Page 73 of Matched into the Mob

Matt sighed. “Nothing is going to happen.”

“I know, because Riggs will be there.”

My mate rolled his eyes before kissing my nose. It was his thing.Sort of like my hand holding, but mine was comfort and warmth whereas the nose kiss was quirky and playful.

“Fine. But I’m telling him to stay in the stairwell until I’m inside the apartment.”

I agreed because poor Josh was understandably jumpy since he almost died at the hands of a mafia boss. Since he’d returned to town, he rarely ventured outside other than to go to work,but at Matt’s insistence, he’d promised to appreciate this big beautiful world again.

But me being Matt’s life partner was a hurdle Josh couldn’t get over, hence me being banned from family reunions.

I’d offered to provide Josh with a bodyguard after his near-death experience and to pay for therapy, but he refused. Matt explained that being followed by guys who were a stereotype of everything humans expected of mafia—huge, burly, broad shoulders, tattooed, and carrying guns—was off-putting and heightened his brother’s anxiety.

“Okay. You have my number.” That was my catchphrase, kind of like a crutch, a prop, or a walking stick, and I repeated it when Matt and I were apart.

“Let me see.” Matt scrolled through his phone. “What was your name again?”

“Hilarious,” I deadpanned, and he hoisted the baby bag over his shoulder before holding the carrier up so I could blow Storm a kiss.

Riggs gave an almost imperceptible nod before opening the building door, and my loved ones disappeared.

How long will lunch take?My beast adored Storm, and like me, didn’t appreciate when he wasn’t with us.

An hour?I could eat in five minutes, but they’d be talking. How much talking could there be? Ten or fifteen minutes? Could I expect Matt to scarf his lunch, take a pic of Storm with his uncle, chat a little, and be out the door in under thirty minutes?

Diaper change?My beast wasn’t entirely sure why babies needed diapers, saying there was nothing wrong with pooping in the woods, but he understood it was a rinse-and-repeat situation.

That would take up another few minutes.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. Three minutes had passed. Now four. I texted Riggs who said it was quiet in the apartment.

The phone ringing sent me into alert mode. Matt referred to it as anxiety, but I didn’t experience that or I never used to. Mr. Cool-and-Collected, that was me. Until my mate almost died twice and we had our son, and now I was the definition of a helicopter parent.

“What?” I barked into the device. I never spoke to Flint that way, and he should have told me to show some respect. But he gave me a pass. He had assigned me a job this evening. This was payback for being out of the office in the early afternoon.

But a violent shriek punctuated the air, and I dropped the phone on the floor. I was out of the car and almost at the building entrance when Flint’s muffled voice yelled, “What’s going on?”

Josh’s apartment was on the third floor, so I bounded up the stairs, my beast in my ear urging me to go faster.

I ran multiple scenarios through my head in those precious seconds.

Dane had survived. Unlikely.

Some of his henchmen had regrouped and were coming after Matt. But why? What was the value in killing him? Because he destroyed the business, their livelihood, way of life? That was reason enough. But why had they waited so long?

According to the police commissioner, they had almost completed Operation Clean-Up and most of Dane’s men were in custody. Anyone who was a higher-up in The Obsidian Circle was in jail and only guys in low-key positions were still free. Unlikely those men would be going after Matt because they had little invested in the organization.

Not knowing what I’d find, I imagined Matt covered in blood, weeping over Storm’s lifeless body, while some minor mafia figure held a gun to my mate’s head demanding money.

When I flung myself in the door, Storm was on the floor in his baby carrier, gurgling and kicking his legs, unaware of the menace in the room. Thank gods. I stood in front of him, ready to protect him with my life.

But someonedidhave a gun, and itwaspointed at my mate’s head. Josh had my mate in that classic hostage pose with one arm around his brother, using him as a shield while resting the gun’s barrel against Matt’s brow. My mate was beseeching Josh not to pull the trigger.

Riggs’s gun was aimed at Josh’s head, and my man was an expert marksman. Like me, he had a wolf inside him.

I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. Josh was hollering that he needed safe passage out of the city. Was this unresolved trauma from the day Dane used him as bait?

“Get Storm to safety,” Matt shrieked.

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