Page 54

He nodded to the driver, and they slid into the back seat. Sunlight glared off the hood as the convoy pulled into traffic.

“You’re going to choose the pub for the wake,” he told her.

“Don’t you have to figure out the logistics? The ingress and egress? Security?”

“Already done.” His reply was matter-of-fact, but his gaze lingered on her, hotter than it should have been. “My team narrowed it to three. Now, it’s up to you.” He leaned closer, voice dropping, almost intimate. “You’re in control now, Madelaine.”

Her stomach fluttered. She wasn’t used to control. The weight of the decision pressed down on her, heavier than she’d expected.

But then she remembered the sheer number of issues he had handled in the span of a few minutes, how easily he had borne responsibility. She didn’t want to fail him.

“Okay,” she whispered.

The SUV slowed to a stop outside a quaint pub, ivy climbing the stone façade.

“This is nice,” she said softly, though her thoughts were already tangled between the mission and the warmth of his arm brushing hers.

She stepped out of the vehicle and walked into the restaurant. Wood and brass fittings gleamed under warm lights, a long wall of whiskeys lined up like soldiers on parade, and a bar with at least a dozen taps. It had the kind of old-boy charm her father would gravitate toward instantly.

“What should I be looking at?” she asked, glancing around.

They discussed the pros and cons as they moved through the space. Madelaine gestured to the booths tucked in the back. “He could easily hide here and get out several shots.” She shook her head. “No, this one won’t do.” She spun on her heel, ready to leave. The thought of Paulo sitting vulnerable in one of these corners made her skin crawl.

The second location wasn’t much better. Same cozy booths. Same risks. She vetoed it quickly.

They reached the third and she exhaled in relief. “This will work,” she announced, nodding decisively. The space was wide open and no booths, no shadowy corners. Just an expansive bar, wooden chairs that screeched when moved, and a jukebox glowing in the corner.

Unconsciously, she edged closer to Paulo, her shoulder brushing his arm. Ridiculous since she was several inches shorter and wouldn’t be able to protect him from a water balloon, let alone a bullet. Still, she stayed near, her body acting before her brain could protest.

Her gaze looked out the front windows, examining the street outside and landed on something she didn’t like, but that her father would love.

A strip club.

Her lips twitched. “Yes. That’s it. That will be the reason he’ll come.” She pointed to the building across the street.

Paulo followed her line of sight, then stiffened. “No.”

“Yes,” she countered immediately. “It makes sense. He’ll scope out the situation there first.” She started toward the door.

Paulo’s hand shot out, fingers closing firmly around her arm. “Madelaine, you can’t go in there!”

She glanced back at him with exaggerated patience. “Why not?”

His scowl deepened. “Because… you don’t know what that place is like!” He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“It’s a strip club, Paulo.” Her voice dripped with exasperation. “I’m not an idiot. And I’m definitely not innocent.” She almost added, you made sure of that, but bit her tongue. Still, her body hummed with memories she had no business indulging.

“I don’t own that club,” he growled, as if that explained everything. “And none of my men do either.”

Madelaine’s brows shot up. “Does your organization own many strip clubs in the city?”

His silence said plenty.

Her jaw dropped. “You do?” she gasped, pulling back. “And… how often do you visit them?” The question slipped out before she could stop it. She immediately regretted it. She didn’t need that image in her head.

“I don’t,” he replied flatly. And the look in his eyes was steady, unflinching. For some reason she didn’t want to examine too closely, she believed him.

“Fine,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She hated that the thought of him seeing another woman naked made her stomach twist. She didn’t want him. He was a bastard who had used her. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.