Oh, and he loved to flirt with Remy.

  “So unprofessional,” Remy teased.

  Sergio snorted. He turned and leaned against the lockers next to Remy. “I could be really unprofessional and tell you what I’m thinking right now.”

  Remy glanced over at him, laughing when Sergio waggled his eyebrows. As much as Remy would be up for having Sergio be “unprofessional” with him, they worked together, and getting involved with coworkers was never a good idea.

  “Goodnight, Sergio.”

  Sergio put a hand to his heart. “You wound me, beautiful.”

  Shaking his head, Remy grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, pausing when he heard someone. He was pretty sure everyone else had left. He listened intently.

  Silence.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Sergio shook his head. “Nope. Have a good night, sweetheart.”

  With that, Sergio left. Hm. Maybe Remy was hearing things. Closing his locker door, he headed out into the bar. Sergio was nowhere around. He’d left pretty quickly. Had Remy said something wrong? He hoped not.

  “I’m leaving, Mr. Banetti,” Remy called out like he did every night. His boss liked to know when everyone was done with their shift and heading out.

  Mr. Banetti emerged from the kitchen, an open beer in one hand and a familiar bag in the other. “Not without these you’re not.”

  Remy’s mouth watered, and he groaned. “Oh my God, are those Mama Banetti’s bombolonis?” He’d only met his boss’s mom once when she’d come in to drop off some paperwork he’d forgotten at home, but she’d immediately taken a liking to Remy and was always sending him food with Mr. Banetti.

  “You bet.” Mr. Banetti held them out, and Remy took the bag.

  “Please thank her for me. She makes the best pastries.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? See you tomorrow, kid. Don’t forget to swing by my office and pick up your paycheck. It’s on my desk.”

  With another thank you, Remy headed toward his boss’s office when he remembered he hadn’t clocked out. Popping a donut into his mouth, he hurried back to the kitchen and clocked out with his employee number and finger scan before he could forget. Again. It always messed with the schedule when he forgot to clock out.

  Why were these things so good? Eating so much sugar at this time of night was not a smart life choice, but every time he tried to stop, he wanted just one more. It didn’t help that he was starving, though he doubted it would have made much of a difference if he wasn’t. Leaving the bar, he cut through the alley that led to the street.

  Even with some of the bars closing, their neon signs flickering off along both sides of the street, it was busy, filled with people either drunkenly stumbling home or to their next venue of merriment. From what little he’d seen, it was safe to say the city had one hell of a nightlife.

  He’d polished off almost the whole bag of the sugar-coated, cream-filled donuts by the time he got to the end of the block. He stopped short when he realized he’d forgotten to grab his paycheck from Mr. Banetti’s office.

  Cursing around a mouthful of donut, he turned around and headed back to the bar, chucking the now-empty bag into one of the garbage bins he passed along the way. Maybe he should do a little exploring on his next day off and find a good bakery. Not that anything could match Mama Banetti’s bombolonis, but still.

  Thankfully the lights in the alley behind the bar were still on, which meant Mr. Banetti was still there—probably catching up on invoices and inventory orders.

  As Remy approached the bar, a black muscle car pulled into the alley from the other side, stopping just a few feet away. Talk about a sweet—and somewhat disturbing—ride. He’d never seen a car like that. The thing was pitch-black from the back bumper to the front, with windows so dark he couldn’t see inside. If it weren’t for the headlights, the thing would probably disappear into the shadows. Not ominous at all.

  Ignoring the car and why it might be there, Remy hurried inside through the bar’s kitchen and headed for Mr. Banetti’s office. It was still open, so he quickly scanned the desk and found the familiar-looking envelope with his name on it. His paycheck. Snatching it up, he folded it and shoved it into his back jeans pocket before leaving.

  As he headed back to the kitchen, he saw that someone had left the wine cellar door open. Damn, had he left it open? No, he wouldn’t have forgotten to close it. Not with all the ridiculously expensive alcohol the bar stocked. Mr. Banetti had bottles of wine and spirits worth thousands of dollars down there. Better lock it up.

  Stopping in the doorway, he reached for the door handle when he heard a gurgled cry that made him jump.

  “You can’t do this.”

  What the hell?

  The hair on the back of Remy’s neck stood on end, and his gut screamed at him to turn the hell around and get out of there. But someone was clearly in need of help. He couldn’t just walk away. He’d never forgive himself.

  Slowly, silently, he went down the wooden staircase leading into the cellar. It was mostly dark, with one of the overhead lights turned on toward the back.

  “You think you can steal from me and not pay the price?”

  “Do you know what will happen to you when he finds out?” A man said, sounding like he was choking.

  “That’s why he’s not going to find out.”

  Mr. Banetti? What the hell was going on? Had one of the staff stolen from him? But then he hadn’t recognized the voice he’d heard. He was sure there was a reasonable explanation for all this.

  Going down the stairs, Remy had just about reached the bottom when a muffled pop made him jump. He stood there, frozen, his gaze on the guy tied to a chair, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Without thinking, Remy sucked in a sharp breath.

  His boss had just killed a man in cold blood.

  “Fuck.”

  Mr. Banetti’s voice snapped him out of it, and Remy swallowed hard as he met his boss’s gaze. Someone moved behind Mr. Banetti and Remy couldn’t believe it. Sergio.

  “Damn it, kid, why’d you have to come back?” Sergio asked, sounding pained.

  “I forgot my paycheck,” Remy said, barely aware he’d said something ridiculous. “I’m sorry I—” What the hell was he supposed to say? I’m sorry I walked in on our boss killing some dude. I’ll just go about my business. See you tomorrow night.

  Mr. Banetti wiped a hand over his mouth and cursed again. In that instant, Remy knew they were going to kill him.

  “Sorry, kid.” He turned to Sergio. “Kill him.”

  Sergio hesitated and Banetti backhanded him. “You do what I fucking tell you!”

  Remy didn’t stop to think, he grabbed the wine rack to his right and pushed as hard as he could, darting off as it fell forward, bottles of expensive spirits crashing to the ground. Chunks of the brick walls around him exploded as he sped up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. When he got to the top, he whirled around and slammed the door shut, locking it before he took off through the kitchen.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” Running outside, he frantically looked around. What the hell was he going to do? Where would he go? Maybe he could hide somewhere? Lay low until he figured out what to do or how to get to the authorities? One side of the alley was blocked by that car. Wait….

  The car.

  It stood parked but idle, the engine running.

  Logically, this was not a sound decision, but he was short on options right now. Running for the car, he grabbed the handle of the backseat and said a little thank you when it opened. He jumped inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it.

  “Go!”

  The driver slowly panned to stare at him. “Does this look like a fucking taxi to you?”

  “Please, you need to go! Now!” Remy carefully craned his neck around the front passenger side seat to peek out the front windshield.

  “Get out of my car,” the guy growled.

  “You don’t understand; I just saw my boss kill someone and—”

  “Congratulations. It’s a day that ends in ‘y’. Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Car.”

  Was he serious? Did he not see the distress Remy was in? It’s not like he was asking for a free ride. He was asking for help not dying! “I need help.”

  The guy paused for a second as if he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head. “Not my problem. Get out. Don’t make me—”

  A shot pinged against the wall somewhere to the left of the car, and with a loud curse, the guy put the car in Reverse and hit the accelerator, the screeching of wheels was followed by the vehicle lurching backward and reversing out of the alley at full speed.

  “Son of a bitch. Did that asshole just shoot at my car?”

  “That’s what you’re concerned about?” Remy asked incredulously.

  The car reached the street, skidding to a halt only long enough for the man to put her in Drive and shoot forward. Thank goodness he seemed to be a really good driver.

  They sped through the city streets, a sharp turn throwing Remy across the backseat and slamming into the door.

  “Seatbelt!” The driver snarled. “Put on your fucking seatbelt!”

  Remy scrambled back and quickly fastened his seatbelt, just in time. The car made another sharp turn, bystanders diving out of the way as they sped down a side street.

  The sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, and Remy threw his hands over his head. “They’re firing at us with a machine gun!”

  “No shit! Keep your head down. If they shoot out my windows, I’ll kick your ass!”

  Remy supposed an ass-kicking was a better alternative to being dead. How the hell had this happened? Why was this happening? All he wanted was a quiet life, a fresh start, yet somehow he’d walked into…who the hell knew what?

  Now his boss wanted him dead. He obviously couldn’t go home, and the only chance he had was the grumpy stranger driving the getaway car. Remy knew the man hadn’t been in that alley for any good reason. For all he knew, this guy would try to kill him too.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Remy blurted.

  “What? Are you serious right now? Someone’s shooting at you, you jump into my car, and you think I’m the dangerous one here?”

  He had a point. The car’s engine roared. As they took an on-ramp to the highway, Remy had to ask. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a Ferryman.”

  Remy shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “A Ferryman. Like in Greek mythology. The guy who transports the dead.”

  Oh. Fuck.

  Well, that couldn’t be good.

  THREE

  Why was he even talking to this guy?

  “Fuck. Fuck.” Dev slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he growled, glancing in the rearview mirror at the asshole responsible for this mess. Thankfully, no one drove the way Dev did or knew the city like him, so he’d quickly lost his tail, but that didn’t mean it was over. It was far from over.

  He’d never been in breach of contract before. Never. He couldn’t afford to, not in his line of work where his reputation for getting the job done was everything. Why the fucking fuck had he driven off with this guy?

  “I’m sorry if I put you in a tight spot….”

  “Tight spot?” Dev took the off-ramp and made a right, pulling the car into the shadows beneath the underpass. He got out, threw a much-needed shit-fit, and took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. “It’s fine. This is fine.”

  The guy got out of the car. Fuck, he was tall.

  “I’m Remy.”

  “I don’t fucking care.” Dev spun on his heel and paced. He needed to call this in. Man, Cat was going to be so pissed at him. Enough-to-shoot-him pissed.

  “What’s your name?”

  Dev wanted to tell him his name was go-fuck-himself, but instead, he opened his mouth and replied. “Dev.”

  “Dev. Thank you for saving my life.” The guy smiled, his face visible in the dim light of the grungy lamppost nearby. He was handsome. No, not handsome. He was a pain in Dev’s ass.

  Why the hell was Dev hesitating? He should leave the asshole here. Yep. That’s what he was going to do. Marching back to his car, he saluted Remy.

  “Have a nice life. Whatever’s left of it.” He climbed into his car, shutting the door on Remy and whatever he’d been saying. Engine still running, Dev put his hands on the wheel and…just sat there. He should be moving. Why wasn’t he moving?

  “Why aren’t we moving?” Dev asked his car as if it was her fault. “We should be moving, driving away. Making it up to Banetti. Though if you really wanted to make it up to Banetti, you’d bring in the tall drink of water.” Why was he talking to himself? And why wasn’t he taking Remy back to Banetti and wiping the slate clean? Banetti wasn’t the kind of guy he wanted to make an enemy of. No complications.

  Glancing up, he spotted Remy standing at the edge of the underpass, glancing around like he was trying to figure out where he was or what his next move should be. Why wasn’t he calling someone? Something told Dev the guy didn’t have a fucking clue. It was weird. He looked like…a regular guy, a nice guy, which couldn’t be because nice people didn’t work for Banetti.

  With the guy’s heavy boots, faded jeans, charcoal T-shirt, and open flannel shirt beneath the Navy deck jacket, Remy was one beard away from being a lumberjack. He had a chiseled jaw full of stubble and hazel green eyes. His hair fell in soft waves just above his shoulders. What kind of conditioner did the guy use?

  Dev’s phone rang through his car’s Bluetooth. Unknown caller. Reluctantly, he picked up. “Yeah?”

  “You have something that belongs to me,” Banetti said, his voice low and gravely. He was pissed. Lovely.

  “Who is he?” Dev asked.

  “A nobody.”

  “That’s a lot of firepower for a nobody.”

  “Look. I like the kid, but I can’t have him blabbing about my business.”

  In other words, Remy saw something he shouldn’t have seen, and considering Dev’s contract with Banetti tonight, it was probably a kill. Damn it, he’d been there to transport a body and ended up with Remy instead. Then again, if he hadn’t taken off when he did, he would have had two. He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, it’s not like I asked him to get in my car.”

  Dev glanced up. This time, Remy was crouched down, hands cradling his bowed head. The guy looked like had no one.

  “And yet, you took off with him.”

  “I took off because your goons started shooting at my car. My car, Banetti.”

  A pause. “Fair enough. We can easily rectify this situation. Bring Remy back here, and not only will you get paid for the original package, but you’ll get paid triple for the second one.”

  Had Dev called it or what?

  Remy stood and turned, his eyes glassy as he sniffed, clearly trying to hold back his emotions. Shit. The guy was fucked, and he knew it.

  “He seems like a good guy,” Dev muttered. Where the hell had that come from?

  “He is. Which is why it pains me.”

  Dev let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I bet you’re just heartbroken about it. For shits and giggles, let’s say I refund you for the first package and decide not to deliver the second.”

  “Then I’ll have to send Gabriele to take care of it.”

  Dev closed his eyes and clenched his jaw to keep himself from cursing. Son of a bitch. The last thing he needed was to have Gabriele Fucking Romero on his ass. Even if Gabriele didn’t kill Dev—bad business and all that—he’d still make Dev pay for not bringing in Remy.

  Remy turned, his bright green eyes meeting Dev’s, and fuck him. The guy smiled softly at him like he didn’t blame Dev for his choice to walk away. Fucking nice guys and their fucking nice hearts and annoyingly handsome faces.

  “I’m going to have to pass,” Dev said, then hung up. Fuuuuck. He was so screwed. Hitting the button for his window, he stuck his head out. “Okay, Sunshine. Get in the damn car.”

  With a huge smile that did things to Dev’s nether regions, Remy ran over. He went to open the back door when Dev whistled at him.

  “Front. I’m not your fucking chauffeur.”

  Coming around the front of the car, Remy slipped into the passenger side, closed the door, and fastened his seatbelt, his dopey smile wide. What was with the smiling?

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t talk,” Dev grumbled, turning off his headlights and leaving the underpass. The car remained quiet long enough for them to get back on the highway. With no headlights on and few people on the road, it helped him stay off the radar.

  “I can’t believe my boss is a murderer,” Remy said, shaking his head.

  Was this guy for real? “Really? What, are you new here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Well, that explained it. “So you didn’t know you were working for a guy connected to one of the biggest crimes families in the city?”

  Remy’s eyes went huge. “What? No. I just moved here a few weeks ago. I had bartending experience, applied for a job, and Mr. Banetti hired me. It’s not like there was a sign.”

  “Oh, but there was, big boy. It says Banetti’s Bar, as in, owned by Ricky Banetti.”

  “How was I supposed to know that? It’s not like it was advertised. ‘Welcome to Banetti’s Bar. Come for the beer and wings; stay for the murder.’”

  Dev shook his head. Smartass.

  “Why were you in that alley?” Remy asked.

  “None of your fucking business.” Why was he talking to Remy? There should be no talking. Dev had to figure out what to do with Remy now that he’d put everything on the line. Again, what the fuck was he doing?

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. He was like a freaking puppy. Of all the cars in the whole damn city, why did Remy have to end up in his? His.

  “I was there for a job. A job I couldn’t do because some asshole wanted by the mob decided to jump in my car.” Why was he answering Remy’s questions?

  Remy went quiet. When he was quiet for longer than Dev expected, he glanced over. He narrowed his gaze at the side-eye he was getting.