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"Organized crime? As in the mafia?"

"Yes."

I laugh.

I can't help it. It's one of those horrible, inappropriate laughs that escapes when your brain decides reality has become too fucking ridiculous to process.

"You're telling me my boyfriend is a mobster?"

Daniel doesn't look amused. "That's what I'm telling you."

I stop laughing.

Oh, God.

I think about Enzo's expensive suits, the luxury cars, and Rocco standing outside restaurants looking like he's expecting somebody to shoot at him. The way people stop talking when Enzo enters a room. Those mysterious business calls he always handles with a few quiet words.

Then I remember the ranch.

"His boss owns horses," I blurt out.

Daniel raises an eyebrow. "Horses?"

"A ranch in the Hollywood Hills. Enzo took me there last weekend. Dario was there, and everybody kept calling him Boss. I thought he was just some rich businessman who liked horses."

"That is one of his legitimate interests."

I stare at him. "So what you're saying is that I went on a date to a mafia horse ranch."

He almost smiles.

"Not exactly how I'd describe it."

"Well, that's how I'm describing it. Jesus Christ, I was worried one of the horses might bite me. Apparently, I should've been worried about the people."

Daniel closes the folder partway.

"Some of this is public knowledge, and some of it is the subject of ongoing investigations. Francesco Moretti heads the larger organization from Sicily. Dario runs the Los Angeles operation, and the men here answer to him. The family's entertainment interests include legitimate businesses, but investigators suspect some of those companies have been used in money laundering and other criminal activities."

"Other criminal activities?"

"Extortion, illegal trafficking, violence. There have been several investigations, although proving individual involvement isn't always straightforward."

I stare at him, waiting for the punch line.

There isn't one.

"And Enzo?"

"Lorenzo is considered one of Dario's trusted lieutenants."

I look down at my hands, remembering how gently Enzo held them while we walked through beautiful restaurants and along the beach.

The same man who sent coffee to my library apparently works for the fucking mafia.

"That's why he has Rocco," I whisper.

"His position would certainly explain the security."