We drive until the skyscrapers give way to suburbs and those eventually disappear too. Finally, surrounded by trees and country roads, Dutch turns left onto a winding gravel lane with a full canopy of leaves hanging overhead, casting us into shadow. Up front, Dutch sings along to some rap song on the radio, but next to me, Grey is silent.

  He hasn’t let go of me yet. Not since he tried and I asked him to please hang on a little longer. I know it’s an illusion, this truce and protectiveness he’s offering, but I need it.

  I need to pretend he’s my white knight just for a few minutes.

  Franco’s attempt to lock me up is still an open wound. More than that, it’s his rejection that left me reeling. Like the ground beneath my feet is slipping, and I have nothing left to hold onto to keep from sliding right off the edge of the earth.

  Nothing except Grey’s arms around me.

  I hate that I need him right now.

  And I hate how safe I feel with him beside me.

  At the end of the road is a large log-cabin-style house with a wide front porch and a glimpse of water peeking out from behind the hedges and trees that surround it. The front yard is shady and serene, which is the exact opposite of the chaos we left behind in the city. And even though it’s peaceful, I can’t help but be suspicious of what hides beneath the surface of this place.

  Dutch parks in front of the massive house and gets out.

  “Come on,” Grey tells me, climbing out and holding the door open for me.

  The moment his arms aren’t holding me anymore, I feel exposed all over again, but I refuse to beg for more, so I steel myself and climb out of the car. Hugging my arms around myself, I set my expression to hopefully hide how shaken up I am.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “My family’s summer cabin,” he says. At my expression, he adds, “Don’t worry. We’re the only ones here.”

  I have no choice but to trust him, so when he turns to follow Dutch around the side of the house toward the back, I trail after them.

  In the backyard, there’s a patio area with pavers where five Adirondack chairs are set up in a circle with a fire pit set in the center of it all. Dutch heads there, but Grey hangs back.

  “Go sit and relax. I’m going to get us some drinks,” he says and hurries toward the house, leaving me alone with Dutch.

  I sit on the edge of one of the chairs, as far away from Dutch as I can get, and stare out at the river that winds past the edge of the yard.

  “Family sucks, sometimes, doesn’t it?”

  I whip my head up to look at Dutch, trying to read whether he’s just being a dick, but he looks serious.

  “Did yours also disown you and let you grow up without love or safety?” I ask.

  “Actually, yeah.”

  I blink in surprise at his answer. “You’re fucking with me,” I say warily.

  “I’m the son of a general, so, no, I’m not fucking with you.”

  “What’s a general?” I ask.

  “Vincenzo has his territory divided up among four men he calls his generals,” Dutch explains. “They’re like property managers except they manage people, and by manage I mean enforce, kill, and terrorize.”

  “At least, you had your dad. How does that compare to what I—”

  “Remember the terrorize part of their job?” His brow lifts as he explains, “Let’s just say my dad’s a fucking pro in his field because he had me to practice on. I might have been raised by the asshole who made me, but there was no love or safety in it.”

  I start to say I’m sorry again but then change my mind. The last thing I want are apologies from strangers that don’t change anything. I have a feeling Dutch feels the same way.

  Instead, I ask, “How does Vincenzo have territory and generals? I thought Franco was the pack alpha.”

  “Franco’s the high alpha over the entire mafia pack, which is made up of all of Indigo Hills. Vincenzo is the alpha of the Giovanni pack, which is a smaller group within the whole.”

  “There are multiple smaller packs that make up the big one?”

  “Only two packs. Giovanni and Diavolo. We used to have four, but the other two were taken over.”

  “By Vincenzo?”

  “One of them,” he nods. “The other was Franco deciding they were gaining too much power, so he took them out.”

  “Why hasn’t he done that with Vincenzo?”

  “Truth? I don’t think he perceives the old man as a real threat.”

  My brows lift at that, but he shrugs. “I get it. Vincenzo’s spent his entire life trying to unseat Franco, and he’s never come close until now. I don’t think Franco respects him enough to worry much.”

  “His confidence will be his downfall,” I say.

  Dutch nods. “Pretty smart take for being so new to all this.”

  “So, it all comes down to these two packs fighting for control of one another?”

  “More or less. But to fully understand the hierarchy, you have to remember that we’re also an organization. Think of it like a business.”

  I huff a laugh. “Being a wolf is business?”

  “Being mafia is,” he says with a shrug. “We all work for someone, and we all help generate revenue for the branch we serve.”

  “Okay, so Franco is like the CEO, and Vincenzo is what? A branch manager?”

  “Vincenzo is another CEO, but his company is smaller and owned by Franco’s.”

  “So, one pack, multiple businesses?”

  “And only one alpha who owns them all,” he says.

  “I see.” I blow out a breath, realizing there’s more to the hierarchy of these people than I thought. And Grey hasn’t bothered to share any of it.

  I blow out a breath, realizing now more than ever that I need a strategy for how the hell I’m going to survive this clusterfuck I’m in. Step one: Learn all I can about how the politics work.

  “So, Franco has his own generals, too.”

  He nods. “And believe me, they’re just as bad as he is.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, thinking of Dom. He knew the moment I walked in there that Franco didn’t want me. Like they talked about it ahead of time. Planned it, even. And rather than explain it to me up front, he sat back and watched the show. “I guess I feel less guilty for knocking his ass out then.”

  “Whoa, hold up. What did I miss?”

  “Dom and Grey were fighting, and I wanted to help, so I grabbed the first thing I could find, which happened to be a cast iron pan—” he hoots with laughter “—and whacked Dom so hard he passed out.”

  “No shit? Not just a princess, eh?”

  “I was never a princess.”

  “No, I can see that.”

  We share a friendlier silence, and I can’t help but feel like Dutch has accepted me into his circle somehow. Then my thoughts return to what Dutch said about his father. “Are all of Vincenzo’s generals like your father?”

  He shrugs as Grey finally returns with two cans of beer and a Red Solo cup.

  “Pretty much,” Dutch says.

  “Pretty much what?” Grey asks, handing over a beer.

  Dutch pops the top. “Your dad’s generals are pretty much all the same toxic pieces of shit.”

  Grey grunts an agreement and walks over, offering me the Solo cup.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Double shot of whiskey, clean.”

  My gaze flicks from the cup to him, and my brows lift. “It’s barely noon.”

  “It’s that kind of day.”

  He’s right. It is.

  I take the cup.

  Grey retreats and takes a seat on the low wall bordering the far side of the patio. He cracks his beer and drinks deeply, and I catch myself staring at the way his throat moves as he gulps his drink. The hard edge of his jawline is mesmerizing. I imagine what it would feel like to run my finger across it and feel his stubbled skin against my own. My distraction is ruined by the sound of tires crunching over gravel out front, and panic grips me like a hand around my throat.

  The morning’s events come crashing back. Dom dragging me off. Bullets flying at our bumper. If they’ve found us out here, there’s nowhere else to go except for the river, and I can’t swim.

  Shoving to my feet, I nearly drop the whiskey as I look back and forth between the two guys, noting how calm they look. “Someone’s here.”

  “Relax,” Grey says. “It’s just Razor and Crow.”

  “Actually….” Dutch trails off, wincing at the glare Grey shoots him.

  “You didn’t,” Grey says, his tone full of warning.

  But Dutch is unfazed. “This meeting was going to happen eventually.”

  “What meeting?” I ask, still on edge at the idea of strangers even if they are friendly ones, but Grey’s already headed around front, muttering curses.

  Dutch answers for him. “Mia, Ramsey, Razor, and Crow. Aka the squad.”

  Mia. The girl from the other night who we handed Claire off to. Razor and Crow I know already, not that we’ve actually conversed, but Ramsey’s a new one. Before I can ask what Dutch means by “the squad,” car doors begin to slam shut, and the newcomers all round the corner of the house, headed this way.

  Razor is at the front with Grey. They speak in low tones that are impossible to make out from this far away. Behind him, Crow walks alone, his head down, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets. Mia, the redhead, brings up the rear. She walks beside a guy I’ve never seen before with thick, muscled arms and short, cropped hair that gleams golden in the sunlight. His face is mostly hidden behind Aviator sunglasses, but his lips are fixed in a smirk that suggests he knows a secret.

  Ramsey, I presume.

  When they reach the circle of chairs where Dutch and I wait, Grey steps back to let them pass. Razor peels off toward the house, saying something about refreshments. Crow slides into the circle and takes a seat beside Dutch, slouching in his chair and pulling the hood up on his sweatshirt. Dark eyes peer back at me from beneath his head before he looks down again.

  “Bro, epic fireworks earlier,” Dutch tells him with a soft punch on the arm.

  Crow snorts.

  “Double Dutch,” Mia greets, smacking the back of his head as she passes.

  Dutch ducks and scowls at her, but she ignores him as she winds around the circle toward me. She perches on the edge of the chair on my right and offers her hand.

  “Hi, we didn’t get a chance for introductions the other night. Mia Reyes.”

  I shake her hand. “Lexi Ryall.”

  “Glad to have you with us,” she says.

  I don’t bother pointing out I’m not really with them. Her gaze flicks to something over my shoulder, and I turn to see the golden-haired stranger coming up on my left.

  “Well, hello there,” he says, holding out his hand and smiling wide to reveal two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth set against tanned skin. He peels the glasses off his face long enough to flash me with green eyes that glimmer. He’s handsome, though his charm says he knows it.

  “I’m Ramsey Greco. Son of the second general, though I hope to be first in your heart.”

  Mia groans and shakes her head.

  “Lexi,” I say as I tentatively place my hand in his and attempt to shake.

  He immediately brings my hand to his lips but stops, my hand hovering just below his mouth when Mia says, “Ram, what did we talk about?”

  Her tone reminds me of a schoolteacher with a toddler, and Ramsey drops my hand with a guilty moan. “Ugh. But this—”

  “What did I say?” Mia cuts in sharply.

  “No douchebaggery before three p.m.,” he recites.

  “Exactly.” Mia gives him a prim smile and winks at me.

  I take my hand back, not sure what to think of them. If they’re a couple, they have very relaxed boundaries.

  Grey clears his throat, and all the attention shifts from me to where he stands at the mouth of the circle, arms crossed.

  “Good to see you, boss,” Ramsey says, settling back in his own chair on my left.

  “Funny considering you weren’t invited,” Grey tells him darkly.

  “Damn. Rude,” Ramsey mutters, looking wounded.

  Grey’s expression only hardens. “Say what you came to say so we can move on from this.

  “Refreshments, anyone?” Razor returns, sliding past Grey, who remains immovable. Clutched in his arms is a half-full bottle of expensive whiskey and a few cans of beer. A bag of chips dangles precariously from his fingers.

  “Right here,” Dutch says, taking the bottle and uncapping it.

  “Did you get cups?” Mia asks though the annoyance in her tone says she knows the answer.

  “Uh,” Razor says, clearly at a loss.

  “Don’t need ‘em,” Dutch says and then tips the bottle back, drinking straight from it. He swallows and then hands it off to Crow, who does the same.

  Up front, Grey clears his throat, and Razor quickly takes a seat behind Dutch on the wall’s edge.

  “Dutch,” Grey prompts when no one speaks. “You want to tell me why the fuck you called this meeting behind my back?”

  “Because you wouldn’t agree to it, and it needed to happen,” Dutch says as if that explains—and excuses—everything.

  “I can’t agree to planning a coup,” Grey snaps.

  I jerk my gaze to his. A coup?

  “You sure she should be here for this conversation,” Razor says, nodding at me.

  Mia tries passing me the bottle of whiskey, but I shake my head, too caught up in the conversation.

  “She’s the reason we can’t wait to have this conversation,” Ramsey says, and I look over at him, surprised he’s defending me considering he’s just met me. But he merely takes the bottle Mia passes him and swigs generously.

  “Vincenzo’s going to be pissed,” Razor says, but he’s grinning wildly.

  Crow snorts, eyes gleaming with glee. “Understatement.”

  “Maybe we can keep the full details from him a bit longer,” Dutch says, looking up at Grey.

  Ramsey shakes his head. “It took out half a block in the center of the city. We can’t hide this.” He slides a case from his pocket, opens it, and picks a thin cigar from inside, which he promptly lights.

  “Trust me,” Mia says firmly, “He already knows.”

  “He knows we went against him by letting Lexi meet with the old man,” Dutch says. “But he doesn’t know we’re setting Grey up to take his place.”

  “Don’t start with this shit again,” Grey says.

  “What are you going to do about it?” Razor challenges. “Leave again?”

  “Bro,” Dutch says, shaking his head.

  Grey doesn’t deny it, though.

  I pull my knees up to my chest, feeling like an intruder amidst their heated conversation. The heavy scent of Ramsey’s cigar fills my nostrils, mixing with the faint aroma of the expensive whiskey they’re passing around.

  Grey’s expression has grown tighter and more closed off since the discussion began. I can tell he doesn’t like what they’re suggesting, but he doesn’t order them to shut up, either.

  Beside him, Dutch and Crow are both slouched and relaxed, as if they couldn’t care less what Vincenzo knows or does about it. Beside me, Ramsey exudes confidence and determination while Razor’s impulsive excitement is written plainly on his sharply angled face. Mia still sits straight, perched on the front edge of her chair. She drinks when the bottle comes around again, her piercing gaze fixed on Grey.

  “You can’t keep running from this,” she says when the group falls silent.

  I half-expect Grey to snap back at her. Instead, he runs a hand through his dark, tousled hair, and his gaze shifts uncertainly between his companions.

  “I've told you all before; I don't want any part in the family business. It's not the life I envisioned for myself.”

  Dutch looks up at him in solemn sincerity. “We understand, brother, you know we do. But you're the only one capable of leading us. You've got the brains and the heart to steer us in the right direction.” Crow grunts an agreement at that. “And you’ve got the cool head to keep us from getting ourselves killed in the process.”

  Ramsey and Razor exchange a grin at the last part.

  Mia's voice cuts through the air like a razor. “Look, you may not have chosen this life, but you’re a part of it, like it or not. And you’re a part of us. Even if you leave again when this is all over, we’re not going anywhere. This city is ours to burn or to save.”

  “I told you before, all of you can come with me—”

  “And we told you, this is our home, and we don’t abandon our people,” she says, her eyes flashing.

  Grey doesn’t answer.

  “We need a leader who’s willing to fight for us, protect us,” she says. “Someone who can bring stability to this chaos and put the people of this city first. And that someone is you.”

  Ramsey smirks, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Yeah, brother, just imagine all the power, the respect. You’ve got the chance to rule this city, to make it yours. Don’t tell me that doesn’t tempt you even a little.”

  Grey's gaze shifts from one face to another, each one filled with expectation and hope.

  His eyes linger on mine like he’s finally remembered me still sitting here, an outsider in this tangled web of loyalty and danger.

  He takes a deep breath and looks back at the others. “I left because I never asked for this fucked up life. I owe my family nothing. And honestly, I don’t owe this city shit either. But I do have a responsibility to the people who’ve stood by my side all this time.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Dutch mutters.

  “And,” he adds slowly as if his hesitance is melting away as he speaks the words, “If we don’t help the people in this city, no one else will either.”

  He looks at me again, this time with more force behind his gaze. There’s a flash of emotion behind the hardened mask he wears, something that stirs my blood and makes my heart race. Like somehow, I factor into this decision he’s making.

  “It has to be us,” Mia says firmly, and he looks back at her.

  “It has to be us,” he echoes.

  “Whoop,” Dutch calls out.

  “Hell yeah,” Razor says, pumping a fist in the air.