“Checking out?” the guy asked without looking up.

“Yup,” Chase said from behind me, his hands braced my hips. What the—? I trembled and flashed a tight smile to the man, even though he still refused to look up.

“What room?” He cleared his throat.

“Presidential Suite,” Chase answered slowly, his lips almost grazing my ear.

“Ah, Mr. Abandonato.” The man’s hand shook as he typed on his computer. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. “And how was your stay?”

“Noisy,” Chase said. “A bit messy.”

I felt my cheeks heat.

The man finally looked up. His eyes darted between the two of us. “My apologies, if there is anything I can do to—”

“Actually…” Chase leaned forward using my body as a shield as I felt a gun slide from my back to my side, peeking out from my leather jacket. “I think there is something you can do.”

“Anything.” The man’s answer was too fast. He swallowed convulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his beady eyes blinked nervously.

“Next time someone offers you a ridiculous amount of money to give them access to the suites, just say no.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” The man’s deep timbre trembled slightly as he wiped his forehead.

“Life lesson number one.” I heard the hammer pull back. Shit. Was Chase really going to kill someone?

“I’m listening.” The man’s eyes pleaded with mine. I looked away.

“Big money always equals big messes that you’ll eventually be blamed for. They offer you a lot of money because what idiot says no to something like fifty grand? But trust me, it’s rare for a new associate to be able to spend all that money — especially when he’s dead. You’ll be collateral damage. And I hate collateral damage.”

I stole a peek at the guy’s face through the hair that had fallen across my face.

His eyes continued to dart from Chase to the rest of the lobby.

“Ask me.” Chase growled.

“Ask you?” the man repeated.

“Ask me why I hate collateral damage.”

“Why…” The man swore as a tiny bead of sweat slipped down his cheek and onto the countertop. “Why do you hate collateral damage?”

“Why, I’m glad you asked.” The gun was pushed further through my side so that it was visible to the guy. His eyes never left Chase’s. “You see, I hate getting my hands dirty, I hate cleaning up messes, but what I hate the most?” He paused. “When my poor wife has to be involved.”

The gun was aimed directly for the guy’s chest. I was pushed further into the counter, Chase still leaning heavily into my back. “Apologize.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Aban—”

“Not to me, you jackass. To her,” he ordered. “My wife.”

The man stumbled over his words. “Miss, my utmost and sincere apologies for putting you in such a dangerous situation. If you ever do decide to stay with us again, know that this will be the last time anything of this — nature will take place.”

“Oh, I know.” I smiled and leaned back into Chase. “Because if it does, my husband will kill you.”

“Shit,” the guy muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the counter until his knuckles turned white. He eyed the gun and started whimpering.

“Thanks for the lovely stay.” Chase laughed as the gun was removed from under my clothing and placed wherever the hell he had kept it in the first place.

Chase wrapped his arm around me and paused. “Oh and we ate some things from the mini-bar.”

“Consider them taken care of, Mr. Abandonato.” The man looked ready to pass out, still steadying himself on the counter.

“How nice. Thank you.” Chase smirked and pulled me close to him. “Such a fancy establishment, don’t you think, Mil?”

The doorman tipped his hat at us.

Yeah, our marriage was so not going to be the typical white picket fence with two-point-five children.

Chapter Sixteen

Nixon

“Get dressed,” I barked and walked back into the bedroom where Trace was sleeping.

I heard the cocking of a gun, my old pistol. Shit, not again. I turned around to see it pointed at my face and Trace looking angry as hell. “I’m not one of your associates, I’m not part of your family, and I’m sure as hell not Tex or Chase. Ask me again… nicely.”

“Sorry, Trace.” Apologies always sounded so foreign on my tongue. It felt like I’d just swallowed a bitter-tasting pill as I choked down my pride and tried again. “Will you please get off your very nice ass, find something to cover your delectable body, and do it at a speed that doesn’t make me want to murder someone for breakfast?”

She put the gun back on the nightstand and yawned. “Not a total apology but a bit better than yelling.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.”

Glaring, I walked into her closet and pulled out the smaller of her suitcases. “Pack for warm weather.”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Vegas.”

“Nixon!” Trace jumped out of bed and wrapped her body around mine like a koala. “I can’t believe it! We’re eloping! Oh my gosh, you’re the best—”

I shouldn’t have winced or tensed when she said elope.

“Not exactly.” I cleared my throat as she peeled her body away from mine. “It’s more of a business dealing.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits.

“Shit, are you going to get the gun again?” I scratched the back of my head and eyed the pistol.

“Spill.” Trace sat cross-legged on the bed. “Or I’m not changing into clothes, and I’m not packing.”

“Chase needs us.”

Her anger disappeared. Just like that. I say his name, and all of a sudden she was ready to run head first into anything? How was that fair? Pissed, I almost said something but thought better of it since she had just pointed a gun at my face.

“Are we all going?” Trace got up from the bed and walked into her closet. “Or is it just us?”

“Everyone.” I peered around the closet door and watched her pull her shirt off. It came flying at my face along with a few Sicilian swear words I know she probably learned from Tex, damn him.

“Is Chase already in trouble? By the way, you never told me where you went last night, not that I don’t trust you — well, actually…” She paused. “I’m still working on trusting you, you know, after the whole fake death episode.”

I winced again. “I deserved that.”

“And more.” Trace peeked around the door. “You do realize putting Tex and Mo on the same plane may start an all-out war?”

“Too late for that,” I murmured.

Trace’s face fell. She stepped around the door and pulled me into a hug. “What’s going on?”

I answered her question with a question. “What’s the worst possible thing that could happen to us?”

“Other than death?” Her arms tightened round my neck.

“Yeah.”

“Going to prison? Being ratted out—”

I licked my lips.

“But we’ve done nothing wrong. Our dealings are legal, damn it!” Trace stomped her cute little foot and pulled away. “No way can anyone pin anything illegal on us.”

Silence was probably my best bet, considering I couldn’t lie to her face.

“Nixon.” Her voice had a pleading edge. “Tell me your family doesn’t do anything illegal.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Our family doesn’t do anything illegal.” It was different when she was asking me to lie, right?

“Jackass.”

I grinned at that and smacked her backside. “Just get ready and don’t worry about things that you can’t fix… oh and don’t look too slutty. Your grandpa’s coming.”

She laughed and threw another shirt at my face. “Grandpa, huh? Three mafia bosses in one plane? Better hope it doesn’t go down.”

“We’d just parachute out or have Tex fly it,” I teased.

“Stop being so calm about everything.”

“My job,” I said seriously. “Now hurry up.”

Trace’s nostril flared.

“Hurry up, please.”

She blew me a kiss and walked back into her closet. I was still smiling when I walked into Tex’s room — that is, until I saw a chick there, with him in bed, sprawled across him with lipstick smeared across her cheeks. Classy.