"Is he gone?" Robbie asked Ian when he returned to the kitchen.

"Yes."

Robbie exhaled like she'd been sucking in her gut. "I honestly don't know how women wear these things," she said, bending over to undo the straps of her new shoes and kicking them off. "My feet are killing me."

Ian leaned a hip against the counter and took another sip of his scotch before pointing the glass in her direction. "That's a new look for you."

She busied herself, pulling knives and forks out of the drawer. "I bought it yesterday. Do you like it?"

"You didn't introduce me as your uncle."

"I know. Sorry." She pressed her lips into a tight smile as she pointed to the cupboard next to him. "Can you reach down the plates?"

"Let me guess," he said, putting down the glass and crossing his arms. "You trying to jump start that man's attention?"

Heat hit her cheeks. There was no point in denying it. He knew her too well.

"Robbie," he said, walking right up to her. "Look at me."

She turned and leveled her stare, meeting eyes similar to her own.

He tucked his chin and peered at her beneath those perfect brows. "Are you sure this isn't another—"

"No!" She frowned, irritated by his assumption. Why did her family always have to go there? "I'm being careful."

"Okay." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. "Okay," he repeated with his hands rubbing her back. "I just want you to be happy."

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested a cheek against the solid chest, closed her eyes, and inhaled his familiar scent. How many times had she found herself here, listening to the steady beat of his heart, comforted by his embrace after a bad day at school, a hurtful breakup, or a confrontation with her own mother? After her dad died, Ian had been the one to step in, dropping out of college to help support his older sister and niece. Without him, they would have been lost.

"I'm a little flattered in all honesty." He leaned back and smiled. "To think this old man could be considered a rival."

She slapped his chest. "Shut up. You're gorgeous and you know it." Her friends, the few that she'd had growing up, had certainly thought so, drooling over the poor man every time they'd visited her house. Yes, he was older now, but so were his admirers.

"Plates." Stepping back, she pointed to the same cupboard before asking, "How's Aunt Maggie?"

"Good. Tired. Although she'll never admit it." He pulled down the dishes and placed them near the stove.

"Any luck with the in vitro?" Her aunt and uncle had been trying to have a baby for years and had recently decided to give IVF a try.

"No." Ian dropped his head. "And I can tell it's eating away at her. We'll keep trying, though, until she decides enough is enough."

It was Robbie's turn to comfort him, reaching out to give his upper arm a rub. "She's still young," she said, because it was true. Maggie was only thirty-five, six years his junior. They'd met at college when he'd finally decided to go back and finish his degree.

Once they were seated, Ian turned the discussion back to the elephant in the room. "Tell me about this Captain Sullivan," he said.

Squirming, Robbie stared down at her plate and pushed the food around, afraid her face would give too much away while the vivid memory played in her head. Feeling Paul right behind her, his breath warm on her neck as he spoke his erotic threat, had made her body tingle. And that was before she'd turned around. The carnal hunger darkening his features was an example of nature at its most extreme, a tidal wave rushing toward shore. Awe and alarm had rooted her to the spot as the ravaging power bore down on her. The fact that she'd remained standing through it all surely meant God had a hand in it. Of course he hadn't kissed her—although he would have, she was sure of it—which might have been the surge that knocked her off her feet.

"That bad, huh?"

Lost in her thoughts, Robbie had forgotten about his question. "Oh." She shrugged one shoulder, trying to feign some degree of indifference. "He's nice, smart, successful, cares about his family . . ." She peeked up at the man sitting across from her through her lashes. "Good looking."

"Please." Ian rolled his eyes. "I'm eating."

There was a long pause, and then, "Is he worth it"—Ian waggled his fork at her outfit—"if you have to wear something like that?"

She'd been asking herself the same thing since trying the dress on in the store, and rightly so, for it had been the reason for Paul's attention, the tremor that shook things up, started the wave rolling. Was that good enough? To be just another girl flashing cleavage and bare legs? Somehow it felt wrong, disconnected, cheap even. But why? It was still her, just packaged differently. Did most women feel this way, she wondered.

Robbie watched her uncle eat. He'd had more than his fair share of women throwing themselves at him if she recalled correctly. Probably still did. "Did Maggie ever wear something like this?"

"Actually . . ." There was a secretive smile as he looked up at the ceiling. "I do seem to remember a couple of outfits that drove me absolutely mad." His gaze drifted back down. "Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, taking her first bite of chicken and deciding she needed to give her aunt a call.

)l(

The clang of weights hitting the weight stack on the machine across the way set a rhythm like a metronome in Paul's head as he strained through another set of reps. He'd come straight to the fitness center on base after leaving Robbie's place, choosing the workout over drinking himself stupid. Muscle fatigue beat brain fog when there was a lot of thinking required on the job.

Although the night was still young, so . . .

The banging came to an end when the guy on the machine, the only other person in the gym, crossed the room and lowered himself onto the bench next to him. "Hey."

Paul nodded as he added more black iron to his bar. Not in the mood for idle chit chat, he counted on the dude being able to bench press in silence.

No such luck.

"How's it going?"

Paul ignored him.

"You're going pretty hardcore there," Chatty Cathy said, referring to the weights Paul had just slid on. To say it was one step up was like calling King Kong a chimp. "You need a spotter?"

"I'm fine."

The guy shrugged and began his warm up. "Okay, bro."

As Paul unhooked the bar, the pressure felt good. Taking a deep breath, he lowered it down, waited a second, and exhaled through the burn on the way back up.

Things went seriously downhill from there.

The barbell swayed in the air, listing to one side, and his arms shook as he tried to steady it. Under all that strain, his left bicep began to spasm, and just when a crash looked inevitable, hands shot into his line of vision, grabbed the dump truck threatening to land on his chest, and helped direct it back to the curb.

Paul sat up and reached for his towel. "Thanks," he said, wiping down his face. "I don't know what I was thinking."

The dude went back to his bench. "Let me guess. Girl trouble?"

Paul snapped his head around to take a good look at the guy. They were around the same age. "How did you know?"

There was a deep, guttural laugh that made Paul smile despite his miserable mood. He now noticed the southern drawl when the guy said, "My wife sends me here every time we have an argument. 'To sweat off my pigheadedness,' she says. Then I go home, we work it out, apologize . . . and have make-up sex." He flashed his eyebrows. "You ever have make-up sex?"

Paul had never been around long enough to have an argument, never mind make up for one. "No."

"I highly recommend it. After all that forgiving and forgetting, it's still the best way to make the other person pay." He winked as he lay back down. "Now, that's a workout." He thrust his hand toward Paul. "Hank Williams. No relation to the singer."

Paul gripped it in his. "Paul Sullivan. Nice to meet you."

"So what's your story?" Hank asked as he started his reps.

Paul began counting the up-and-downs on instinct. "My girl—which technically she isn't—is currently having dinner with another guy."

"Ouch."

Paul waved a hand in the air. "I work with her. She has no idea how I feel. Well, she might after my idiotic move earlier today."

"Hell, you gotta toss your hat in the ring, man. Let her know how you feel. You're not going to win watching from the sidelines. I knew my wife was my one and only the first time I laid eyes on her. She wouldn't give me the time of day, though, but that didn't matter—I chased that girl around like a greyhound after a jackrabbit." The bar slid back onto the rack with a metallic grind. Hank sat up and scrubbed at his jaw. "Although, I have to admit, it wasn't until I finally gave up and stopped pursuing her that she really started paying attention."

Paul laughed a, "Figures."

"Women," they said together.

Their conversation went on for another twenty minutes—until Hank's phone dinged. As the man read the text, he let out a loud "woo-hoo" and grinned. "My lady, calling me home. I'd better hit the showers." Standing, he clapped Paul on the shoulder. "Good luck with your girl. Look me up. We'll have a drink before you head back to Pendleton."

Paul nodded and watched him leave and it was quiet once again.

Too quiet.

)l(

Pino turned toward the door, hearing the rattle of the rusted metal stairway the moment his cousin stepped foot on the first rung. Renting office space in an abandoned warehouse was like setting up shop in a cave, but it was local and affordable and available short term, three things that were becoming rare as the area began to show signs of improvement. At this rate, even this place would be bought and torn down or turned into lofts for idiots who knew nothing about history but wanted to live inside a piece of it.

Vince came bursting through the door, red-faced and breathing heavy. "Michelle Callahan just pulled up."

Pino pointed across the room. "Take the whore."

The young woman dangling her legs over the side of the upholstered chair whined, "My name is Candy."

"Of course it is."

Eyes rimmed in black, looking more mask than makeup, glared back at him. "I thought you were taking me out for drinks, Daddy?"

"Don't call me that. It's absurd. And for future reference, if I was your father, you wouldn't be selling yourself on the street."

She stood up in a huff and grabbed the white fur stole off the couch next to her, looking like a giant Q-tip when she wrapped the thing around her shoulders. It was fake no doubt, and ridiculous. Then again, there was a lot about Candy that was fake and ridiculous.

The sound of their descent was followed by a few minutes of silence before the rattling began again. As Vince escorted their new arrival into the office, the first thing Pino noticed about Miss Callahan was her hair. So blonde it was almost silver, so shiny it reflected light, the shoulder-length tresses were styled into a little flip that was both feminine and sophisticated. She was all class, from her flawless skin right down to her studded Valentino shoes. And she had curves, the kind that made him yearn for home, unlike most of the rake-thin women he'd met from LA's elite.

Nothing registered on her face as she took a look around the grimy headquarters, but it was the deadpan stare landing on him that surprised him the most. Oh, what horrors she must have seen in her life if his face didn't produce even a flinch.

"My driver is waiting downstairs. What can I do for you, Mr. Trovato?"

Straight to the point. He admired that in a business associate. He gestured toward the chair sitting in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

She lifted her chin. "I'd prefer to stand."

Pino bowed his head. "Very well." He sat down, quite willing to hand some of the power in the room to her since she had so little to begin with. "I was sorry to hear about your father's accident."

"My father's murder, you mean."

"Oh." He blinked up at her. "I must have been misinformed."

Blake Callahan had been found inside his mangled Mercedes at the bottom of a cliff. It had been ruled an accident by the authorities, failure to negotiate a sharp turn in the road late at night. Alcohol had been found in the car, but there was none in Callahan's system according to the autopsy.

Because he'd refused to drink any that night.

"He was turning his life around." The stony façade suddenly broke. Miss Callahan reached inside her purse and muttered a curse.

Standing, Pino pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and offered it to her.

"Thank you," she said softly, taking it from him and dabbing at her eyes. "Sorry," she muttered, taking a breath. "Go on."

He settled back into his chair. "I hear you are considering selling your father's timber rights."

Blue eyes narrowed. "And?"

"I'd like to buy them."

Michelle's gaze drifted around the room again.

"Don't let appearances deceive you, Miss Callahan. I have backers . . . and I'd be willing to forgive the debt your father had with Gus Chilvati."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widened as she lifted her purse up to her chest. "Gus Chilvati is in jail and my father is dead. There is no debt."

"On the contrary, it has simply been reassigned. To me." He lifted a palm in her direction. "And you, of course." He rose from his seat, and despite the desk between them, she took two steps back.

"That's not legal," she breathed.

He laughed as he walked up to her. "Legalities bore me, but you can ask Gus if you like. I have his email."

Abruptly, she recoiled, and he sensed he had pushed her too far. Raising his hands, he added, "If you like, we can—"

"You tell Gus he can go straight to hell. My father is gone. Gus can't use him to threaten me anymore. I'll be selling those rights to Mark Spinelli." Michelle spun away from him and headed toward the exit so fast, Vince had to jump out of her way.

She took one look back before wrenching the door open, and Pino was once again struck by her loveliness. Beauty was such a rare thing in his life, something to be revered, enjoyed, cared for, like the orchid his mother had given him ten years ago before she died.

However, business was business.

"Be careful on those stairs, my dear," he called to her. "We wouldn't want you to fall and break your neck."

His cousin followed her out but returned minutes later. The third trip up looked like it might do Vince in. "Now what?" he croaked, leaning against the wall to catch his breath.

"We'll give her a few days to think about it." Pino moved to stare out over the vast expanse of rotting floorboards, peeling paint, and broken windows, the haunting ruins of a once thriving manufacturing plant.

"What do you want me to tell Antonio and Gus?"

To go fuck themselves, Pino said to himself. "Tell them . . ." Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, wondering what kind of noxious dust was currently invading his lungs. "If we can't cut off its food supply, we'll have to go right for the heart of the beast itself."

END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That doesn't sound good😱 A bit of a long chapter, but I had to get it all out in order to clear the way for what's coming! Yes, the next chapter is all about Paul and Robbie🔥🔥🔥🔥

I have some exciting news to share🎊🎉As of Wednesday, The Dangerous Ones is being featured. Yay! For any of you who found me on Wattpad's Editors' Picks and have read all the way to here, welcome❣️I'd love to have you join my wonderful regulars 🤗who keep me motivated by supporting a new chapter every week 🙏

Speaking of which, this chapter is dedicated to @jinxyrae , Jinxy to me, who has been with me for almost a year now, putting up with the slow read and making me laugh with her comments. Thank you❤️I know I have other readers who have been with me for the long haul and choose to stay silent or anonymous. Please know, you are all very much appreciated.

I'll stop rambling now. Being featured has gotten me all worked up🥳 I'm off to write the smutty stuff😛

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