Page 45 of Thrown into the Mob

“Flint was impressed with your reports.”

He nodded.

We walked back to the apartment hand in hand. My wolf checked out everyone on the street, and Conrad said his beast was scanning the sky.

Though our argument was over, we’d face more situations where we’d butt heads. It might take weeks and months of negotiating, and I was okay with that because the alternative was Conrad disappearing and me waking up in a cold bed.

Back at the apartment, Conrad made coffee. We’d both discovered that we were coffee fiends, and he brought me a cup without being asked.

“For the record, the reason I didn't wake you on day three wasn't just efficiency.”

“No?”

“You looked peaceful and that hadn’t happened since we met except, you know, after we had sex.”

I fluttered my eyelashes at him. “Maybe we can do that again?”

He screwed up his face. “Walk to the laundromat?”

“No, silly.” I tossed a cushion at his head.

“Ohhh, the other thing. Hmmm. I guess we could.” He took my hand.

TWENTY-TWO

CONRAD

It was another check-in day, and Madd and I were walking to the laundromat.

Again we held hands as we strolled along the street. There was no need for talking, and on the surface, we were like any other couple going about our business. And yet we were alert to anything different. A glance that lasted longer than usual, a car with tinted windows parked in the same spot as the day before or the unmistakable scent of dragon smoke.

But there was nothing unusual, and my dragon lowered his threat level.

The laundromat was six blocks past the supermarket. It was a squat building with foggy windows and a handwritten sign advertising wash-and-fold for $1.50 a pound. We'd started bringing laundry here because the apartment's machine was ancient and it leaked. We didn’t need the tenants below complaining about their ruined ceiling.

The bell above the door jangled as I pushed open the door, but that was as far as I got. Behind the counter, sorting a pile of someone's towels was Arnie.

He was wearing a floral apron and didn't look up immediately. He was intent on folding a blue towel into a precise rectangle, and when he did see us, he smiled as though finding his grandson's dragon mate in this laundromat was an everyday occurrence.

“Morning, grandsons.”

Madd spluttered out, “Grandpa?” while I tried to figure out the implications of him being here. How had he found us? Flint wouldn’t have shared that, even with his uncle. And had he been followed?

Pushing past Madd, I searched the street. There was nothing unusual, no sights, sounds, or scents. But an eighty-year-old man had crossed state lines to fold towels in a laundromat just so he could, what? See Madd?

“Grandpa.” Madd went around the counter and hugged Arnie. “What are you doing here?”

"Flint mentioned the laundromat on a call, and I filled in the gaps.” He patted Madd's back. “Don't worry, I wasn't followed. I drove Mason’s car.”

“Who's Mason?”

He’s a friend and a member of La Luna Noir, but he’s retired to the countryside. He got tired of beating people up.”

There was a long pause. That was one of the realities of being part of organized crime. And it was hard to leave. There were protocols, and the process was in stages. Though no one ever left the Solari and lived. I was the first, and the length of my lifespan was in question.

“Mason has a bright orange car and nobody in their right mind would think I'd borrow it.”

Madd pulled back. “You decided to drive an orange car here and that was you being stealthy?”