I’d just finished lifting a wallet off some drunk outside a bar—a regular grift and hardly the worst I’d gotten into as I tried to survive—when a black Mercedes rolled up to the curb beside me.
The door swung open, and in front of me was Jonathan Butera. A few years older than me, in his twenties, but that wasn’t the only way he was above me.
Filled out with muscle where I was wiry in those days from lack of consistent access to food and the occasional dabbling in drugs. With his hair slicked, his tie straight, he looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.
“Devin,” he said, not asked. “Devin Lay.”
“Depends who’s asking,” I said anyway, keeping my voice steady. My heart was pounding, though. I’d been warned not to mess around on Butera turf, and I was tuned in enough to the underground scene to know that was exactly where I was. I’d been playing with fire for weeks, always searching for a thrill that made me forget every dark, fucked up corner of my past.
He smiled faintly. “Alright,maybeDevin Lay. I’ll let you guess who I am, too. You know whose neighborhood this is?”
“Yours?” I guessed, injecting heavy derision into my tone because I doubted this young guy was anyone too powerful. Irreverence was my specialty back when I was a teenage dirtbag. My first real talent before I got good at everything bad.
“My father’s.” A smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, and my stomach dropped, knowing this was the heir to the area throne. Authority figures had never been my forte—too many abusive half-assed foster families had passed me around before I ended up striking out on my own.
But there was a measured quality to Jonathan’s voice that softened the edge of my fear. “And he doesn’t much like people who…encroach on his territory, stir up trouble without his explicit permission.”
I shrugged. “Guess he won’t like me much, then.”
Jonathan stared at me for a second—reallylooked, maybe right through to my bones. Then he did something I didn’t expect. He fuckinglaughed.
“You’re smart. I’d heard you were, but…” He shook his head, still half smiling. Then, those dark eyes found mine, locking hard. “But smart doesn’t count for much when you’re alone. Consider that, maybe.”
He handed me an honest-to-god business card, and he was gone. Two weeks later, I was working for the Buteras. I’d never gone back.
I blinked, the memory fading as Anthony’s voice pulled me back to the present.
“Are we boring you, Devvy?”
“Not at all,” I said, ignoring the demeaning nickname one of my past foster siblings had used for me. It was the kind of personal barb I should never have let Anthony have on me, but back when Jonathan found me and pulled me into his father’s orbit, I’d still held onto the tiniest bit of naivety of a teenager, even after going through hell. “Just thinking about how far I’ve come. You always said it’s good to remember where I crawled up from, after all.”
Vincent, the highest-ranking man in the room who wasn’t Anthony’s direct heir, smirked from the latter man’s side. “Careful, kid. Pride’s a dangerous thing around here for the likes of you.”
I grinned, all teeth, knowing my sharp canines would flash just right. “So’s underestimating me. But I think everyone at this table knows that.”
Anthony’s eyes hardened for a second. Just long enough to make me worry I’d gone too far this time.
But it turned out my power play landed better than I thought—a sign, maybe, that our don was getting soft in his old age. It was a whisper I’d heard in a few dark corners.
One I didn’t want to believe, even as the hold Anthony had on me grew tighter, less comfortable, all the time.
“Fine,” he spat, sounding tired. “Sit there quietly and listen. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
I bit back my retort.
There was a time I’d have taken that kind of talk as gospel.
A time when this family was my home, when I thought I owed Anthony everything.
But lately, since sweet Frankie Taylor blew in, it all felt hollow. The only place that felt like home anymore was wherever Frankie and the guys were—Alex, Jonathan, and me, circling around her like idiots.
I knew damn well they both felt the exact same pull, the same undeniable magnetism in her touch and her presence, that I felt.
That thought was still turning over in my mind when the doors burst open.
A low-level grunt whose name I didn’t remember stumbled in, breathless, his normally-ruddy face pale as paper. “Boss,” he wheezed, staring wide eyed at Anthony. “The job—we’ve got a problem.”
Anthony wasn’t the type to shoot to his feet, but the quick jump of his brows implied that level of alertness. “What kind of problem?”
