Page 28 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

I look over my shoulder. “Home?”

“Home?” He clicks his tongue. “Come on. You were going to tell me how I can be of use to you. I’ll go back to the club if you like andinterrogate the employees some more. If you say someone is using our product, then I’ll find them.”

Huh.

I can sense the sincerity in his tone, but I’m curious about how deep it runs. Exhaling, I turn and head back to my desk.

“Look,” he rests his hands on the desk, acting sober, “I’m sorry I brought Natalie over without telling you. This is your house, after all—the only reason I’m here is because I fucked up. But some of the men will be coming over, and I wanted to have food for them.”

Maybe I’m too harsh on him.

Anthony is two years younger than I am, reckless, and sometimes immature, but he didn’t have a place in the family after his father died. He was just an extension, and he acted out by throwing parties and drinking.

MaybeI can use him.

“Alright,” I nod, flexing my knuckles. “You’ll need a couple of men. I need you to monitor the next shipment of that particular product. From when it gets to shore till it’s distributed. If there’s any shortage of the amount that goes through the club, then you’ll know for sure.”

He grins and points at me. “That’s smart. I’ll do that. And if I find proof?”

“I’ll deal with that.”

Anthony’s face hardens for a moment before he sighs. “You don’t trust me to make decisions on my own, do you?”

My mouth presses into a thin line as I sense an argument brewing.

Division of labor, Ethan.My expression softens. I said I was going to cut him some slack, didn’t I?

“You can handle it,” I say, pushing back the warning voice in my head. “But,” I’m quick to add, “you’re not ending anyone’s life. I trust that you can work it out in a different, more efficient way.”

Anthony hops onto the edge of my desk, sliding forward with infuriating ease until his face hovers in my line of sight. His grin is borderline smug as he leans closer, his head tilting ever so slightly.

“Come on,” he says, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “What did she do? Did she smile at you the wrong way? Or—” his eyes narrow playfully, “maybe she didn’t smile at you at all. That would explain why you’re in such a mood.”

I glance up sharply, but his grin only widens.

“I’m not talking about her,” I repeat tersely, trying to focus on the document in front of me.

Anthony snorts, clearly unimpressed by my attempt at evasion. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about her, even when you’re not. You’ve got that look—like she’s living rent-free in your head, and you hate it.” He leans in conspiratorially, his voice dropping. “You don’t hate it, though, do you?”

“Anthony,” I warn, my voice low and clipped.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself as he leans back on his hands. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But if she’s not a spy, you’re going to owe me one hell of an apology for dragging her name through the mud.”

What about dragging my hands all over her body? Do I owe him for that, too?

Do I owe him for the kisses I couldn’t get enough of and her whimpers that are stuck in my head, playing on a loop at the most inopportune moment?

“How much should we bet on?”

I glare at him, but he’s already hopping off the desk, a knowing smirk plastered on his face as he strolls toward the door.

“Hell,” I mutter under my breath as I stifle the urge to drag my fingers through my hair.

Doing so will only make it glaringly obvious—undeniable physical proof—that Natalie affects me, one I can’t seem to shake no matter how hard I try.

Not that it matters. The way things are spiraling, it’s only a matter of time before Anthony pieces it all together. He’s too irritatingly nosy to let something like this slide unnoticed.

And the worst part?

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