Page 103 of Duty

Didn’t know if she could.

“You’re messing around with the Marcello again?”

Haven glanced up at the voice coming from her doorway. There, Jackson leaned in with a curious expression, and guarded eyes. She had the strangest urge to snap at him for—yet again—listening in on one of her private conversations. Really, she just figured she needed to remember to close her fucking door. Unless the idiot just pressed his ear against the wood, or something.

Who knew?

“I thought that was over a while back?” Jackson asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Remind me again,” Haven said, “when my personal life became any of your business. Or anyone else’s business in this club, for that matter. Don’t I sign your paychecks, not the other way around? Not sure that entitles you to know anything about me, actually.”

Jackson put his hands up in surrender, and took a step back. “Ouch, Haven. I’m just looking out for you, that’s all. This isn’t me trying to get closer to you in that kind of way.”

Probably not.

He had been good ever since that day months ago when she told him plain and simple that no, he was not her type. And no, that was not going to change. He’d been respectful and appropriate from that point forward—Haven had to give him credit there.

Not much else.

“You don’t need to look after me,” she said, standing from her desk. “But thank you for caring. I am a big girl, though. I can handle myself.”

“Just didn’t take you for the type, I guess.”

Haven’s gaze narrowed on her club manager. “What type?”

“I mean,” Jackson said, shrugging, “every woman likes a bad boy, right? That’s kind of par for the course—but Marcello bad?” He made a noise under his breath, adding, “That’s a whole different ball game. Just didn’t take you to be the type to date a mobster, that’s all.”

She stiffened all over.

It was not the first time someone used that title alongside Andino’s name, or even his surname. It was like those who knew the family or knew enough about them to talk didn’t have a problem with labeling them as mobsters, mafia, or something similar.

Haven had heard the whispers.

She knew the rumors.

She’d never listened.

Until right now.

“Is that what it is—the mob?” she asked.

Jackson cocked a brow. “You don’t know?”

“I didn’t ask a question to get a question, Jackson.”

“Relax, woman. I just meant … yeah, that’s what it is. Kind of widely known, especially where they do business. You know that bookie that comes in three or four nights a—”

“The illegal bookie. Nathaniel. Yeah, I know he works for Andino.”

Jackson nodded. “You’re right—kind of. I only know a little because Nate is my friend, and you know, when he’s drunk, he talks a bit. Andino is more like his umbrella. Protection, if you will. Working under Andino and his crew gives Nate a bit of leg room, and respect. He doesn’t have to worry about someone coming after him in his business because he’s got a mafia capo watching his back, and lending him credence in his work. You get what I mean? All he has to do is use Andino’s name, and people know, Haven. That’s the kind of family you’re messing with.”

She heard a lot of things.

Only a couple felt important.

Mafia.

Capo.