Page 14 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

“We contacted the executor of your father’s estate the moment we heard about his death,” Enzo says, cutting through the tension. “We knew where you were, and we also know we’re the only ones that can get you to Chicago alive.”

“How did you know where I was?” I cross my arms to stop my hands from trembling.

“I’ve always known where you were, Lenny.” Luca turns his head back only slightly, not looking at me as he drops a giant bomb on my lap.

“Always?” I don’t even recognize how small my voice sounds. Luca’s jaw tightens, but he turns forward, not answering me. For six years, he’s known where I was? And he still stayed away.

I’m not sure what to do with that information, so I put it where I put everything else from my past—in an airtight box of trauma compartmentalization where I can pretend I won’t think about it again.

A wave of resignation washes over me. The adrenaline from earlier is starting to wear off, and I slump back into the seat, staring out the window. The road blurs as I watch the scenery fly by, lost in my thoughts. This whole mess is spiraling faster than I can process.

I don’t know how much time passes, and I must have fallen asleep because I’m jerked out of my stupor when the SUV slows down and turns. We pull into the parking lot of what looks like a rundown motel—one of those places that’s one story, with a car parked directly in front of each room.

The whole vibe screams "Welcome, please come get murdered here." There's a drained swimming pool in the center, the water long gone, and it’s nearing evening. I’m sure serial killers will start materializing out of the shadows after sundown.

This is not what I signed up for.

The guys stopped earlier for gas and food, but I said I wasn’t hungry.

I’m starving, but my pride’s keeping me from admitting it. I’m not hungry enough to ask any of them for anything. So instead, I just sit in the SUV, focusing on not pissing my pants.

Enzo stands out like a neon sign in a back alley, so Luca gets the rooms. He’s the least likely to draw attention with his hoodie and casual cool. Jax is in the background with a fresh bag of suckers, probably from the gas station.

“Oh goody, a year’s supply of annoyance,” I grumble, folding my arms over my chest.

“Give me something else to do with my mouth and I wouldn’t need them.” Jax retorts, grinning like a cat who knows he just ate the canary. “You’re rooming with me tonight anyhow,” Jax croons as he catches the key Luca tosses his way.

“No, I’m not,” I snap.

“You are,” Enzo interrupts as he walks toward the diner across the street, clearly unaffected by my protest.

Jax smirks and unlocks the door to the motel room, holding it open like he’s doing me a favor. His hand’s full of my bookbag and another I can only assume is not filled with my favorite snacks.

I walk into the tiny room and release a deep sigh. Insert predictable one-bed trope here. I just glare at Jax as he fills up half the doorway, smirking like an idiot.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve totally put the one-bed trope in like a dozen of my books. It’s a modern romance classic. But that doesn’t mean I want to live it in real life.

“Give me your phone,” Luca demands.

“Get bent,” I mutter, but he just grabs it out of my hand like it’s no big deal. I huff, putting my hands up like what the hell?

"Use this one," he says, pulling out a burner phone. "I made you fake accounts on all social platforms, so you won’t die of boredom. I’ve also changed all your passwords so you can’t log into your existing accounts and blast your location like a lighthouse."

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. "It’s six days, Lenny. You won’t die."

Luca hands me the new phone and walks away. I throw it on the bed next to the weekend bag. It’s packed with all my essentials. My brand of shampoo and conditioner. Clothes in my size. Everything I could need for a few days.

But also... lacey skimpy fucking underwear.

“Who packed this bag?” I ask, holding up a pair of red lace crotchless panties like I’m handling a grenade.

Jax’s wicked grin fills my vision as he lounges on the bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He puts his hands behind his head, his biceps flexing…on purpose. “I did, of course.” He winks, moving the sucker from left to right in his mouth with his tongue.

New goal in life: Don’t think about Jax’s tongue.

“You’re not getting in my pants, you fugitive,” I snap, tossing the panties in his face. “This pussy is a no-convict-zone, so you’ll never see me in these.”

“Never say never, Peach,” he says, that smirk widening. “Besides, it’s enough just knowing your little pussy will either be wearing the panties I picked out for you... or you’ll be too stubborn and wear nothing. Either way, I win.”

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