Page 61 of Unexpected Temptation

“I don’t care about any of that. Just tell the truth.”

“Tank approached me, all right? They got ten years on me. If I didn’t give you up, then … I’m sorry, T.”

“Tank is mobbed up now?”

“He’s been working with us for almost three months. I’m sorry, T.”

“Working, how? Like me?”

“Nah, cop stuff. Tipping us off. Hiding stuff. You know, the usual.”

“Are you paying him well?”

I wonder if that will make any of this easier. Maybe I can forget about the thick, blood-tinged air. Maybe I can forget the screams. Maybe I can forget Odin.

“Yeah.” Raffie scoffs. “Better than me.”

“Fucking hell, Raffie,” I growl. “I thought he might be doing it because he thought he was doing the right thing—climbing the ranks—like maybe he could take it down from the inside.”

Even through the cheese and the sauce, I can see Raffie’s confusion. “That’s naïve coming from you.”

“Maybe so,” I snarl, “but that’s over now. You’re going to help me.”

“Do what?” he says quietly.

“End the Trentini Family.”

It’s the only way of stopping the bastards from going after Maya, the sanctuary, and those kids, the ones they tried to get me to fight. How many more are there like them?

“You’ve got a death wish,” Raffie whispers.

I lean forward even further, casually passing my gun from one hand to another. “Maybe it’s a death wish I’ve got, Raffie.”

“What do you expect me to do? I’m not some bigshot. I may be a Trentini, but I’m low on the totem pole. A bastard. You can hurt me all you want, T. The Family won’t care. Hell, they might join in on the beating!”

“If you were to come to them with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, they’d listen. All anybody in this city gives a damn about is money.”

“They wouldn’t throw me out the door,” Raffie says, “but do you expect me to do that?”

“You’re not dealing with Tristan now,” I tell him. “You need to understand that. You’re dealing with the Marine.”

He swallows, running his hands up and down his legs. He knows what that means. I won’t tell him everything, won’t tell him that this raging hate in me comes from the idea of anybody, ever, hurting Maya.

My woman. No, fucking hell. I need to be cold—ice.

“You’re going to tell them you’ve got a Bratva connect with a serious arms-dealing operation. You met this friend during one of your coke binges. You’ve met the boss, and you’ve secured a deal. Honestly, I don’t give a shit how you get them in the room.”

I lower my voice even more, a guttural growl underlying my words. “You’re free to tip them off,” I say, standing up and tucking my pistol away. “Or you could tell Tank. Or you could run. Those are all possible options, Raffie. You just have to ask yourself …”

Staring down at him, I say, “You just have to ask yourself, ‘Who are you more afraid of?’”

I walk to the door. Before I leave, he says, “I’ll do it, T. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never felt like this before.”

Back in my car, I check my cell. I’ve got two missed calls and a text from Maya.

I know this is over, but Mom’s in the hospital. I’m not sure she’s going to be okay.

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