One we had no control over.

Nixon sighed. “Phoenix has to know something we don’t. There was a moment…” He shook his head. “I don’t know, a moment when he seemed genuinely scared.”

“Um.” Tex raised his hand. “Who wouldn’t be scared? That was Luca Nicolosi. Rumor has it that he and his brother are still at odds from some sort of drama that happened over twenty years ago. Last time they saw each other they were both in the hospital for months.”

I looked at Nixon. He pressed his lips together and pulled the car to a stop.

“Tex,” he said without turning around, “give me and Chase a few minutes, okay?”

Tex reached for the door and paused. “You guys gonna kill each other?”

“No,” we said in unison.

“Because if you are—”

“Tex,” Nixon growled. “Go.”

“Fine, fine.” The car door slammed and again we were blanketed in silence. Shit.

Nixon pulled out his favorite antique gun and began playing with it. Hell, all I knew was that if his finger slipped it would be no accident. I leaned back in my seat and waited for him to say something. I tried to look unaffected—but Nixon only pulled out that gun when he was feeling sentimental about the person’s death. Great.

He unloaded the gun and played with one of the bullets, weighing it in the palm of his hand before loading that one single bullet back into the chamber. With his other hand he pulled back on the hammer and aimed the gun at my head. Well, shit.

“Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean I would hesitate to pull this trigger,” Nixon said, calm as a freaking sunny day. “My love for Tracey trumps my love for you—always. While I appreciate what you did tonight, I can’t seem to get over this sinking feeling that you’ve been just waiting for an opportunity this whole time, and I’ve been blind as sin while you swept in.”

I swallowed. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Nixon laughed. With the gun still pointed at my neck he leaned in. “That’s the damn problem. I trust you more than anyone.”

“Why is that a problem, then?”

Shaking his head, Nixon pulled the gun from my neck and put the safety back on. “It’s a problem because you’re my family. You’ve been to hell and back with me. If I lose you—” Nixon cursed. “You’re like a brother to me, Chase. Being betrayed by you? Well, I can’t imagine a worse fate, other than being betrayed by Trace. So how do you think it makes me feel, to put the two most important people in my life together? She loves you. I know she loves you. I know you love her. And I’m forcing you together… I can’t control what happens and in the end, if I’m betrayed… Shit, Chase, I don’t know if I could actually survive it. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” I croaked. “You’re scared as hell.”

“Got that right.” Nixon laughed. “But I guess if I wasn’t scared shitless, she wouldn’t be worth it, right?”

“She is.” I swallowed and paused. “Worth it, I mean.”

“It would be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn’t.”

“You’ll have to tell her tonight.”

Nixon exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “I know.”

“And then—”

“I said I know,” Nixon snapped. “Just, give me tonight, give us tonight and I’ll see about putting her in her own room next to yours, all right?”

“For appearance’s sake,” I said out loud, more to convince myself than anything.

“Yes, just in case Luca decides he wants to have a family dinner with us and we have to invite the devil into our promised land.”

“Right.”

The car fell silent again. I didn’t know what to say; I mean, what are you supposed to say? If I’d been hanging by a thread yesterday, then you can damn well assume I was hanging by thin air at this point. I would never betray Nixon—never. In that moment I decided—I would rather die than hurt my family, and I’d rather die than hurt Trace. This meant only one thing: Even if it killed me, I could no longer put myself in a position where I was lusting over Trace. Yes, we had to make it look real, but I needed to be mindless about it, just like I was mindless about killing… Right now, both of these things were my job. My heart screamed in outrage, as if the idea of ignoring its pulsating rhythmic chant of Trace’s name was a cardinal sin. But I knew it wasn’t. No, the great sin would be to give in to myself—and if that happened Nixon wouldn’t have to kill me, I’d put the bullet in my own frantic heart. It wouldn’t be worth it. There would be no justification for my actions, just a very dark future in the seventh circle of Hell.

I slammed the car door and jogged inside the house. Pino, one of our men, was waiting outside the door.

“Any action tonight?” I asked.

Pino laughed. “No sir, not if you count several of the men begging the young ladies to turn off the Godfather action.”

“The Godfather?” I repeated. “I thought they were watching chick flicks.”

Pino sighed. “Yes well, Trace and Monroe thought it would entertain us more to watch a movie about our lives.”

I chuckled. “Our lives?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m trying to figure out if I like the idea of Marlon Brando playing me.” I patted him on the back. “Make a call to Uncle Tony, would ya? We have some business to take care of tomorrow night and I’ll need his help.”

“Right away sir.” Pino pulled out his phone and opened the door for me.

I stepped inside was immediately hit with the smell of chocolate chip cookies. Without thinking I walked into the kitchen, eager for food. With all the stress of the evening I’d forgotten to eat.

Trace had on one of my ma’s old aprons. TI’s newest song was playing from her iPhone; she was singing super loud and off-key as she spooned up cookie dough and placed it on the sheet.

“Tasty.” I winked.

Blushing, she stopped dancing.

“Nope, you have to pretend like I’m not here. Go ahead, shake your ass. I’m sure somewhere on that little bucket list of yours is singing off-key in the kitchen while your boyfriend watches. Only, my bucket list includes you in nothing but the apron; but hey, I’m not picky.”

“Very funny.” Trace turned up the music and twirled around then walked up to me and pulled me into her arms. “I was worried for you.”

“Don’t worry.” I kissed her mouth. She tasted like chocolate chips and suddenly I forgot about everything—about Luca, Chase. It was only Tracey and the faint taste of chocolate chip cookies on her tongue.

Without breaking our kiss I lifted her into my arms and walked down the hall. My father had been a paranoid freak, so all the bedrooms were on the first level in case of a need for an easy escape.

I kicked open my bedroom door and slammed it closed behind me. If this was our last night for a while, I wanted to savor it; I wanted to savor her.

Trace moaned into my mouth as I continued to suck the chocolate from her tongue. Damn, I would miss her taste.

She pulled back and took off the apron, then wrapped her arms around my neck and attacked me—really, there was no other word for it.

Hot. That was the first word that came to mind when Trace’s lips pressed against mine. Urgent, that would be the second word as her tongue ran along my lower lip, causing me to curse aloud—just before I jerked her against my body and slammed her against the bedroom door. And then—nothing. Words left me. It was an out-of-body experience kissing Trace. It scared the hell out of me, that one touch could devastate not only my body but my soul—it scared me to my core and I hated that in her arms I was unable to show strength, only total weakness.

Maybe that was the third word. Weakness. When I lifted her into my arms and felt her body pressed tightly against mine—when her soft moans drove me insane, causing my hands to tug her shirt from her body—I realized one thing.