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“And, he’s laundering money through his forty-seven businesses and shells. I can prove it.” Kristi spoke over Riley, voice hard.

“It’s forty-eight,” Riley muttered, squeezing her fingers together. Saint’s hand settled on her shoulder, thumb rubbing the back of her neck in small circles.

“Great. A new one. I’ll add it to the list.” Kristi’s sarcasm was a dull ache under Riley’s breastbone. “This is what I’ve been saying. He’s shitty and you shouldn’t work there. Like I’ve said for months.”

I’m not fighting about Nico again.

The rage came back in full force. Riley straightened as tall as she could without standing.

The hand on her shoulder squeezed gently.

She faced Kristi. “We are not doing this. Not right now. Not here. Drop it.” Riley’s voice was cold, tearing through the space between them.

Kristi’s teeth were clenched. Her eyes flicked to the hand at Riley’s shoulder, and the muscle jumped in her jaw. “Fine. Later, then.”

Riley held her eyes. No. Not later.

“It seems like there is a lot going on here, but I don’t think anyone needs to be investigating money laundering in this city,” Saint said. The undercurrent of authority held Riley tight, and she leaned into him.

“Someone’s got to do it,” Kristi said, meeting Saint’s eyes in a direct challenge. Riley stared at her.

“And it doesn’t have to be you, Kristi. It’s dangerous.” His voice dropped as he met her head on.

Aaron and Wheeler watched them both, still and honed.

“It’s a spreadsheet, Saint.” Kristi’s voice was clipped and measured. “Or should I refer to you as boss?”

Kristi vibrated with the tension and kept that cocky, assured smile in place. Riley couldn’t breathe. Saint watched Kristi like a hunter watches a snare, waiting. The line of eye contact between them stretched tight.

Aaron took in every micro-expression and documented it all.

“I don’t care what you call me. It should be deleted.” Saint leaned forward over Riley, hand still light on her shoulder. Riley was trapped between them, her heart thudding in her throat.

It wasn’t fear.

“Or what?” A perfect eyebrow quirked in question. Kristi had mastered the art of looking down at people—even when she knelt.

Long, delicate fingers dropped onto Kristi’s shoulder, and she jerked at the touch. She glanced back.

“Let it go.” Aaron’s voice was the black of the deepest shadows. A breath shot out of Kristi, and she pulled herself out of Saint’s orbit, gaze dropping to Riley.

Hurt and pain flashed in the blue, a slice to Riley’s ribs. “K…”

“It’s fine,” Kristi said tightly, chest heaving once before she locked everything down. Riley watched every bolt slide into place and saw her toss away the key.

Flashing a curt smile at Aaron, Kristi ducked out from under his hand.

“Well, don’t know about y’all, but I’m going for a smoke. Kristi? Want to join?” Wheeler drawled, getting to his feet while he patted his chest pockets.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Wasn’t asking, doll.” Wheeler’s grin promised he’d pick her up if he needed to. Kristi got to her feet and grabbed the remaining whisky off the table. She didn’t look at Riley once before they went out onto the rooftop patio.

Aaron padded after them, and a lighter rolled over his knuckles.

Riley stared at the closed door, and Saint’s hand found its way back into her hair. It clenched and released until she sagged against him.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, voice soft in the empty space they left behind. Murmurs came from the rooftop over the shop, and occasionally a booming laugh.