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“We get dressed. We go to the party. Make some excuse to come back up here to grab what we need, and then…” Jupiter gestured vaguely. “We leave.”

Trev sat on the bed and crossed his arms. “That’s it? We’re not, like, trying to study guard rotations, check out video camera feeds? Something like that? So we don’t get caught?”

“We’re going to have to be very careful.”

“Being careful isn’t a plan. That’s a shit plan.” Trev grunted. “Come on. Is there a guard rotation or anything like that we should know about? Like, when do they take piss breaks? There has to be a certain time that’ll be easier to slip out?—”

Jupiter handed Trev a black box. It was about the size of a shoe box.

“What’s that?”

“For your outfit tonight.”

Trev frowned as he opened the box, certain it was going to be an ugly pair of shoes. Instead, it was a black leather collar with a long silver chain leash. “Oh, this is gonna be a hard no, Daddy. Nope.”

“Emil wants to show off that he’s got Cold’s little brother on a leash.”

“Literally? The fuck?”

Jupiter held out the collar. “Sorry. Nonnegotiable. Remember, we gotta play nice.”

“You get to drag me around and feel like hot shit,” Trev growled. “Being your bitch for the night is not putting me in a play nice with others kind of mood.”

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It better be with your mouth.”

“That can certainly be arranged once we’re fucking free and clear.” Jupiter kissed Trev’s forehead.

“We really should talk about a plan.”

“We have a plan.”

“No, you have a half-assed idea that sounds good in your head.” Trev crossed his arms over his chest. “Where is the party going to be? How many exits are there? Guards? Do you have access to the keys for a vehicle in the mobster SUV fleet? Can it be tracked? Weapons, more cash, anything else we can use. Does anyone here owe you a favor or two? Is there anyone else we can trust? Come on. This is all shit we need to know.”

“Wow.” Jupiter whistled. “Maybe you should be a gangster.”

“At least one of us should be.”

Jupiter was able to get more information about the party’s security and confirm that he knew where the keys for some of the fleet were kept. A valet service had been called in for the guests, and most of the mafiamobiles were being moved around to the back of the house where an impromptu parking area was being set up. Only the valets would be working that area, as the majority of the guards would be inside the house.

Armed with this information, Trev formed a plan.

He knew Emil and Sal would want Jupiter to make a few rounds to show off Trev to the guests. Trev would then pretend to get drunk and show his ass spectacularly, prompting Jupiter to take him back upstairs. They would grab Trev’s lockbox plus a bag Jupiter would pack for them, head to the kitchen to get the keys out of the case by the back door, bribe the valets with a nice bottle of scotch to go take a break, and then haul ass.

It wasn’t a perfect plan by any means, but it was better than nothing.

“What if the valets don’t like scotch?” Jupiter asked as he slid the bottle into the bag. “What if they’re gin guys?”

“Then I’ll suck their dicks.” Trev scoffed.

“What? What if they’re not gay?”

“Like that matters.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Jupiter frowned. “I’ll knock ’em out or something if I have to.”

“Jealous?” Trev winked.