“Nice,” Judd said. “Mr. Big Shot pretends to be in college and suddenly thinks he’s better than me. Just remember, you haven’t found that book yet and odds are you never will. You think you were dog shit in the clan before? Just wait until you have to go back empty-handed.”

I slammed the door behind me and flicked a light switch to illuminate the dim apartment. “Fuck off.”

Judd crossed to the refrigerator. “So, Buffer…” He helped himself to a long swig of milk straight from the carton and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “What’s your plan? Assuming you even have one.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m having dinner at Tommy’s tonight.” I knew I shouldn’t have let him get under my skin—the less Judd knew the better—but I couldn’t help taking the bait when he started in on me that way.

“And it only took you, what, a month?” He tossed the open carton back inside the refrigerator, and I saw a stream of milk spill out before he slammed the door shut.

I grabbed a rag from the counter. “You’re a damn slob, you know it?” I shoved him aside and opened the door again. The carton had nearly emptied itself, and milk pooled on the bottom shelf. I sopped it up and threw the wet rag into the sink.

“What do I care about cleaning up? That’s what women are for. And pussies like you, I guess.” He laughed at his own joke and made himself comfortable at the kitchen table, sitting in one chair and putting his feet up on the other. “So tell me about this dinner.”

“There’s nothing to tell. I’m going to Tommy’s around seven, and I’ll look for the ledger while I’m there.”

“That’s your big plan?”

“Do you have a better one?”

“What if I do? This ain’t my show. You’re the one who wants to be the big hero.”

“I thought you came to make sure the job was done right, Prince.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t fuck it up, Buffer. I know how you are when you get a good whiff of some pretty slash. You start thinking with your johnson, and there ain’t much there to think with.”

I kicked the chair out from under his feet, and they crashed to the floor, pulling him to the edge of his seat. He sprang out of the chair and slammed his hands into my chest, shoving me backward.

I hit the refrigerator and sent magnets scattering. I was back in his face in a heartbeat, though, my hands clenched into fists. “You just remember who Pop sent here in the first place, asshole. If he thought you were even close to smart enough, don’t you think he would have sent you instead?”

“He knows I’m good for more than finding some little book. I was out on the road while you wasted all your time in school. Playing fetch is all you’re good for.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Prince. Maybe one of these days you’ll actually believe it.”

“If you didn’t have to look presentable for your little dinner tonight, I’d wail the tar out of you, you little shit. Jimmy Boy isn’t around to protect you this time, so don’t push your damn luck.”

We were in each other’s faces now, so close I could feel flecks of his spit on my cheek when he threatened me. My muscles jumped with the desire to pummel him. “I’m pretty sure I can kick your ass without you landing a punch if you’re that worried about keeping my face pretty.”

“In your dreams, Buffer. Maybe I should fuck you up so I can take your place at dinner. I saw a picture of Costello’s daughter, and I gotta say, I can see why you’ve been taking your time with that hot little piece of ass.”

I shoved him so hard it knocked him from his feet, and he flew backward, landing on the table, which immediately collapsed under him. He scrambled back to his feet, sending pieces of broken wood sliding across the kitchen floor. He slammed his body into me and drove me back into the fridge, which groaned as it inched backward, gouging out strips of linoleum. I lowered my head into his shoulder and aimed my fists into his sides, one after the other. I shoved him again, all my weight behind the effort, and he stumbled back. His foot caught a broken table leg, and he crashed to the ground a second time. I threw myself on top of him, intent on unleashing every bit of frustration, anger, and uncertainty I’d been keeping at bay since I’d realized how I really felt about Spencer. I let my arms fly, not all that concerned with where they landed. Judd defended himself with one hand and strained to reach something underneath him with the other. I assumed he was groping for a broken table leg, and I wasn’t really concerned about his ability to land a blow with it. But when something cold and hard pressed into the skin under my chin, I froze.

“That’s what I thought.” Judd panted. He kept the barrel of the gun tight under my jaw and forced me back so he could push himself up to sitting. “Now you want to rethink that whole kicking-my-ass thing?”

“Christ, Judd.” I held my hands up in surrender. “What the hell? You crazy fuck.”

“That’s right, keep insulting the guy with the gun. Real smart, Buffer.”

“You gonna shoot me for calling you crazy? That would kind of prove my point, wouldn’t it?” Part of me worried he might honestly be that crazy, but I tried not to let the panic I was feeling show in my face. There was nothing I could do about the thrumming heartbeat in my ears though.

“Try me and see.” Judd’s eyes glinted wildly. “I could have the book and a quick taste of that little slice of cherry pie and be on the road again before anyone found you.”

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would shatter, but the gun at my neck kept me from doing anything more. “Okay, you’re right,” I forced myself to say. “I think we both just need to cool off. I admit I got a little distracted, but the game is back on track now. I’ll have what I came for by tonight. Just put that thing away.”

“You better.” Judd dropped the pistol from my chin but made sure it stayed where I could see it. “Or I’ll be more than happy to do it for you.”

I GLANCED AT the text from Spencer on my phone’s display, then frowned up at the imposing Main Line house. Set back from the road behind a long row of tall, thin hedges, the house was a huge gray stone construction spread out over what could’ve easily been an entire city block.

I double-checked the address on the unadorned black mailbox at the end of the driveway. I’d congratulated myself on finding the house so quickly after leaving the SEPTA station, but now that I saw the meandering driveway, I was pretty sure I’d made a mistake. When Spencer told me her father lived in the affluent neighborhood a couple miles from Balanova’s campus, I’d imagined a less gaudy version of Pop Sheedy’s house back home, but the word “large” hardly seemed to capture this monster. The area was home to some of Philadelphia’s wealthiest families, but this place put most of its neighbors to shame. I confirmed the address a final time, then started up the drive.

Once the house was in full view, I couldn’t stop from blowing out a low whistle. Tommy Costello had money—and way more than the five hundred large he’d stolen from my clan. The reality of just how successful he’d been since he’d taken off was just now starting to settle in. Spencer had told me Tommy was a venture capitalist, whatever that was, and it’s why he was so keen on her studying business instead of literature like she wanted. I had to admit, if this is what a business degree could get you, I’d be willing to take a few classes myself. My stomach twisted uncomfortably, and I glanced around for a place to sit.

As the driveway approached the house, it circled around a low, stone wall that enclosed a perfectly landscaped section of the lawn. I walked over to it and sat behind a wide shrub that had been planted among the flowers and saplings. I leaned forward on my knees and breathed in through templed fingers.