Page 60 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

I lean back in mock offense, trapped between the counter behind me and the solid wall of muscle in front of me. “Don’tdisrespect The Spat. It kept me alive at the club last night. You’re telling me I’m going to have to rely on something else now?”

“The Spat?” Jax repeats, his grin widening. Clearly, he doesn’t appreciate the weapon’s nickname. “It’s great for close-range, but I’d prefer your enemies not get close enough to use a fucking spatula.”

I roll my eyes, trying not to smile. “Fine, I’ll upgrade The Spat to something that actually kills people from a distance. Happy now?”

Jax nips at my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’d be surprised how fun it is to shoot a gun. And how satisfying it is to know that when shit goes down, you’ll be able to handle it.”

“We’ll see about that when I throw up after killing someone,” I mutter, reluctantly giving in. “But I’m in. Teach me everything.”

“I’ll teach you, Peach. But just remember—guns aren’t just tools. They’re a commitment. If you’re going to carry one, you need to be ready to use it when the time comes. No hesitation.”

I meet his gaze with a steady nod. “Oh, I won’t hesitate. I’ll bust a cap, on the spot.”

“Okay, Al Capone, take it easy.” Jax chuckles, stepping back and stretching. I make it very clear I’m enjoying the view of his low-riding sweatpants and the deep-V that disappears into his waistband. “First, let’s get you dressed. While I’d prefer to keep you in nothing but my shirts twenty-four-seven, you need pants on, at minimum.”

“Fine, party pooper.” I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He holds me effortlessly. “Where are we going to practice shooting?”

“The barn.” Jax points toward the building on the property—a place I know they use for torture, interrogation, and disposal.

Perfect.

The property stretches wide and quiet around us as we walk toward the barn. The house is a distant silhouette behind us, and up ahead, the barn—more like a large, nondescript metal building—blends into the landscape. It looks about as inviting as a low-budget horror movie set, and I can't stop imagining body parts being severed by machetes inside.

Jax, however, looks completely at ease, walking beside me like we’re just taking a stroll. His hand brushes mine occasionally, and I try not to focus too much on how calm he is while I’m fighting off images of past massacres that have likely taken place here.

"This place is beautiful," I comment, scanning the vast expanse. "If you don’t think about the number of people who might have been murdered here at some point."

Jax laughs, his grin lighting up the otherwise dark atmosphere. "Trust me, Peach, no one's died here recently. Just a lot of very interesting conversations."

Recently. I narrow my eyes, skeptical. "Oh, I’m sure. ‘Interesting conversations’ while the body bags are gettingzipped up and the lawn’s getting hosed down." I nudge him with my shoulder, poking at his side where I know he’s ticklish. "If I find a dismembered body in there, I'm punching you."

"Baby, you know you can be rougher with me than that," he winks.

I roll my eyes, but the tension breaks with a playful laugh. "What’s that?" I nod toward the black case in his hand. "Some kind of secret weapon?"

"You’ll see," he teases, clearly enjoying my curiosity.

I glance up at him, trying to keep my tone casual despite my nerves. "So, what exactly is your role in this whole mafia thing? I know you're Enzo's right-hand man, but what does that actually mean?"

Jax swings our hands as we walk, acting like we’re heading to a picnic instead of a barn that could be hiding God knows what. "I’m the fixer, the cleaner. Whatever needs to be done, I plan it, set it up, and if it goes wrong, I clean it up. No trace, no evidence. I make sure no one gets caught." He says it so casually, like it’s just a job—not a life-or-death thing.

"Wait." I pause, curiosity taking over. "So, if you’re the world’s best cleaner, and you've been fixing all these jobs... how’d you end up charged with murder?"

Jax's smile fades, a flash of seriousness crossing his face as he pulls us to a stop. "We all have something tied up in this, Peach. We protect you, and someone comes after us. I’ve killed people, but I didn’t do what they said. I was framed."

I gasp. "So, how did you get released?"

Jax smiles. "You really need to stop underestimating Luca." He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "Luca owed me a favor. I called it in to protect you."

I press my lips into a thin line.

"Come on." We resume our trek to the murder-barn, and he continues. "Later, Luca figured out it was a setup. He hacked theprison records, put in a transfer for me, and altered my charges to accessory to burglary. When I got to the new place, my release was six months later."

He looks at me seriously, his voice low. "I sure as hell wouldn’t have done anything to risk being taken away from you. So, someone did it for me. That’s what I’m after—finding the asshole who tried to bury me in a cell for the rest of our life together."

I feel the sincerity in his words, a warmth spreading through me. I reach up, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "I believe you. You do what you do because you’re good at it. And it keeps you, Luca, and Enzo safe."

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his voice teasing again. "What we do is in the name of our goddess, Delaney Caputo."

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