Page 331 of Don’t Say Mafia

“For now,” he said. “But it means you’ll be put on a list now for them to watch.”

“Not ideal,” I murmured.

“The Irish are behind this, I’m assuming.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. “O’Dalaigh should be getting Claudia’s body by tonight, though.”

“Who’s Claudia?”

I snorted. “The wannabe assassin at L’Étoile who shot Cruz.”

“I don’t think her name was Claudia,” drawled Gage.

“That’s beside the point,” I scoffed. “The point is that the crate with her body should be getting to his shitty brownstone any minute now. And when it does, we will be sending a message.”

“Don’t fuck with us,” Gage finished for me.

I grinned, probably looking like a maniac standing alone in the hall. “That’s right, Gagey Boy. And I hope for his sake that the asshole listens to it.”

If he didn’t, the next delivery wouldn’t fit in a crate.

CHAPTER 32

EDEN

Ihad never been on a plane before.

Not even one of those tiny ones that look like they’re held together by optimism and duct tape.

And now I was standing at the base of Jagger’s private jet.

The aircraft waited on the tarmac like a predator in repose—black as midnight and edged in a deep gold that matched the Paradise Casino’s signature colors. The stairs were already lowered, an open invitation that felt more like a dare than a welcome.

My stomach flipped in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with physics. “That’s . . . small,” I said.

Jagger glanced at it, then back at me. “It’s not small.”

“It’s definitely smaller than the planes in movies.”

He smirked. “Those are commercial.”

“That does not help.”

His hand slid to the small of my back. “You’ll be fine.” That was easy for him to say. He looked like he was about to board a rideshare.

The engines hummed faintly, low and ominous. I swallowed and followed him up the stairs, resisting the urge to look down.

Inside, it didn’t feel like a plane at all. It felt like a floating living room with its cream leather seats, polished wood, and a small fully stocked bar. It was gorgeous, of course. But it was still made of metal and about to be in the sky. So it had a lot of strikes against it.

I sat down carefully, my fingers gripping the armrests like they might disappear.

Jagger took the seat across from me, watching me with an expression that was way too amused for someone who claimed to like me. “You’re pale,” he observed.

“I am not pale.”

“You’re pale.”

“I’m calculating the probability of survival.”