Page 60 of Enforcer

“Whoever is doing this shit is thorough. Brynne’s sure she’s got her house in order? This isn’t her family in retaliation for Lucio stealing from them?”

I eye him narrowly. “If Brynne wanted to do anything, Slate would let her. If she said, ‘I want to burn your docks down,’ he’d hand her the match. This isn’t her or her family. But it’s most certainly mafia-related. This is too tightly organized. Too clean.”

“I agree. I smell war on the horizon.”

“So do I.”

“Alyssa for the Enforcer,” Alyssa’s voice comes on the walkie, and Marco nearly busts a gut laughing at me.

I smirk. “Yes, tesoro?”

“Just checking in.”

Something about the fact she’s worried about me warms my insides against the chilly rain still falling in steady streams.

Marco closes the containers, and we return to the hole where we pried in the fence.

“Coming back now.”

“Good, I was getting pretty bored out here by myself.”

“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Marco claps me on the shoulder. “I don’t think her walls are as high as you think, my friend.”

His words stay with me as I drive Alyssa and myself back to the apartment and through my shower.

Maybe she’s letting me peek over the tops of them now, still deciding if she wants to let me over for longer than small glimpses.

I hope she doesn’t start to build them back up for any reason. Because if she does, I’ll be fucked. She’ll never let anyone else in if I fuck this up.

Even me.

“I don’t understandhow this is appropriate with all of us present,” Lorenzo huffs.

I have to agree, but Alyssa glares at me, and I keep my mouth shut.

“Well, you insisted I have this big wedding, didn’t you? I have to work while we get all this shit together, don’t I?” Brynne pops back.

Lorenzo crosses his arms over his chest.

Slate grins at their banter.

Brynne has found a place with us, so much so that she fits right in. The men give her shit, and she gives it right back. It’s what I like about her.

Fuck, it’s what I like about Alyssa.

“Can it, will you?” Alyssa says, glowering at Lorenzo’s antics.

He sticks his tongue out as if he’s not a grown-ass man, and she returns the sentiment.

“We’re getting off-topic,” Slate growls, fighting the same smirk that I am from across the room.

“The man got away on foot; I’ve got a guy down at Manhattan South Precinct working on running the plates from the car he took off in but guarantees it’s likely a stolen vehicle. If it’s not, I’ll be surprised,” I tell him.

Celine is tugging Brynne’s dress tight, closing the back with a clip.

“What’s the turnaround time?” Brynne asks me, clutching her stomach and looking over her shoulder at Celine, who’s none the wiser.

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