Page 35 of Throne of Secrets

His pulse quickened.

The bastards weren’t passing through town on a whim. They had a foothold there. Why?

Ethan shifted gears and ran a search for active utility accounts linked to other shell companies connected to the Bianchi family. Within seconds, he identified two more properties in the area, both within a three-mile radius of Star’s house.

Shit. What in the hell was the syndicate doing encroaching on Ditmas Park?

He cracked his knuckles and sat forward. His eyes scanned the network traffic logs for the accounts connected to those addresses.

An unshakable feeling of unease crept into his chest as he traced the pathways.

If DeLuca was setting up operations there, there was a non-zero chance that Star—walking disaster that she was—wouldn’t cross paths with him again.

Hell, knowing Star, she'd probably run into the guy at the grocery store or somehow accidentally lock herself in his damn basement.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a grim smile.

He stretched his arms overhead, rolled his neck, and leaned toward the keyboard.

“All right, gentlemen,” he murmured to the screen. “Let’s get out the big shovels. It’s time to dig.” His fingers began their dance across the keys. The battle had just shifted.

And he was ready to fight.

CHAPTER9

Star smiled as she stepped out of the massive grocery store, juggling her bags of fresh produce and gourmet items. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp air and the pleasant weight of her shopping success. Her culinary treasures were destined for Saturday night’s dinner with Ethan.

Of course, she'd have to borrow his refrigerator—her pint-sized apartment fridge was already stuffed with leftovers, condiments, and the occasional science experiment she forgot to toss. But she doubted Ethan would mind.

The thought of him made her lips curve into an even bigger smile.

She’d splurged on two bottles of very good wine. And yes, hoping their first official date ended with a stroll into bedroom territory might be a little … forward. Okay, it was wildly forward. But hey, they’d known each other for six months—that had to count for something, right?

After all, the man had seen her at her absolute worst—multiple times. He’d seen her get her hair caught in a stand mixer. He’d hauled her out of the middle of the street after she’d tripped over the painted white line and fell directly in front of a garbage truck and a pissed off driver who was more concerned about getting to his lunch than the fact her pants were ripped and her purse was scattered across three lanes of traffic. And he’d rescued her when she’d locked herself out—twice.

And he still wants to date me.

“Hallelujah and pass the jam,” she said aloud, her grin stretching ear to ear. “I'm gonna butter that biscuit and get me a taste of jam, too.”

The second the words left her mouth, she froze.

Her father used to say that whenever her mom did something he appreciated—like making his favorite pie or wearing that slinky blue dress on date night. Star had always thought it was a cute, wholesome phrase.

But now? Standing there on the bustling sidewalk with a mental image of Ethan, shirtless and sweaty after building her stairs, Star realized—holy crap.

It wastotallya sex thing.

She tilted her head back and laughed, hard and loud enough to draw a few curious looks from passersby. Her dad had been a dirty old man disguised in a cardigan. She'd never known it until now.

Way to go, Dad.

Still chuckling, she resumed walking, her heels clicking against the concrete as she made her way toward the subway. Her parents had shared a deep, enduring love that had survived the stresses of work, parenthood, and life’s inevitable chaos. And they’d still flirted with each other, even when she'd been in college.

That’s the kind of relationship I want. She smiled softly. Strong, fun, and just inappropriate enough to make life interesting.

As she walked by a small bodega, she checked her watch. The Q was departing soon, and if she didn’t hurry, she’d miss it. She shifted the grocery bags in her hands and quickened her pace.

The hardware store was still on her to-do list for the afternoon. Somehow, she'd lost her favorite paint scraper. The previous night, in a fit of DIY desperation, she'd tried using a butter knife instead. That hadn't gone well.

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