Page 12 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Adam moved the Florence pieces into the private room,” he says. “Only four people have access right now.”

“Warehouse cameras?” I ask.

“Already pulled the footage,” Luca says from the driver’s seat, eyes flicking briefly to mine in the rearview mirror. “Nothing unusual from the port to the dock.”

Which means the crate stayed sealed the entire trip. I take another sip of the coffee.

“And Donnelly?” I ask.

Marco glances down at his phone.

“I’ve got someone pulling his financials now,” he says. “Mortgage, bank records, anything that tells us who’s leaning on him.”

Because inspectors don’t suddenly grow a conscience overnight. Someone pushed him.

The SUV merges onto the freeway. Traffic is still thin this early. The road stretches open ahead of us.

“If someone’s trying to stall Harbor Street,” Marco continues, “they picked the wrong project.”

I look out the window, watching the skyline rise in the distance. Harbor Street isn’t just another development. It’s the largest construction contract the company has signed in three years. Which means if someone thinks they can slow it down, they’re either very stupid or very confident.

“Find out who’s talking to him,” I say.

Marco nods.

“Already on it.”

My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down.

Katie: What the hell, dude?

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Gio dropped the car off already.

I type back.

Me: You’re welcome.

Three dots appear immediately.

Katie: I didn’t ask, creeper.

The laugh that leaves me is quiet, but it still fills the SUV. Marco turns halfway around in his seat.

“Boss?”

I lift my eyes. Luca’s staring at me through the rearview mirror. He says nothing, but I know that look. He knows exactly who’s on the other end of that phone.

“Yeah?”

“We’re here.”

The buildings here are lower, older—rows of warehouses stretching block after block along the docks where container ships unload cargo at all hours of the night. Amato Operations takes up nearly half the street. Tall fencing surrounds the property. Security cameras sit mounted every twenty feet along the perimeter. Razor wire lines the top of the fence.

Inside, the yard is already alive. Forklifts move between rows of shipping containers stacked three high. Workers in reflective vests guide trucks toward loading bays while security stands posted along the fence line and outside the warehouse doors.

The SUV rolls to a stop near the main building. Adam is waiting. He stands outside the warehouse entrance with two guards nearby, hands resting casually in the pockets of his jeans. When I step out of the vehicle, he straightens slightly.

“Boss.”