized.

  Who else knows? Who else will figure it out? Figure her out?

  “You’ve been coming here a long time, Bohannon. I appreciate your discretion. Whatever you’re concerned about, I’ve got it covered. You have my word.”

  I place my palms on the table and rise, but he stops me halfway.

  “If anything happens to her, I won’t let it go, Freeman. Understand me?”

  Gripping the edge of the tabletop, I look him straight in the eye and give him what I know is the absolute truth, despite everything. “The only way something happens to her is over my dead body. That happens, feel free to step in and raise hell.”

  Despite the anger and betrayal simmering inside me, there’s also a sliver of something urging me not to give up on Memphis. I may have inherited a newfound penchant for revenge from my father, but every other part of me that matters came courtesy of my mother and her soft heart.

  Bohannon gives me a nod that carries the weight of his respect, and I walk away from the table in search of Memphis. She’s not in the main area of the club or the kitchen, so I check the break room. She’s just coming out of the ladies’ room, and squeaks in shock when she sees me standing in the doorway.

  “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.”

  I stare at her, with her ten pounds of makeup and colored contacts and wig, and I want to strip it all away. The restrictions that keep me from doing exactly what I want chafe like rusty chains.

  “We’re leaving after the midnight meeting. You’re coming home with me. Understand?”

  Her throat works as she swallows, and her eyes widen. But rather than protest, she nods slowly.

  There are a dozen—hell, a hundred other things I want to say to her right now, but I promise myself I’ll bide my time and get my answers. Every. Last. One.

  “Keep up the good work, Drew.”

  7

>   Memphis

  If it were news, I would report on today as the most awkwardly uncomfortable workday in the history of workdays.

  Cannon stalks me like a predator after its prey. On more than one occasion, I catch myself vividly picturing the interrogation techniques he’ll employ to get the truth out of me. Or I just have a really active imagination when it comes to all things mob-related . . . and Cannon.

  Either way, I spend hours walking on eggshells and trying to be the very best server I can possibly be. Tanya calls to tell Letty they hit traffic on the way there and the rehab center needs her to stay for a mandatory intake family counseling session, so she and Warren won’t make it back until after midnight. I don’t envy Letty as she goes to deliver the message, but Tanya’s decision not to call Cannon himself makes her more human to me.

  I walk around the club like a live wire, jumpy and full of pent-up energy, serving bankers, CEOs, and a famous rapper turned producer. With each hour that passes, one would assume that my anxiety about being alone with Cannon would grow and grow, but it doesn’t. I’m ready. I’ve been dying to come clean and get this burden off my shoulders, and I wish I could do it sooner rather than later.

  Although, if I think about it, maybe it’s a good thing he’s had more time to calm down, because earlier today, I wasn’t entirely certain I was going to be walking out of that construction site at all.

  By the time midnight rolls around, all my nervous energy has burned off and I’ve given up on caffeine keeping me awake. I’m still upright due to sheer force of will. I just wish I’d been sharper, because then I would have gotten the hell out of the way when the Rossetti family contingent marched into the club after all the other guests had been politely ushered out.

  “Damn, girl. That ass is thick.” The voice comes from behind me.

  Startled, I spin around with greasy chills skittering down my spine. The leering dark eyes of the crown prince of the Rossetti family, GTR, lift to my face after pausing on my breasts for a solid count of three.

  “Excuse me, do you need me to show you to the conclave for the meeting, sir?”

  He sucks his teeth and rolls a toothpick to one side. “Sir. That sounds just right coming from you. What do you say you and me get out of here after, and I’ll let you call me that somewhere more private?”

  I paste a polite smile on my face as I extend my arm in the direction of the room where the meeting is taking place, but before I can say anything, a large source of heat appears at my side.

  “Meeting’s this way, GTR.” Cannon growls the statement.

  GTR is still leering at me with those dark, dead eyes when he replies. “I know where the meeting is, but I’m more worried about the entertainment.”

  Oh Lord. Now is not a good time for my stomach to roll, but as his nicotine breath wafts toward me, my insides revolt.

  “If you don’t want your head in a box to be the entertainment, then I suggest you move along. Now.”

  Finally, GTR jerks his attention to Cannon, his chest puffed out like a bull. “What the fuck did you just say to me? We’re here to firm up terms of a truce, and you’re threatening to put my head in a box? I don’t fucking think so, asshole. This meeting ain’t fucking happening. I’m out.”

  He steps back and turns around to smack directly into Dom.

  Holy hell. All I want to do right now is run. But I stay still, invoking a combination of the three wise monkeys who see no, hear no, and speak no evil. In other words, I adopt all the qualities of a great fence post.

  “You got a problem, GTR?”

  As the head of the Casso family stares him down, GTR seems to actually shrink under the intensity of Dom’s presence. “Uh. Well. You see—”

  As he stutters out some gibberish, Dom stops him. With a hard slap to the face.

  I jerk back in shock, my shoulder bumping into Cannon, and his hands land on my hips, as if keeping me safe and anchored to him. Given the volatile situation we’re witnessing, I lean into his touch. That’s twice today he’s comforted me when he could have thrown me to the wolves.

  GTR lifts his fingertips to his cheek in stunned silence as he stares at Dom.

  “You ever run your mouth in my presence again, and I’ll carve out your vile fucking tongue. You understand that, punk?”

  I expect to hear GTR spewing vitriol and protests, but his sense of self-preservation must have kicked in because he does nothing but stand silently.

  “That’s what I thought.” Dom claps his hands and replaces the menace on his face with a cocky smirk. “Your mother should have taught you better manners, boy. Go sit down before I have to tell your father what a piece of shit he raised.”

  GTR backs away from Dom with two steps and then turns to head to the conclave, but not before leveling a malevolent stare on Cannon and me.

  Freaking fabulous.

  8

  Cannon

  The meeting didn’t go well. The truce between the Rossettis and the Cassos lasted about as long as I expected, which wasn’t long, and Dom is fucking pissed.

  As soon as Dom’s bodyguards and Grice escort the Rossetti contingent out of the Upper Ten, Dom looks at me and points to the door of the meeting room. “Shut it.”

  I rise and obey, waiting for his next order, because I know that this discussion isn’t over. Lorenzo Angelini, who I’m still shocked had the intelligence to keep his mouth shut during the meeting, kicks back in his chair and puts his feet up on the antique table.

  Clearly, Dom’s number two’s intelligence only lasted an hour.

  Dom reaches out to smack him upside the head. “Sit right, you fucking idiot. You aren’t five.”

  As Enzo practically falls out of his chair to comply, Dom points at me and then to the seat across from him.

  “Take a seat. We need to discuss what the fuck happened to blow all this shit up after I spent a goddamned year maneuvering Giancarlo into this.”

  “We all know what happened,” Enzo says. “GTR. He ain’t following Papa Rossetti’s orders anymore.”

  When Dom’s heavy gaze lands on Enzo, instead of waiting for Dom to speak, Enzo points toward the door and spouts off again. “Why don’t you just give GTR the bitch he wants? I’m sure that’ll get shit back on track, especially if he was willing to roofie her to get her.”

  As soon as the suggestion is out of his mouth, coupled with the information I gave Dom about the results of the test from Yoder, I want to vault over the table and beat him until he’s sorry he ever uttered such horseshit. Instead, I curl my hands around the knobby ends of the arms of the chair and wait for Dom to explode.

  He doesn’t disappoint.

  “You say one more word or do one more idiotic thing and I will slap you even harder than I hit the Rossetti punk. You want to pick up your teeth off the floor? Open your mouth again, Enzo.” Dom loosens his black tie as if getting ready to do just that.

  Apparently, the reign of Enzo’s favoritism has ended. Still, I stay silent. It’s one of the most important things I’ve learned over the last thirty years since I realized Dom was my father and not just a guy who visited my mom to take her on dates.

  “That’s what I thought,” Dom says after a beat of silence. He leans back in the heavy wooden club chair, like a king holding court, and his attention swings to me. “What do you think we should do, Cannon?”

  It’s a test. Everything with Dom is a goddamned test. After the day I’ve had, I’m fresh out of patience for his games, but I play along anyway out of necessity.

  “How much money have you made in the last twenty-five years?” It’s my best guess for how long the feud has lasted. It’s probably closer to thirty years, to be honest, because my mother’s death wasn’t the beginning. No, she was targeted as a way to retaliate for something Dom had done to the Rossettis.

  Dom blinks twice before reaching up to tap a finger to his lips. “A hell of a lot.”

  I lean on the armrest. “How much money would you have made if there’d been no feud
with the Rossettis?”

  His eyes narrow to slits. “Less. Competition is always good for business.”

  “Then other than the potential for less loss of life, which has dramatically decreased since the NYPD and the Feds are breathing down everyone’s necks, what’s the upside to ending the feud?”

  Dom leans both elbows on the table and steeples his fingers. “You’re saying we should forget trying for a truce and get back to business?”

  Being that he sent me to one of the most prestigious business schools on the planet, Dom tends to listen to me when it comes to certain business matters, which is why I’m in charge of the Upper Ten. To my pride, it remains the crown jewel of his legitimate businesses.

  “I’m saying that we don’t let Rossettis disrespect us and then continue to offer them concessions.”

  A ghost of a smile hovers on Dom’s lips. “You’ve got more of me in you than I thought.”

  It’s the first time he’s ever said anything like that in front of another person. I’m partly shocked, but even more ready to bolt out of this room and get Memphis out of here, so I don’t let any reaction show on my face.

  Dom plants both hands on the table and pushes up to a half-standing, half-leaning position, and his gaze jerks between me and Enzo.

  “Tomorrow, I send the message to the Rossettis that even the fucking idea of a truce is dead to us, with a nice little addition—I’ll put GTR’s head in a jar on my desk and use it for a paperweight if he pisses me off again.” The hint of a smile curls into a full-blown wicked grin. “Prepare for war, boys.”

  9

  Cannon

  I find Memphis in the break room again, except instead of being startled when I enter, she’s asleep in the chair in the corner.