Page 56 of Laced With Secrets

“Dominic is going to kill us,” Penny said flatly.

“Probably.”

“If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us before the actual mobsters decides to,” Penny muttered. “Come on. Let’s wait at that bench so he can find us easily. The faster we get into his protective custody, the better our chances of survival.”

Despite everything—the absolute insanity of what we’d just done—I found myself smiling slightly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You interviewed a mob boss who casually admitted to multiple crimes and is still mad at your alpha for costing him millions. Over pasta.” Penny’s voice rose. “That is the definition of ‘that bad.’”

“But we learned things,” I pointed out. “I believe him. I believe he didn’t kill Thomas. And he thinks it was someone who had the most to lose from scandal.”

“Great. So now we just have to figure out which wealthy, powerful person with fifty years of practice covering up murderdecided Thomas was too dangerous to live.” Penny pulled his coat tighter against the cold. “This is fine. Everything is fine.”

“Penny—”

“I’m being sarcastic. This isnotfine. This is the opposite of fine.”

We’d barely got seated before Dominic’s silver Aston Martin pulled up in front of the bench. He parked and got out, his expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he was absolutely furious but trying to control it.

“Get in,” he said, his voice clipped.

Penny scrambled for the back seat. I moved toward the passenger side, but Dominic’s hand caught my arm gently.

“Are you hurt?” His alpha scent spiked with protective concern despite his obvious anger. “Did he threaten you?”

“No and no,” I said softly. “I told you, he was actually… nice. In a terrifying kind of way.”

Dominic’s jaw clenched. “We’re discussing this at the shop. Get in.”

“But I don’t need to open?—“

He yanked the passenger side door open. “Penny, I’ll drop you off at Blake’s.”

Penny slumped into the back seat with a barely audible “yes, sir” as I slid into the car. Dominic shut the door with careful control before rounding to the driver’s side. Once we were all buckled in, he pulled into the busy evening traffic in tense silence.

“For what it’s worth,” Penny offered from the back seat, “Vicente complimented my hair and said Leo’s grandfather’s shoes rivaled Salvatore Ferragamo’s. So that was nice.”

“Penny,” I warned.

“Just trying to find the positive side to our brush with organized crime,” Penny said. “You know, to soften the blow of the impending lecture.”

Dominic’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You both approached Vicente Antonelli on his turf. The man whose business Blake and I destroyed. He has every reason to hold a grudge against me andmyomega approached him without backup, without telling anyone where you were going.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds bad,” Penny muttered.

“Because it IS bad,” Dominic said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and took a breath. “What were you thinking? Were either of you thinking?”

“I was thinking that Vicente knew Thomas. That he might have information.” I turned to look at Dominic’s profile. “And I was right. He did.”

“And if he were guilty—if he’d decided you were too dangerous? Too much of a threat? What then?”

“We were in a public restaurant surrounded by witnesses?—”

“Vicente Antonelli has allegedly killed people in ways that look like accidents for forty years,” Dominic interrupted. “Public spaces don’t protect you from someone with that much experience making problems disappear.”

The car fell silent except for the sound of traffic. Guilt twisted in my chest.

From the back seat, Penny cleared his throat. “Technically, it’s the baby’s fault. He or she wanted puttanesca.”