Page 34 of Don’t Say Mafia

One of my men looped the chain around the captain’s ankles while another secured the weight at his waist, the metal clinking softly against concrete. The body sagged between them as they worked with practiced efficiency.

Only when everything was tight did they haul him the rest of the way to the edge. There was a brief shift of balance, and then they tipped him forward. The splash was low and contained, more displacement than spectacle, and I stepped closer to the open bay for a moment, watching the surface settle back into its natural rhythm.

“Find me the men who boarded that ship,” I ordered. “Every name. Every connection. I want to know who thought this was worth the risk. I’d probably start with the Irish, obviously.”

Lawson’s laptop was open again, and he grinned without looking away. “Already in progress.”

“Atta boy,” I muttered, pulling out my phone. “Now to get the helicopter.”

That got their attention.

Maddox looked up first, one brow lifting slowly. “We just disposed of a body.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I’m very proud of us.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Back to the city,” I replied. “I’ve had enough of this zip code for one morning.”

Lawson’s fingers slowed as his gaze flicked up from the screen. “Funny timing,” he said lightly. “Your girl’s working tonight.”

I paused just long enough for Maddox to catch it.

“‘Your girl’?” Maddox echoed, amusement slipping into his voice.

I shot Lawson a look. “She is not my⁠—”

“She’s the cocktail waitress at Paradise,” Lawson continued. “Green eyes. Bus pass. Questionable husband. Ring any bells?”

Maddox’s grin was even more annoying than usual. “Oh. That girl.”

“You both have entirely too much time on your hands,” I growled as I slid my phone back into my pocket.

Lawson snorted, brushing that persistent blond streak out of his eyes. “We absolutely do not,” he said. “But this is significantly more entertaining than tracking maritime theft.”

Maddox clapped me once on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Go handle your . . . business. We’ll clean this up.”

I shook my head and started toward the helipad, the low thrum of the rotors already building in the distance. Behind me, Lawson’s voice carried easily over the concrete. “Text us if she throws a drink in your face,” he called out. “I want the footage. Strictly for operational analysis, of course.”

I sighed and ignored him.

But as the helicopter blades tore through the night and the dock lights fell away beneath me, I was having trouble thinking about who had stolen from us . . . because all I could think of were the color of Eden’s eyes.

CHAPTER 8

EDEN

From the moment I stepped off the bus, the entire walk to the apartment became a rehearsal.

My feet ached in that familiar way that meant I’d been standing too long, and my cheeks were sore from smiling too much, but I barely noticed. I was too busy running through the words in my head. How I’d start. How calm I’d sound. How I wouldn’t let my voice shake because he was going to understand.

Ryan, we need to talk.

No. Too cliché.

Ryan, I can’t keep doing this.

Better. Stronger.