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The girl has no idea how to follow orders, which I find both shocking and unsurprising. It’s obvious her father didn’t keep his kids on a tight leash. Lucie is the antithesis of obedient.

And still, I haven’t punished her for it.

“Where are we going? And you haven’t answered my question about the girl from back in the bar,” she says, glaring at me from across the seat of the SUV. “What if Viviana turns up and I’m not there? And just how long did you have someone following me, anyway?”

I rub my eyes and pull out my cigarettes. At her filthy look, I put one between my lips, light up, and blow smoke at her. I know I’m smoking too much at the moment, but I really don’t give a fuck.

“Ass,” she mutters.

“You ask a shit ton of questions. And that wasn’t the place to answer anything about the girl.”

“So there is a girl.” She pauses. “You seemed to think it was a place to touch me and get me off.”

“Everywhere’s a place to touch you and get you off, Lucie Joy.” I take a drag. “And your sister wasn’t coming. As far as being followed goes, I had eyes on you from the moment you stepped outside the brownstone.”

“Ugh, I could even feel them watching. Where are we going now?”

“We’re going to see the girl.” I blow out some smoke rings, then flick the cigarette butt out the window, not really in the mood for talking. I’m still sore from having my body singed by that goddamn explosion, from crashing through a window, and landing against cracked concrete.

She turns to me. “Does the girl have something to do with why you were blown up?”

“I wasn’t blown up. It was an attempted bombing.”

“Is that why you asked about Dad?”

“He asked if we knew someone who could help out and rescue a girl who’d been taken. This girl.” I pull up the photo of the blonde and show her.

“Nadia Benson?”

Now I turn to her. “You know her?”

“Her dad’s a landscaper, very well known and in demand, but…”

“Someone took her and someone blew up the place with us and the kidnappers in it.”

“But…” Lucie frowns. “Why?”

“Her dad’s a criminal, and criminals usually attract other criminal sorts, Lucie. I figured you’d know this, being the daughter of a fucking criminal. And now being married to one.”

“Mr. Benson’s just a landscaper.”

Fuck, I mean, it could be true. And maybe the bomb belonged to Pella, who forgot he’d activated it. Could happen.

I roll my eyes at the idiocy.

And water just might be dry.

My Lucie isn’t a criminal, and she doesn’t think like one. If she’s been told this Mr. Benson is a good guy who just does gardens, and she’s seen no evidence to the contrary, then she’s not going to question it. The innocent don’t ever question shit.

Me, I haven’t been innocent since I took my first breath and I’m sitting here thinking a landscaping business is perfect for a so-called small-fry criminal dude to do all kinds of things, like move merchandise, make deals, carry messages, all kinds of things for all kinds of people, and the fact that he’s in demand means he moves between different families, different factions of those crime families.

That all clicks for me.

But it also means the girl, his daughter, just might be useless.

When we reach Brooklyn and the safe house in Crown Heights, I do something I only do with my brothers.

I trust Lucie.