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He needed to stop this, calm Nico down and make him see reason before everything went to shit. Bennett was working on getting an answer on who was responsible, narrowing down the suspects, with help from Noah. It would take time, but Bennett would eventually get to the bottom of whoever had drugged Sofia Marzano. Didn’t Nico believe him?

Leg bouncing irritably, Bennett considered what to do. He stared at his phone, willing a message to pop up. Nico might be busy. Or asleep. But Bennett doubted it. Before he could second-guess himself, he opened up his phone, pulled up Nico’s contact, and hit the button to connect.

The line rang several times before kicking over to the automated voicemail. He hung up and immediately tried to connect again. This time the line rang only once before the voicemail picked up. He declined the call, that asshole.

Bennett didn’t hang up this time. Instead, he waited for the beep. “Stop harassing my team. I told you I’m working on it, and I am. Call me back, you dick.”

By the time Bennett went to bed, there still hadn’t been any word from the Italian mob boss. Nico was definitely ignoring him, even after all the texts and the voicemail. Somehow, that made Bennett even angrier than before.

Because he had no other way to reach Nico than by phone. Nico always tracked Bennett down, not the other way around, so other than doing an internet search for Toronto mafia hangouts, he had no idea how to find Nico in person.

He’d better fucking respond tomorrow.

As he tried to fall asleep, Bennett clung to the belief that tomorrow Nico would show up or call or text. Send a carrier pigeon. Something to explain himself. And if Nico didn’t reach out tomorrow, Bennett would figure out a way to find him.

CHAPTER 15

The office building was one of the nicest and most impressive in downtown Toronto. The security guard took Bennett’s ID and wrote down his information, then picked up the phone. Someone on the other end of the line gave approval, and the next thing Bennett knew he had a visitor’s badge and instructions to go to the forty-fifth floor.

As Bennett rode the elevator, he stood in the back and kept his head lowered, praying the baseball cap would hide his features enough that no one would recognize him. Not that riding an elevator in an office building was suspicious. Hopefully, they would assume he was going to visit his lawyer or agent.

It had taken effort to get this address. Before practice this morning, Bennett spent over an hour on the internet, searching Nico’s name with limited results. There were businesses listed and a handful of photos, but no addresses. No corporate headquarters, no neighborhood location. Nothing.

But Bennett hadn’t been deterred. He went to see Kevin Easton after practice, hoping the man had an address for Nico after their “sponsorship” discussions. Thankfully, Bennett struck gold when Kevin produced a business card with an address on it.

All of that led Bennett here. He checked his watch again. Two o’clock. He’d come immediately after leaving Kevin’s office, not even stopping to eat after practice. If he weren’t so nervous and angry, he’d be starving.

Soon everyone else on the elevator departed and Bennett was left alone to ride to what turned out to be the top floor. Figured. Only the best for the Toronto mob.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he could only gawk. It looked like a law office or a PR firm—lots of glass and expensive desks, smartly dressed employees going every which way. Raised steel letters spelling MARZANO were displayed on the wall. This was mob headquarters? He’d expected something less . . . professional. With big guys sitting around playing cards, surrounded by dark wood and eating spaghetti.

Okay, maybe he’d watched too many movies.

“Mr. Verreault.” A young man sat behind a reception desk, his expression curious but not surprised, clearly awaiting Bennett’s arrival. “How may I help you, sir?”

Bennett walked over and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. “I’m here to see Mr. Marzano, please.”

“And which Mr. Marzano would that be?”

There was more than one? Bennett almost smacked his forehead. Of course there was more than one. This was a family business, after all. “Nico Marzano.”

The young man’s eyebrows went up, like no one on earth had the nerve to just walk in and ask to see the boss. “Is he expecting you?”

“No.”

“I see. Have a seat.”

The receptionist gestured to a waiting area with large chairs and a sleek glass coffee table, so Bennett dutifully went over and lowered himself into one of the chairs. He was seventy-five percent sure Nico would agree to see him. Well, seventy percent. All of Bennett’s calls and texts had been ignored, but Nico couldn’t ignore him now, not when he was here in person. Could he?

Italian magazines were artfully arranged on the coffee table. Bennett was considering picking one up when a woman arrived at his chair. She wore a 1940s-style pinstripe suit that reminded him of old Hollywood movies. He guessed her to be mid-thirties, her dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail that showed off her cheekbones. “Buon pomeriggio, Signore Verreault. Follow me, per favore.”

Nodding once, Bennett stood and trailed her along hallways, past conference rooms and bathrooms, past workers typing furiously on their computers. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume Nico was running a large corporation, not the criminal underworld of Toronto. But many criminal organizations had legitimate business fronts—at least that was what the internet said.

So, did these people know what Nico really did, or were they blissfully unaware of being employed by a mob boss?

He followed the woman toward an ornate wooden door in the corner. There was no nameplate or marking to designate the space as Nico’s, and the walls were solid, not glass. Yet Bennett instantly knew Marzano was in there. He would want to avoid prying eyes, even those of his employees, while still remaining close enough to be accessible. Also, this office would have the best view in the entire building—facing south toward Lake Ontario. Nico would want it for himself.

The woman paused by the door and knocked softly. “Mr. Marzano? Mr. Verreault is here to see you.”