Page 58 of Don’t Say Mafia

I didn’t laugh . . . because what had just happened felt like more than a coincidence. Almost the second he kissed me, the sprinklers had exploded to life overhead.

Water still dripped from the ceiling, soaking the furniture, streaking the walls, and turning everything into a soggy, wretched mess. Arms wrapped tight around my middle, I stared at the damage, unable to shake the feeling that it meant something.

It felt like a sign.

Now all that remained was finding the right moment to follow it.

CHAPTER 13

JAGGER

Carl hadn’t asked questions. He never did. When I told him Eden needed a shift tonight—a late one—he just nodded and adjusted the schedule. That’s why he ran our largest casino. He understood that curiosity wasn’t part of his job description.

“She’s good,” I’d said lightly. “Put her in the high roller room.”

“Yes, sir.”

I grinned as I hung up. I was solving two problems. She’d get great tips tonight, and Ryan would be alone.

Which was perfect for what I had planned.

After watching him kiss her and having to set off the fire alarm to break them apart, I was done with any more waiting.

My phone buzzed against the desk, and I answered without looking at it. “If you’re calling to talk about crocheting again, I’m not interested.”

“Have you seen the news?” Cruz spat.

His tone made me immediately straighten, and I pulled the browser up on my tablet. “What am I looking for?”

“Front page,” he said. “Local. Then national.”

The headline hit before I finished scrolling: “Former informant comes forward with details on Las Vegas crime syndicate.”

I went still.

The subheading was worse.

“Man claims decades-long organized crime presence tied to casinos, real estate, and political influence.”

“Well,” I murmured, “that’s inconvenient.”

Cruz exhaled on the other end. “You’ll want to keep reading.”

I didn’t like the way he’d said that.

The article loaded fully, and there it was. A grainy photo of a man we hadn’t seen in years. He was older now, and that receding hairline wasn’t doing him any favors, but regardless, it was easy to recognize Gerald Knox.

I leaned back slowly in my chair.

“Well,” I said lightly, because evidently that was how I sounded when something potentially catastrophic landed in my lap, “Gerald looks terrible. Prison was not kind to him.”

“He’s not in prison anymore,” Cruz said.

No. Of course he wasn’t.

I skimmed the article faster.

Gerald claimed he’d worked for decades as an informant for a “loosely structured but deeply embedded organization” that controlled most of the Las Vegas casino industry. Alleged bribery. Extortion. Coercion of city officials. Manipulation of licensing boards.