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Worse, Nico was the head of the mob. But Bennett kept that fact to himself. “I know, but I’m not in any danger.”

“Even if I believed that, which I don’t, what about the rest of us? Those guys are scary. I almost pissed myself when that guy came to my room and forced me upstairs.”

“The only person who needs to be worried is whoever drugged this woman’s drink. And with good reason. I just wish I could find him before Nico does, but no one has confessed yet.”

“Look, maybe their information is bad. Maybe they got the brand or color of the car wrong. Maybe the guy rented the car. There could be a bunch of explanations. I don’t know. It seems pretty fucking stupid to drive your own car to a crime scene.”

Even though Bennett was exhausted, he paused. Of course. What was the saying about the simplest explanation usually being the right one? They were looking for a car, but the person driving it could’ve been anyone. This was definitely worth investigating tomorrow.

“I’m too tired to think about this right now,” Bennett said. “Let’s get some sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Okay.” Noah studied the floor for a few seconds then looked up. “Would it be weird if I hugged you right now? I feel like I need it.”

Bennett wasn’t a hugger with his teammates, but this was Noah. His friend who’d waited for three hours, nervous and scared that Bennett was being murdered in the penthouse. His friend who’d said Bennett’s sexuality wouldn’t change anything between them.

His friend, period.

“I need it too, man.” He rose and the two of them hugged. And not a half-assed, bro-clap on the back, but a real hug.

“I’m glad you’re not dead, Ben,” Noah said. “And there’s nothing you could tell me that would make me feel differently about you.”

Bennett understood the message clearly, which was that Noah knew Bennett was gay and didn’t have a problem with it. “Thanks, Brownie.”

Noah pulled back and rubbed Bennett’s head affectionately, vigorously, like they were siblings trying to annoy each other. “Love you, man. Get some sleep.”

Bennett swatted his friend’s hands away. “Love you, too, you idiot.”

As Noah grabbed the door handle, he looked over his shoulder. “And look, just saying, you’re a serious fucking catch. You can do better than this guy, Benny.”

Then his friend was gone, and Bennett thought about those words for a long time.

Filippo had a very distinct tell when he had something on his mind—he picked at his nails. He used to bite them when he and Nico were younger, but as an adult he’d switched to just ripping them off with his fingers. Now they were on the jet back to Toronto, Filippo attacking his hangnails, and so Nico waited for his cousin to raise whatever topic was on his mind. It could be anything, but Nico had a suspicion it was about last night. About Bennett Verreault.

Once they were in the air, Nico tried to work on his laptop, answering emails and reviewing contracts to distract himself. Filippo was sitting diagonal to Nico, his legs stretched out, while the guards laughed at something in the rear of the jet. It wasn’t until after their attendant served drinks that his cousin moved seats so he was sitting directly beside Nico.

Sighing, Nico closed his laptop. “Is there a reason you are sitting so close to me?”

“Last night. The guy. There is something you are not telling me.”

Nico locked his emotions behind a wall of impenetrable ice. It was a move he’d perfected over the last decade, even more so once he took over as don. “And what would I be hiding?”

“Look, I have asked myself if I’m crazy, but I waited outside your room last night. I was worried he’d hurt you or something—I didn’t fucking know. Ninety minutes I waited, Nico. Ninety. And he never left the penthouse. Finally, I snuck back in, quietly, because I worried you were dead. He could have been dismembering you in the bathtub for all I knew.”

Nico didn’t dare breathe. He didn’t want to hear what would come next.

“I cracked the door open a tiny bit, just to make sure you were okay. The shower was running. And I heard, well, noises.” He exhaled through his nose. “And then I started thinking—all those visits to the guy’s apartment, the suite at the hockey game . . . This is adding up to something.”

“It’s adding up to shit,” Nico snapped, surprise making him irritable. “Do not make up crazy theories, capisce?”

“Dai, cugino. Alone for ninety minutes? In the shower? You aren’t showering with a stranger.”

“You misheard. No one was showering. We were talking, that was all.” He reached for his coffee, wishing it was something stronger.

“Nico.”

“Filippo.” The three syllables were sharp, cutting. A warning. This was a topic to be avoided at all costs.

Maybe if they were alone, Nico would say more, but his men were in the back of the plane. They expected him to be the boss, ruthless and powerful, in control at all times, and queer men were not trusted in their world. They were considered an embarrassment to the family. Nico had personally watched his father kill a soldato after a video of the guy giving a blowjob surfaced. The soldier had been their second cousin and Nico’s father shot him in the head as if he was a stranger. Then the other men took turns spitting on his lifeless body.