“But first, we should probably shower together. Just so I can make sure you get all those hard-to-reach places nice and clean—after I dirty them all up again.”

Heat bloomed between my legs, but I kept my tone nonchalant. “I think I could manage getting out of bed to do that.”

Two hours later, we left Bishop’s to head to my apartment so I could change out of my dress. We ventured to a little hole-in-the-wall place Bishop preferred for breakfast and settled on a bench near the front while we waited for them to set up our table. Beside me sat a stack of newspapers people had left behind.

My father’s picture, albeit small and in the dot style that particular paper was known for, stared back at me from a column on the front page. The headline read WILL THE CASSO EMPIRE CRUMBLE?

Bishop stood to hit the restroom, and I grabbed the paper.

Dominic Casso’s seemingly untouchable empire has come under attack from all sides. Feds have crippled the economics, and rival families are attempting a power grab while he’s investigated on several counts of racketeering and fraud. Through it all, Casso remains a stoic head to what is suspected to be one of the most profitable organized-crime families since the 1970s. A long, detailed history of my father’s rise through the ranks followed, but no new information about what was happening.

If I knew anything about Dom, he wouldn’t let a single charge stick. He’d been questioned many times in the last ten years, which was when I started to become aware of the nature of his business, and nothing had ever stuck.

There had been no trials, no sentences, and nothing else that could slow him down. But he had to believe that whatever was happening right now was different from those other times because he’d never sent me away before.

I reached the end of the article where there was speculation as to how many illegitimate children Dom had fathered, and the current count was two. Two sons, that was. Very few people within or outside the family knew that I was his daughter and not his niece. Maybe it made more sense since I was forgotten half the time anyway and had been raised by his half sister.

I was folding the paper up and setting it aside when Bishop came back. His gaze darted to the front of the paper as I added it back to the pile. I didn’t expect him to snatch it off the stack.

His eyes scanned back and forth as he read the entire article that I’d just finished before shaking his head and dropping it back on the pile.

“Seems like they’ll never take that bastard down.” His words carried a harsh edge, like it was something he took personally.

“You follow this stuff?” I asked, not sure why I risked the question. Maybe because I wanted to get a feel for his knowledge if I was ever allowed to tell him who I was.

“As much as the next guy. You would think we were still in the ’70s with how much that guy gets away with and the cops’ inability to do jack shit about it.”

The hostess came to tell us our table was ready, and I was glad I didn’t have to come up with an answer. Bishop knows who my father is. It was a revelation I didn’t want to consider. My past and my present were supposed to stay separated with a neat line, not collide while we were waiting for breakfast.

It wasn’t until I was at work that night that the next reminder came.

I HATED THAT I’D LET seeing that fucker’s face in the paper ruin my appetite, but my body didn’t know any other way to react. It hadn’t been long enough since I’d seen Dom Casso’s face through the sight of my gun, and I hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.

I had no doubt that if I’d killed him that day, I would have died in short order, and the power vacuum left in his organization would have been filled by someone just as ruthless.

But I hadn’t, even though he’d deserved that bullet through his chest. What were the odds that he would have had some girl come running to him and ruin my shot? When his bodyguards had spotted me and started shooting, I’d run, leaving revenge for another day and choosing to live.

But I’d done a shitty job of living until just lately.

THE PHONE I’D CARRIED SINCE I left New York vibrated in the front pocket of my apron as I handed a brown paper bag of donuts across the counter to an older couple. The vibration startled me so much, I lost my grip and dropped the bag before the man had a hold of it.

“So sorry.” I snatched it off the counter and handed it to him again.

“No worries, darlin’. Ain’t gonna hurt those donuts none.” He winked. “But I hope she doesn’t spill our coffee.”

I glanced down the counter to where Asha, my coworker for the evening, filled two small cups with espresso.

“Of course not. Her hands are steady as they come.”

The couple collected their coffee, and I stepped toward Asha. “I need to step out for a second to check this missed call. You mind?”

“Of course not. The rush is over. I can hold down the fort by myself for a few. Take your time.”

I nodded and hustled out from behind the counter and down the back hallway. Pulling the phone from my apron pocket, I saw the number I’d memorized across the screen. MISSED CALL & VOICE MAIL.

My hand shook as I unlocked the phone and tapped the screen for it to play.

Instead of words, the message started as just static. Then something garbled and shouting. “Where the hell is she? Why isn’t she at the safe house?” It was Dom’s voice and he was pissed.

“You wanted her out of the way. I got her out of the way,” a second voice said. It was much calmer and sounded like Vincent.

The called ended abruptly, and the rest of the conversation was cut off like someone had realized they’d accidentally made a call.

Dom wanted me in a safe house?

I listened to it three more times and was sure that Vincent hadn’t intended to call. One heck of a butt dial, Vin. But nothing made sense, including the fact that Dom had sounded concerned about me. Not like the absentee father he’d always been.

But then Vincent’s words brought home the reminder. You wanted her out of the way. I got her out of the way.

I turned and looked at the empty donut shop, and then to the back door that led into the alley.

I needed a minute and fresh air to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be right back,” I called to Asha.

“Told you to take your time, girl. I had seven shots of espresso to kick my hangover from last night, so I’m wired. I could handle a crowd all by myself.”