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There was one more house to check. Noah Brown’s home, who Bennett swore wasn’t responsible.

You’re going soft, Nico’s conscience accused. If not for Verreault, you would have already checked Brown’s home.

The horrifyingly true realization caused Nico’s fingers to curl into fists. Disgust with himself sat heavy in his gut. He’d been distracted by Bennett—the silence, the skating. The very hot, mind-blowing sex on Nico’s desk. Every version of Bennett—from angry and sexy, to demanding and horny—did something to Nico’s brain, reeled him in like a fish on a hook, helpless to resist. And he was finding it harder and harder to ignore what was happening between them, his body craving the one person he absolutely should not want.

Just today, looking at his desk and remembering caused Nico to lock himself in his private bathroom and jerk off, his hands shaking the entire time. He couldn’t stop thinking about bulging muscles and a tight ass, the scalding heat and how it choked Nico’s cock. A mouth that liked to beg, with shameless and demanding words falling from such pretty lips.

Together. Please. I want to feel you come on me.

But there was something even more problematic.

It was the urge to help Verreault with his injured knee. The warm cloth at precisely the perfect temperature. The confessions Nico had no business making. I cannot look away. I always want to see you. Talking about his family, sharing his thoughts. It was embarrassing for a man in his position, one who should know better.

Yet he’d given Verreault the ammunition. Willingly. If Verreault ever made public what Nico had said? Then “sweet” would be the least-offensive word Nico’s men hurled at him—right before they shot him in the back of the head.

Nico stared through the car window and forced all thoughts of Bennett Verreault from his mind. He would deal with them later. Instead, he looked up and caught Antonio’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Let’s go to the last remaining house.”

His soldato’s eyebrows flew up. “Now? In the daylight?”

“Right now.” Nico was already pulling up Sergei’s contact. “I will get the address and security code. I want answers today.”

“Okay, but what if someone is home?”

“Then one of us handles it while the other searches.” It would take longer and required producing guns, which Nico preferred not to do with regular citizens, but this couldn’t be helped. His patience had run out.

Ten minutes later, he had the address. Antonio typed it into the GPS and redirected the car toward the suburban neighborhood. As they drove, a text came in with a security alarm code—just in case. Perfetto.

Satisfaction hummed in Nico’s veins. If Brown proved guilty, maybe he and Filippo would fly to St. Louis or Chicago and handle this personally. Anonymously. In a city that didn’t know the Marzanos. In a country that turned a blind eye to corruption. With the right bills in the right pockets, no one would ever know what happened.

When they arrived at the house, they drove by slowly. The place appeared empty. No cars outside or in the garage, the inside still and dark, so they parked down the street and got out, approaching carefully. The front entrance had a camera, one of the smart devices that would ping someone’s mobile when someone opened or closed the door. Nico waited while Sergei’s boys jammed it. When it was safe, Antonio picked the lock easily, allowing Nico to step in and disable the alarm.

So easy.

They didn’t rush. There was no need to, and Nico was convinced Brown was guilty. Therefore, there had to be evidence somewhere in the house or the garage. It was only a matter of time before they found it.

Nico was on the second floor, searching drawers and closets, when he heard a crash downstairs. Fuck. Was someone home? He hurried to the top of the stairs. “Che cazzo?”

“Scusa!” Antonio called. “I broke a lamp.”

Nico went back to his search, not caring whether he was careful or not. But more than an hour later, they had nothing.

“Fuck,” Nico said, slamming the last drawer in the garage workbench. He couldn’t believe it. But the search had been thorough, and Noah Brown wasn’t hiding anything on his property.

How was this possible? Nico stalked back to the main house, his blood boiling. These hockey players weren’t smarter than him, so how was the guilty man eluding him? This should be over and done, retribution exacted, the balance in the universe restored. Nico could be making deals or terrorizing his enemies again. Instead, he was still dealing with finding this stronzo.

He threw open the kitchen door and went to find Antonio. Tonight, he, Filippo and some of the men would sit down and strategize how to sweat the truth out of these five⁠—

“Don Marzano,” Antonio said, appearing from around a corner. He held up a half-empty vial. “I found this in a box of power bars in the gym downstairs.”

Nico’s hand was eagerly reaching for the vial before Antonio even stopped speaking. This was proof, he could feel it. “No label.”

“It might be steroids.”

“Or it might be GHB,” Nico countered. “Andiamo. Let’s drive this to the lab. We’ll have them test it as we wait.”

Antonio nodded and they both started walking toward the exit. “But can we stop for food first? I’m starving.”

It was well after dinner time, but the lab was more important. He clapped Antonio on the shoulder. “Not until after the lab. But then I promise to buy you the best steak dinner for being so thorough.”