Page 52 of Who Said Mobsters Were Scary?

“Do you think it’s Azawa?” Chai asks, wrinkling his lip as he points at a red circle with some symbol that’s painted on the side of the torso.

Two of the guys roll the body over. I avert my eyes as a weird smell hits me, needing a moment so I won’t start heaving and throwing up.

“This looks like the Shanpei Triad’s crest is tattooed on his flank,” the young guy who led us here says. He crouches down, inspecting the battered face, and curses. “It is Azawa. I recognize the scar. But why does he have the Triad’s crest…”

“They are a local gang,” the oldest guy says, scratching his bald head. “Active in the area. Maybe he got involved with them and was looking for a quick profit.”

So, what? He told the rival gang about the warehouse, but then got offed so they didn’t have to pay him.But what about that van and his call? Was that just to make it look like he wasn’t involved?

If he counted on things playing out well for him, it makes sense.

Chai hums, throwing me a sideways glance that says it all without him needing to voice it.

He was right. Whoever hit the warehouse did exactly as Chai suspected, making it look like a self-contained hit by a nearby gang.

And if he hadn’t told me he suspects a mole, I probably would’ve bought it.

Chapter 24

Leo is on thesame page, I can tell just by his body language. His eyes narrow as they study the body, attentive and focused. He’s also not really listening to the four men as they talk about the Triad and how often they run into its members in this part of the city.

To be honest, the way this all falls into place is very convincing. And whoever is behind it must’ve realized it would play out exactly like this… which means they’ve either taken all the necessary precautions or they’ve skimmed a corner here and there. I hope for the latter.

I send the four men off to round up the staff and deal with the police source we have, dragging Leo back inside the warehouse. We go over the camera footage with no luck.

“I want to check the containers,” I say, herding him out the control room.

He huffs a half-hearted laugh. “Didn’t take you for a CSI fan.”

“Miami was my favorite one.”

Despite our amateur detective efforts, unfortunately, we don’t find anything. Interviewing the staff is equally unproductive, though my hunch tells me none of the people standing in front of me had anything to do with the hit. They are all regular people and I doubt they’d risk a steady job and income for profit that’s not even guaranteed.

I dismiss them and rub my forehead, a tinge of pain making me wish I’d caught more than four hours of sleep. Leaning against a metal column, I flick through Azawa’s file on my tablet, then go through his social media profiles. He’s got two kids and doesn’t strike me as someone who’d risk dealing with the Triad, either. But without anything to disprove the evidence we found, my father won’t hear any of what I have to say.

“What are you gonna do?” Leo says, joining me as the last of the people trickle out.

I cock an eyebrow at him. “You believe me?”

He shrugs and kills a smile before it fully manifests and makes him even more charming. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“There is no proof to any of what I am suggesting. With Azawa being a sellout, this is case closed.”

His gaze travels from one side of the warehouse to the other, lingering on a green container. “Sure. But I investigated the guy. He had a family and no big debts. I don’t think he necessarily knew who he was really working for, either. So, with all that in mind, why would he suddenly get involved with a gang that the locals fear? It makes no sense. Besides, like you said, this is just too convenient.”

My mouth curves in a smirk without me meaning to as a thrill of heat races down my back. Leo is perceptive. I don’t know if it’s his dealings with those people back in New York that made him this way, or if he’s just naturallygood at paying attention to the details, but it’s a turn on for me. My cock agrees, taking immediate notice. I don’t bother to hide it.

Leo’s eyes stray to my crotch, and he licks his lips. “Did you just get a boner?” he says, leaning in and pretending to smooth out my suit’s collar.

“Blame it on the lack of sleep.”

Our gazes clash and the heartbeat in which it happens feels like minutes. His eyes are entirely focused on me, the blue lighter than last night, but just as intense. I let them hijack my senses, my world narrowing down to the simmering want they are trying to hide.

I want his mouth on mine. I want his hands touching me. I want his heat, the noises he makes. Anything and everything he does makes me want to rip his clothes off and have him.

I can’t stop looking at him even when I tell myself I should, not until he breaks the moment himself and pulls away.

“Stop looking at me like this,” he complains, adjusting himself.

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