Page 228 of Don’t Say Mafia

He looked relieved, and that made me only more confused about what was happening.

I went to clock out, my hands slightly unsteady as I signed the slip and tucked the envelope into my bag. It felt thicker than the tips I usually went home with.

As I headed toward the employee exit, the noise of the casino swelling behind me, I tried to convince myself this was a coincidence. That overstaffing happened. That bonuses sometimes appeared out of nowhere.

But as I pushed through the door and the hot night air hit my face, one thought kept circling.

Jagger.

How he’d told me to go home. How he’d said maybe he would cover my rent.

I didn’t know how he would have done it.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t simply a coincidence.

CHAPTER 9

JAGGER

The city streaked by me in ribbons of neon signs and red brake lights, the wind tearing past as the bike devoured the asphalt. By the time I peeled off my helmet and got up to my penthouse, my shoulders had finally loosened.

That lasted about three seconds.

My hand moved before my brain caught up—gun drawn, arm extended, and the safety already off.

“Fuck—” I stopped short, my instincts flaring as I registered the man stretched out on my couch like he’d been invited, one ankle crossed over a knee and his suit jacket draped with careful precision over the armrest.

Cruz lifted his glass in greeting. “You’re jumpy.”

I took in the amber liquid . . . and then the bottle sitting open on the bar.

My most expensive one, of course.

“You’re a damn cat,” I muttered as the elevator doors slid shut behind me with a soft hydraulic whisper. I dropped my gun on a table, not particularly caring if it went off and shot him. “And far too many people have access to my penthouse.”

He smiled. “You should change the codes more often.”

“I do,” I said, moving to the bar and glaring at the bottle he’d opened. Shaking my head, I resigned myself to the fact that the bottle I’d been saving was now ruined. I picked it up anyway and poured myself a glass. “You somehow get in anyway.”

“We’ve known each other since you were still pretending you didn’t like expensive things,” Cruz said. “Of course I can guess all your passwords.”

I took a long swallow, letting the burn settle before I answered him. “You’re not guessing my passwords, Cruz.”

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

“I know you watch me,” I huffed. “I just haven’t had the time to figure out exactly how you’re doing it.”

Cruz’s smile widened just enough to confirm it.

“You and Jace both have boundary issues when it comes to relationships,” I said, gesturing at him with my glass. “And just because I haven’t decided whether I’m impressed or irritated that I haven’t figured out how you’re doing it yet doesn’t mean you should keep doing it.”

Cruz took another slow sip of the scotch I planned to send him an invoice for. “‘Boundary issues’?” he echoed mildly. “I think Jace and I share that trait with you as well.”

I glared at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cruz didn’t blink. “Oh, you didn’t think I’d noticed your new nightly routine?” he drawled.

I held his stare but refused to give him anything because he was annoying as fuck.