Page 217 of Don’t Say Mafia

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it, unable to help the grin that tugged at my mouth because, of course, it was Jace. My little brother was the star wide receiver at the University of Tennessee, a campus legend, and a future NFL problem child if he didn’t learn when to shut up. He had no idea what I actually did for a living, and he liked it that way because it allowed him to invent wildly inaccurate theories and give me hell about them every chance he got.

Only one of us got recognized in public, and I considered that a win.

Jace: So are you getting laid or just aggressively ignoring me?

I exhaled through my nose and glanced at the ship.

Me: Good morning to you, too. Also, why are you texting me at 4 a.m.?

Jace: That wasn’t an answer. You can’t answer a question with another question. It’s against the rules. Silence usually means yes you are ignoring me, or that you passed out mid-thrust again.

A crane screeched overhead, and I stepped aside without looking.

Me: That happened once, and I regret telling you.

Jace: Once that you admitted to. There’s a difference. Also, it’s not 4 a.m. for me, genius. It’s almost seven here. I’ve already been up for two hours because Coach thinks sleep is a privilege. We ran drills until my legs forgot how to function. So again. Are you horizontal or brooding on a balcony somewhere pretending you’re in a cologne commercial?

A smirk tugged at my mouth.

Me: I don’t brood. And I know it’s seven there, asshole . . . but it’s only 4 a.m. here. I could’ve been asleep. Deep asleep. Preserving my youth. And now look at me—robbed of my beauty sleep because you can’t regulate your emotions before sunrise.

Jace: First of all, you absolutely do brood, and Riley agrees with me. It’s your whole personality. That and “mysterious European crime lord but make it business casual.” And second of all, you don’t sleep. You hover ominously in dark rooms and wait for opportunities to do wildly illegal things.

Me: Why again do you always assume I do things that are illegal? That’s actually a ridiculous assumption.

Jace: Remember when you asked me to say I was storing my blow-up doll at your place? That’s why I’m assuming you do illegal things, Jagger. The question is…what?

I smirked. That had been a close call. Our parents had shown up unannounced, armed with banana bread and hugs . . . right around the time there had, in fact, been a dead body in my living room. I hadn’t technically been responsible for it, but it had still been there. As far as I knew, our parents no longer suspected I was hiding a corpse.

But I also couldn’t be sure.

Jace: Are you:

Jace: A) stealing cars

Jace: B) stealing people

Jace: C) doing something involving sharks

Jade: D) all of the above

I rolled my eyes, watching another crane begin its slow descent toward the containers.

Me: You forgot E) conducting legitimate business operations like a responsible adult. Also, why sharks?

I glanced up, and one of my guys gave me a nod. Everything was on schedule.

Jace: I feel like sharks would be something the mafia would be involved in.

I groaned.

Me: How many times do I have to tell you not to say that?

Jace: Say what?

Me: You know what. You’re not going to trick me into saying it this time.

Jace: I honestly don’t have any clue what you’re talking about.