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I blink, a little confused by his question. “I’m something of a night owl,” I shrug, trying for casual, though I can feel my pulse quicken. “But if you don’t want me staying up so late, I’ll stop.”

Phoenix leans forward, the movement subtle but predatory. “That’s not what I asked. I asked what your game plan is. Besides sitting here waiting for my son?”

His words hit hard. He’s implying I’m wasting my time. That I don’t belong—or I’m trying too hard to prove that I do. I resist the urge to snap back, but I’m not about to let him push me around, either.

Meeting his tawny gaze head-on, I state, “Phoenix, I am a Romano. I’m here as a guest of your son’s, and in need of your protection. My father might be ruthless, but he never forgets a favor.”

Nico’s lips curl into a blinding smile, deep grooves appearing on his cheeks. Almost as soon as it flashes, it’s gone. “You don’t need Phoenix’s protection anymore, Romano.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“It means Clemenza Brando is dead,” he says with the casual air of discussing the weather.

I stare at him in shock. “Dead?”

Nico’s expression doesn’t shift, and somehow, that makes it worse. “Your father killed him, along with those cousins who tried to sell you. You’re safe now.”

He chose to believe me.Tears sting my eyes. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to execute his right-hand man. “Papa came through for me,” I whisper.

“No, he didn’t. Quinn made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” Nico explains. “Promised to kill your father if he didn’t do exactly what he did.”

My mind whirs as I struggle to process it. “Papa doesn’t bend to threats.”

“Oh, you underestimate your boyfriend’s reputation, Romano. Not only did your father wipe out his own, he also came to see me.”

“He did! What did he want?” My brows arch in disbelief.

“He wanted protection from Quinn. And, of course, wanted his seat back.” Nico leans back in his chair, his tone almost amused.

Papa’s that terrified of Cade?

My emotions ping-pong between shock at the revelation and relief that Papa finally found his way back to Nico. “What did you tell Papa?”

Nico tilts his head slightly, studying me. “The question is, what did he offer in exchange?”

I huff out a breath. “Let me guess . . . Guilty Pleasures?”

Nico smiles. “I turned him down, of course.”

“What? But you can’t,” I blurt in panic. “Don Vitelli. Nico, please. You don’t understand . . . this is what I’ve been fighting for. I made the app for the family, for Papa—”

“I don’t want your father or any other Romano on that seat, Luna,” Nico cuts me off, his voice like a whip. “I want you.”

I rear back, and a nervous laugh bubbles out. “Me!”

“Yes, you. That said, you should know that the other Capos all have military-grade combat and weaponry skills and speak five languages—as a minimum.”

Mymouth opens and closes, words sputtering out in a jumbled mess. “But, how . . . how could I possibly compete—I mean, I know some Krav Maga, and I can shoot cans, but that’s . . . it.”

Nico shrugs. “Sounds like you have some brushing up to do. Regardless, I intend to claim Guilty Pleasures, so give me your hand, Luna Romano.”

The words barely register before I instinctively extend my hand, palm up, like a rabbit hypnotized by the predator closing in.

My breath hitches as I see what Nico places into my open palm. A ring.

Black, sleek, and cold. Its gold band gleams, the onyx stone set into it catches the light. Unlike the bulkier version I’ve glimpsed on Uncle Pascal, this one is streamlined and reimagined into something feminine—yet no less sinister. This is no ordinary ring. It’s a mark of power. Or a noose.

It sears into my skin as I curl my fingers around it, and my throat tightens in panic.