Page 32

For a moment, we both watch the city. Vegas spreads out beneath us like a glowing wound.

"We'll get him," Massimo decides eventually. "The question is how much damage he's going to cost us in the meantime." He goes quiet for a moment. I fully agree with him. Whoever this El Recaudador is, he's a legit threat. The greatest we've had since we took the organization from Massimo's uncle and cousins.

A moment later, Massimo adds, "I'm worried about Jenna." I glance at him. "El Recaudador already warned me he was coming after all of you," he looks straight at me, knowing he doesn't have to worry about me or the others. "But that was before Jenna."

And before Amauri. He doesn't say it. Probably can't. Fuck, I don't want to be in his shoes. Suddenly, he has a family drop in his lap, one he actually cares for. That's a headache you don't wish on your worst enemy. Let alone your best friend. I nod slowly. I've been mulling something over since I hung up the phone earlier. Carefully, I suggest, "Maybe I should take the offer."

Massimo turns to look at me. Flat. I can see the cogs in his brain turning, "That's a bad idea."

I shrug slightly. If there is even a chance in hell that El Recaudador would believe me, I could gather valuable intel. "He might believe it."

Massimo shakes his head. "No chance. Everyone in this city knows you and me are brothers."

He's not wrong. People have died not believing that. I shrug. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He'd kill you to get to me." Massimo shakes his head.

"Look, I don't have anything to lose," I remind him. "I don't have a family like you?—"

He cuts me off. "Don't. You're my consigliere. I need you. You're not disposable."

I could point out that Enzo could fill my job without blinking, or Alessio or Damiano, but I'm wise enough to realize I'm close to pissing Massimo off.

So I consider my idea from another angle. "If not me…"

Massimo studies me. More intrigued now. Then he follows my gaze back toward the dining room. Alessio. Damiano.

His eyes narrow slightly. "You're thinking about planting a rat."

"Not a rat," I correct. "A rumor."

Massimo's mouth twitches. The Don likes the idea.

"If El Recaudador thinks he's turning one of us," I continue, "he'll come out of the shadows."

Massimo nods slowly. "And when he does…"

The city hums beneath us. Somewhere, a car backfires. Massimo's voice goes quiet. "We'll bury him."

I nod once. Now the only question left is which one of us is convincing enough to play traitor. And which one will El Recaudador believe?

A few days later…

I don't know how much longer I can keep lying to myself.

It's been over two weeks since that tearful heart-to-heart with Pete. Two weeks since he sobbed, promised to do better, and swore he'd finally make things right. And nothing has changed. Not one damn thing. He still works late and leaves early. I feel like I'm already single.

Tonight I'm telling him it's over. I'm going to look him in the eye and sayI'm sorry, but I'm leaving.

I've got the whole plan worked out in my head. At the end of next month, Mom's renter's lease expires, and we'll get the house back. Mom and I will move in there. Until then, well, things will be awkward, but I hope Pete won't have a problem with us staying here. I'll sleep on the couch, because Mom refuses to share her bed with anyone. It's not going to be easy, I knowthat, especially financially. Without Mom's rent money coming in, it'll be tight to cover her insurance, but it's doable. We won't have a house payment. I'll start picking up shifts as a dealer at one of the casinos on the Strip. That extra money will help, and eventually I hope to quit the vet clinic and just deal full-time. Mom being home alone during the day? I'll figure it out. I always do.

The reports from the hospital came back—along with the first of the bills—the doctors still couldn't find anything wrong with her, no stroke, no clot, nothing they could point to and saythere, that's the problem. Which somehow makes everything worse. Because now she's convinced they missed whatever is really wrong with her.

"They never listen," she mutters from the couch as I set her tea on the coffee table. "Doctors think they know everything."

I force a tired smile. "I'm sure they checked pretty thoroughly, Mom."

She waves a dismissive hand. "They didn't run the right tests."