“I guess you haven’t heard. I thought everyone knew.” As if unmoored, she glanced toward the bar, for Dev—her anchor. “My last name… it’s Denali. Vincenzo Denali is my uncle.”
Emily’s lips parted in shock.
“My father was the old boss,” Cari continued. “I don’t know how much he was involved—I pray that he wasn’t—it’s unthinkable. Vinny definitely was. He held me prisoner at one of the warehouses.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They had frightened young women in cages. If Dev and his men hadn’t gotten there in time—”
“I didn’t know about the family connection.”
She nodded. “It’s deeply personal for us. I want nothing more than to see it shut down.” Cari’s gaze met hers. “But I’m worried for you. I’d like to help—”
“You’re not getting involved in this,” Devil’s voice cut in, low and firm. “You’ve done more than enough.”
Standing beside him, Alec shot him a look. “It’s not a good feeling, is it?” he asked, his gaze steady. “Watching someone you care about walk into danger.”
Devil’s jaw tightened, a flush climbing into his cheeks. “I wouldn’t allow it if I didn’t think it was necessary—and if I didn’t believe we could keep her safe.” He looked at Cari, his expression unflinching. “And one civilian undercover is more than enough on any mission.”
“I wasn’t volunteering,” Cari said lightly. “Just lending an ear.”
Dev grunted, set his beer and her bowl of ice cream on the table, then drew his bride-to-be into his side.
Alec matched his movement, pulling Emily into his lap again.
From his couch, Leland asked, “You ready for tomorrow, Em?”
She nodded. “It’s a posh affair at a private residence, according to Regina’s sous chef. I don’t get the address ahead of time. I have to ride in the catering van.”
Alec tensed behind her—subtle but unmistakable.
“Making it the perfect opportunity for buyers to look at the merchandise,” Mateo pointed out.
“Please don’t call them that,” Cari said, burrowing closer to Dev. “I’ll never forget those dog cages. Some of them had bloody blankets.”
Emily didn’t speak. She just leaned into Alec’s warmth, clinging to the hope that Nick Devlin and his team of badasses were as good as they believed themselves to be.
Chapter 17
Emily thought she’d seen mansions before—Devil’s place definitely counted—but this was another level. And tonight, she was working in the billionaire’s kitchen. She’d been on her feet for twelve hours—chopping piles of herbs and vegetables, prepping the homemade pasta, boiling, sauteing, searing, and plating in the sweltering kitchen while Benny barked orders. The dessert course was going out now, which meant her really long day was finally winding down.
“You did good today, kid.”
She turned to find Benny watching her. Ordinarily, she would have corrected him about the kid comment, but his tone was almost kind. And, more importantly, she was supposed to be passing for a college girl—or younger.
“Thanks,” she said, smoothing the hair that had escaped her ponytail and brushing at her powdered-sugar-covered apron. “Hopefully, Regina will ask me to do it again soon.”
“I’ll put in a good word with her,” he said, “but you’re probably more valuable out on the floor where you can be seen.”
He walked out without saying more, leaving her wondering if he meant as an experienced server, or as something to be sold to some sick buyer.
Regina swept in through the swinging door, heels clicking, perfume trailing behind her.
“Emily,” she said, smiling too brightly. “I need help with champagne and dessert. It’s an upscale crowd tonight.” Regina’s expression dimmed as her gaze moved from her disheveled hair down her sugar-dusted body. “You’ll need to change. The servers elevate their attire for this kind of event.”
For a second, she thought she’d misheard. She was exhausted and had already done her part, but this was exactly what the investigation needed.“I’m sorry. I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I was only expecting to be in the kitchen.”
“No worries.” Regina crossed to a supply cart they’d rolled in when they’d arrived. She produced a hanger draped in dry-cleaning plastic. When sheripped it away, she revealed a short skirt and a scoop-neck top in a slinky material that would cling to what curves she had. “There are heels, too. You’re a seven, right?”
Emily’s stomach twisted. That she had her size was too convenient, and the uniform was skimpy bordering on slutty.
“Put it on quickly. Dinner is almost over, and we need to push the champagne.”
