I stare at Shane, who’s looking for the first time since I’ve met him less than a hundred percent sure of himself. If anything, he looks frightened, which scares the schnitzel out of me. “Okay, so we’re wherever this is,” I start.

I look around us, my nose upturned at the dingy motel room, noting the large crawly thing underneath the table in the corner and reminding myself not to go to sleep without covering every pore of my skin. “And seemingly safe-ish, wildlife notwithstanding. Now what the frick is going on? Why aren’t we at the police station reporting a murder? Shane!”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and steps away from the door to sit down on the edge of the bed, still watching me with those eyes of his. “No matter how I spin this, you’re likely to freak the fuck out, but you’re in the middle of it now, so I’ll dive in as delicately as I can.”

I nod, just wanting him to tell me already. “Delicate, not delicate. Just get to the truth, Shane. I’m not following you one more step without it.”

He nods and strokes his chin. “Deal. So, do you know who that was back at the club?”

I shake my head, turning to face him and criss-cross applesauceing my legs between us, needing the space to keep a clear head for this conversation. “The suit or the shooter?”

He eyes sharpen, and he sits forward, his voice immediately hardening. “Either.”

I shrug, refusing to break his gaze as I stare back at his face, making sure he understands me clearly. “No idea. The suit was drinking Maclellan in my section for a bit, the expensive stuff, and he took Allie back for a lap dance. I took the scotch in and Allie was picking music in the corner. She gave me a thumbs-up, and I silently wished her luck.”

“And the other guy?”

I take a deep breath, hating the fact that I have to try and relive those few moments but somehow knowing that it’s important. “I saw him coming down the hallway. That guy chilled me just with this . . . I don’t know . . . aura. Next thing I know, big man was shooting up the place and Allie is screaming bloody murder. You were there for the rest.”

He nods, letting that sink in. “Okay, the shooter is a hired gun. Hitman. Assassin. Maybe if you tell me more, I might be able to tell you who he was. The list of men with the skills and either the guts or insanity to make a hit inside Petals is pretty small. The suit was Carlos Rivaldi, bastard son of Sal Rivaldi. Names mean anything to you?”

I shake my head, and he scoffs lightly, smiling a little. “So fucking innocent. Let’s rewind. Meghan, you know Petals is a money laundering front for the mob and Dominick is The Boss, right?”

I squint, making sure I heard right. “Wait, Boss? Money laundering?”

Shane nods. “Boss. As in, Boss of the Angeline family.”

I shake my head vehemently, but after a moment, my brain whirls. I think back to some of the customers, the business meetings in Dominick’s office, and the large security team that has always made me feel safe. Petals is a small club. There should be no reason they always have three and sometimes four guys working security. I thought it was because of the clientele, a sense of fancy-schmancy to make the celebs feel like VIPs.

I gasp, looking at Shane. I knew Dominick was a shrewd businessman, but the level of what I’ve walked into . . . did my former boss, Donnie, know when he came up with this idea for me to work undercover? Does Jeanine know? Do they even care that I’m covering stupid celeb gossip in a freaking mob club? Oh, my God, everything I’ve been doing suddenly seems so much more dangerous. My reporter senses felt like there was more to Petals, but something like this never even occurred to me. How could it have? It’s crazy. “Dominick is The Boss? Holy frack. But . . .” My words stutter, another thought jumping forward. “Oh, no! Allie!”

Shane shakes his head. “Allie is fine. She’s Dominick’s. Well, she isn’t, but she might as well be by the way he looks at her and I suspect feels about her. He wouldn’t touch a hair on her head unless she directly betrayed him. That’s why I’m confused.”

“Confused about what?” I ask, the reporter in my head pushing back the fear. It’s not hard. Right now, I’m pretty sure that information means life, and Shane’s about my only source of more information.

“Dominick is the head of the Angeline family, who are basically mortal enemies of the Rivaldi family, even though there’s been peace for years. It’s been a Cold War in the area, two sides that posture and talk a lot of shit, but nobody’s been willing to actually draw blood. Still, it’s not like Carlos Rivaldi was welcome inside Petals. So why was Carlos in Dominick’s club? The Rivaldis have their own bars, their own club. So why would he be at Petals?”

He looks to be thinking for a moment, but my mind has already begun rolling, considering angles and strategies and manipulations. It’s what’s given me my best stories, being able to see all the possible motivations and consequences of people’s actions. “Maybe he was a spy? Or you said he’s the bastard son. Maybe he’s pissed at that label and wanting to stir stuff up? Or maybe someone just invited him to come check out the show and have a drink? It could be anything.”

Shane rubs his jaw, his words coming slowly as he considers my comment. “You’re right. Carlos could’ve been spying for his daddy, in which case Dominick would be pissed as fuck and could’ve hired the hit. There’s another option though.”

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding when I understand a moment later. “Dominick invited Carlos.”

Shane nods. “If he thought he could bring Carlos on board, it’d have changed the entire game in this part of the country. The Angelines are the big dogs by far, but it wasn’t always that way, and the Rivaldis do have some pockets of power. Sal Rivaldi’s getting up there in years. The issues between the two families started with Dom’s daddy. If Dom and Carlos thought they might be able to forge an undercover alliance and get Sal to retire quicker, either voluntarily or the hard way . . . Daddy Sal might have heard about it, and he’s not the kind to forgive treason, even from his own blood.”

I swallow, feeling like I want to throw up. Down the rabbit hole, and I’m still not sure how deep I’ve gotten. “He’d kill his own son?”

Shane nods once, chuckling darkly. “Carlos is his bastard son. He just found out about him a few years ago and there’s no love lost. Apparently, Sal had a one-night stand when he was trying to make inroads with the Colombians, and he left Carlos’s mom with a souvenir.”

“And he never knew?” I ask, and Shane nods.

“I don’t know the full story, but apparently, Carlos just showed up, wanting his birthright and being pretty fucking aggressive about it, from what I hear. Sal ran the DNA, but not much else he could do about it.”

“So either Dominick killed his arch nemesis’s son, in which case, I’m guessing Sal will be pretty POed, even if he didn’t like the kid. Or someone, maybe even Sal himself, sent Carlos to his death on Dominick’s turf. It sounds like the beginning of a mob war,” I comment and shake my head. “And I got a look at the ugly mug who did it. Great.”

Shane’s face pales as he looks at me. “You might be the only one who did, too. Allie was near the edge of the sofa, right? And she had blood on her chest and face, so she couldn’t have seen from that angle. She’d have been facing Carlos, her back to the door. But you saw the hitman face-to-face. Could you identify him?”

I nod, biting my lip. “I feel like that’s a question you should automatically say no to when you’re talking mob hitmen, but yeah, I’d recognize him anywhere. That face, the squinty eyes and cauliflowered left ear . . . I could probably sketch him for you, if that’s helpful. I’m not an artist, but it’d be close enough.”

“Yeah, we’ll see if we can get a pencil and some paper because we need to know who the hitman is so we can figure out who hired him,” Shane says, sighing. “I can’t believe we’re talking about your sketching a hitman.”

“But why can’t we go to the police? They could help us,” I ask, almost pleading with him, and Shane laughs harshly. “What? That’s their job!”

Shane looks at me with pity in his eyes and smiles bitterly. “Both families have the police in their pockets. The only way to be a cop above Desk Sergeant in East Robinsville is to be friendly with one family or the other. If we go to the cops, we’ll likely never be seen again because they’ll turn us over to whoever wants us the most.”

“As in?” I ask, fearing the answer even before Shane says it.

“Meaning whoever’s willing to pay more for our silence. Knowing some of the cops in this town, they’d do the job for the families and might even try to collect from both of them if there’s money in it.”

Hating that answer and needing more, I run through the whole evening again in my head, something wiggling at me, but it’s not until I see the blood spatter on Allie’s favorite costume that I realize what it is.

“Hey! What about the cameras? The security? How’d the hitman even get inside without being seen? He should be on cameras all over the place. There should be all sorts of images of him, not just my memory.”

Shane nods but gets up to pace the carpet. “Yeah, but that’s only helpful if it’s Sal’s guys fucking with Dominick. If Dominick did this, he’d erase the recordings. All it takes is a single button push on his system. That’d leave him just one last loose end to clean up.”

Shane gives me a pointed look, and I realize he’s telling me that if Dominick is behind this, he’ll want me killed. If Sal did it, Dominick won’t hurt me, but Sal probably will. I’m messed up either way. “So, where does that leave us? You’re Dominick’s guy.”

I leave the question as to whether he’ll hurt me unasked, but he knows that’s what I need to know. Shane walks to the curtained window and glances out before turning to me, looking at me from across the room with intense eyes that burn with . . . something.

“It’s more complicated than that, but I swear to you, Meghan, I would never, ever hurt you. I work at Petals for Dominick, but I’m not in the mob, not one of his guys. I promise with my very last breath to keep you safe.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” I ask, my heart pounding as the intensity of Shane’s words hit me. In another light, another situation, they’d be the most romantic thing a man has ever said to me. I feel the sting of tears in the corners of my eyes, but refuse to let them loose, even though this is all so overwhelming.

Shane doesn’t have the magic answer I was hoping for, instead being a bit vague. “We’ll figure it all out.”

For a moment, I think about telling him that it’s even more complicated than he realizes because I’m not just a cocktail waitress at Petals, but an undercover reporter using the job to get stories for a celebrity tabloid. Part of me wants to tell him everything, because deep down inside, I feel this almost instinctual need to be totally honest with him.

We’ve danced around each other for two months to the point that earlier tonight ,we nearly kissed, despite knowing the rules. We both know that we want the other, and that the only reason he’d gotten me so angry at him earlier tonight is that he’s under my skin.

But that seems minor in comparison to mob hits, and honestly, I don’t think telling Shane that I’ve been lying to him is going to ingratiate me to him.

And I need him right now, to stay safe, to stay alive.

So I let the truth die on my lips, keeping that secret.

For now. I only pray that before this is all over, there’s a chance that I can tell him the truth. Because just once, I’d like to hear him call me Maggie instead of Meghan.