“A rapist and likely murderer named Brad Bluhm was in the hospital two nights ago,” I said. “He and Aly had a verbal altercation, and she insulted him. Earlier tonight, he tried to break into her house.”

The room filled with the rumblings of angry men, and I started to feel a little safer now that we had a mutual hatred of Brad in common.

Nico’s dark eyes burned with anger. “Why was he there?”

“He had a kill kit on him,” I said, not bothering to elaborate since they likely knew what it was. “We overpowered him, tied him up, and planned to leave him on the back porch of his latest victim’s family, but he died en route. Aly said we should come here, so we did. Brad’s cell phone is still at his house, and he turned his car’s GPS tracker off, so I don’t know where it is, but I’m guessing somewhere near Aly’s house.”

“How do you know that?” Nico asked.

Fuck. Walked right into that one. “I’m a hacker.”

One of Aly’s cousins shifted forward, drawing my gaze. “What model and make is Bluhm’s car?”

I told him.

Nico snapped his fingers at the son who’d spoken, and I tried not to grind my teeth. It must be a family thing. “Call Jimmy,” Nico said. “Get his guys over there, and don’t leave until you find the car and haul it out.”

His son nodded and peeled away, heading for the door.

Nico turned to another one. “Her house needs to be scrubbed down. Have Aly and Greg meet you there when they’re done with Josh’s car so she can get her cat and her things before you start.”

That son headed for the door next, leaving just me, Nico, and Nico’s oldest child – Junior? – standing around the island.

The family patriarch eyed me. “What else?”

“All Brad learned about Aly at the hospital was her first name, so he must have done some digging to find her,” I told him. “I’m worried that his phone or a computer at his house might point the cops straight to Aly when he gets reported missing.”

Nico turned toward Junior. “Go to Vinny’s and tell him you need a whole crew at Bluhm’s house.”

“He comes from money,” I warned them. “He’ll probably have security cameras and alarms and –”

Nico held up a hand, silencing me. “All due respect, but this isn’t our first rodeo.”

“Are you going to steal the computer or hack it?”

Nico glanced at his oldest.

Junior met my eyes. His gaze was even harder than Greg’s. “This needs to be a smash-and-grab because we don’t have time to prepare. We’re gonna steal it.”

I shook my head. “That’s too suspicious. Take me with you, and I’ll hack it.”

His brows lifted as he looked me over. “You sure?”

I blew out a breath. “Yes. I do this for a living, and I can get in and wipe Brad’s drive in less than ten minutes without leaving a digital footprint.”

Junior turned toward his father, brows raised in question.

Nico threw his hands up and whirled back to the coffee machine. “I’m gonna have to make this all over again in a to-go mug.”

Forty minutes later, I was still alive, having passed whatever weird test that was with Nico in the kitchen, and now I sat in the back of a van, sipping a piping-hot macchiato out of an insulated mug. The sides of the vehicle bore the markings of the local power company. I couldn’t figure out if it was stolen, a good copy, or, worst-case scenario, actually belonged to said power company because it was mob-controlled.

I made a mental note to stop messing with their grids whenever I wanted to break into my girlfriend’s house. I was already going to owe the mafia a favor for this; there was no need to paint an even bigger target on my back.

“You like the coffee?” Junior asked.

He was seated across from me on a bench with two much larger men I hadn’t been introduced to – probably for the better. There were two more on either side of me, and at first, I worried they were my cleanup crew until they started talking logistics about what we were about to do.

“The coffee is great,” I said.

Junior nodded. “Make sure to tell my old man if you want to get on his good side. He’s vain as hell about his barista skills.” He frowned and turned toward the man on his right. “Baristo? Is that a gendered term?”

“No idea,” the guy grumbled.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and I slouched backward on the bench to fish it out. The second I saw Aly’s text, I blew out a relieved breath. “They made it to the garage safely.”

“Took them long enough,” Junior mumbled.

Where are you? Aly asked.

Doing secret agent shit, I told her.

What do you mean? Are you not at his house anymore?

Smart woman, being vague on the details.

Nope. Out and about, I told her.

What do you mean? Are you already doing something for him?

Maaaybe, I texted back.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

I sent her three laughing emojis.

Josh, I am serious right now. Do not do anything for him. This is how they get you.

She was probably right, but there was no way I was backing out now. Not when the alternative was the cops becoming suspicious when Brad’s shit went missing along with him.

I took a deep breath and texted her back. I’ll be safe, I promise. But this needs to get done. Please trust me.

I think you know how much I trust you, she said, and nope, I did not need the reminder of how willingly she’d worn my hand like a necklace while crammed in a van with seven other men.

It’s everyone else I don’t trust, she said. If anything happens to you, I’m going scorched earth. Tell whichever of my asshole cousins you’re with.

I glanced up and found Junior watching me.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Aly wanted me to pass along a warning.”

He raised his brows and canted his head, waiting.

“She said to make sure I get home safe,” I said.

He snorted. “I’m sure it was that PG. You know, for someone not in the family business, she sure shares a lot of our traits.”

The guy next to Junior elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe it’s genetic.”

Junior turned slowly toward him. “What are you saying? That all Italians are meant to be in the mob?”

“Uh, no,” the guy said, backtracking.

“Because that’s racist, Phil.”

I ducked my head and refocused on my phone. Nope. Not contributing to that argument.

I told him, I said. You’ll be pleased to know that he was shooketh.

Impressive, she texted back. Few people know the old English form of that word.

I grinned. Now that Aly had stopped pretending to be annoyed by my needling, she’d started giving it back to me, and I liked it. A lot.

I slipped a key in your purse, I told her. It’s to my place. If you want to get yourself and The Chosen One settled there, I can meet you after I’m done.

What about Tyler? she asked. Won’t that be awkward?

I blinked. Right. Somehow, I’d forgotten about him. And the fact that he and Aly had been together. My brain had probably buried the information to protect me, but now it didn’t feel necessary. They’d never been serious, and I knew neither of them still harbored feelings for the other, so there wasn’t a need to feel threatened or insecure.

I texted my roommate. Remember how I agreed to help Aly?

It was barely five in the morning, but Tyler was an early riser, and even on the weekends, he had difficulty sleeping in. His response came through almost immediately.

Please tell me you two hit it off, he said.

I grinned. I’d lucked out in the best friend department.

A little bubble appeared, telling me he was typing. Another text came through a second later. Because you’ve been creepier than normal lately, and I was starting to think I needed to call Maria and Rob for another intervention.