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“Oh, he’s mine,” Cold replied, and Jimmy swore he detected a hint of pride.

Tamerlane leered, chuckling quietly. “A lot has changed since I’ve been in the clink, eh?”

“Mm. Some,” Cold admitted, a sly smile gracing his handsome face. “Jimmy, this is Mickey Tamerlane. Tamerlane, Jimmy.”

Jimmy waved, but fortunately Tamerlane wasn’t very interested in him. He tilted his head in greeting, but his gaze was quickly diverted to the doorway as another guest entered.

The newly arrived Gentleman was handsome and scruffy, his cheeks a bit rosy. He and Tamerlane exchanged coy smiles, and Jimmy correctly identified him as Roger Lorre.

“Hey, Boss,” Lorre said, opting for a handshake instead of dropping to his knees. “Jules, Rowena.” He nodded at them as he spoke their names, offering a larger smile for the last. “Tamerlane.”

“Hey,” Tamerlane said casually, as if they hadn’t been locked together in passion’s most intimate embrace only a little while ago if Jules was to be believed.

Lorre smiled at Jimmy, a bit puzzled. “And who the hell are you? Don’t I know you from someplace?”

“He’s with Cold,” Tamerlane informed him with an envious snarl. “So, don’t get any ideas.”

“One fucking time!” Lorre passionately exploded, all pretenses of them being mere acquaintances lost. “I fuck up one fucking time—”

“Six,” Tamerlane corrected, his stoic demeanor crumbling as he shouted, “You fucked up six times, and once was with Pym!”

A tall man with glasses and red hair had popped up at the door, but hearing the name turned him right around and sent him scurrying back down the hallway as Tamerlane and Lorre continued to bicker.

He was brought back a few moments later under duress by a tall, slim fellow who looked no older than Jimmy, along with a wild-eyed man who had to be at least in his sixties.

Jimmy was glad he was only serving as a spectator.

The chaos was a glorious train wreck.

There was a rush of hugging and cheering for Tamerlane by the new arrivals, but Tamerlane was more interested in screaming at Lorre for his rampant infidelity. The old man was egging them on, encouraging Tamerlane to take a poke at the man with the glasses while the tall fellow laughed.

Jimmy listened intently and tried to pick up on all their names despite the lack of introductions.

Theodore Pym. He was the redhead with the glasses who very much did not want to get hit and was trying to back away as fast as possible.

The old man was Francis Von Valdemar, and the laughing fellow was Thirdsies, so named because he was Francis Von Valdemar III. As Valdemar’s grandson, the pair represented both the youngest and oldest members of the Gentlemen.

Cold swept into the fray like a ringmaster, separating Lorre and Tamerlane while pushing Pym off onto a clearly receptive Thirdsies. He sent Valdemar over to busy himself at the bar and tell lewd jokes. Cold had to keep pulling Jules away from cutlery when he started to fidget, pausing to exchange a smile with his sister as she passed out a fresh round of booze.

It was the most dysfunctional family reunion Jimmy had ever witnessed, the mania perfectly lubricated by all the alcohol Rowena was too eager to pour. Jimmy shook his head, realizing how easy it was to forget they were all murderers and criminals.

Cold had been ignoring Jimmy for most of the evening, playing host and mediator to his Gentlemen as time ticked by. He would still occasionally glance over and smirk at Jimmy, giving hungry looks that made him shudder. For his part, Jimmy was content to sit and look pretty, enjoying the fruity concoctions Rowena kept bringing him.

His next drink was brought to him by Cold himself, his long fingers gently tracing over the nape of Jimmy’s neck as he said, “I’ll be right back. Gotta have a little private chat with Jules and Tamerlane.”

Jimmy nodded, peering earnestly up at Cold. He was having a nicer time than he expected, but it was hard to relax. “Then can we talk?” he asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” Cold said, his eyes raking over Jimmy’s suited form. “We’ll see.”

Jimmy watched Cold leave with Tamerlane and Jules. The longer he had to wait, the more pent up he was starting to feel. If he didn’t tell Cold the truth soon, he was going to burst.

He stood, restless, moving to the fireplace to watch the flames. Sipping at his drink, he glanced around at the remaining occupants. None of them really paid much attention to him, and Jimmy was glad for it.

He didn’t notice when another guest arrived since he’d returned his attention to the roaring fire until he heard Thirdsies groan quietly, “Come on. He’s here?”

“Sorry I’m late to the party,” a smooth voice announced, prompting Jimmy to turn around again and see a blond man in a dark blue suit. Not entirely unhandsome, but there was something unsettling about him that gave Jimmy pause.

“Now, now,” Valdemar scolded Thirdsies. “Don’t be rude, sonny. Make sure he can hear you, poor bastard might be deaf!” He took a deep breath before shouting dramatically, “Oh! For the love of God and all that’s holy! He’s here?”