Max sat back in the booth and let his fingers graze Abby’s bare shoulder. There was something meditative about the stroke of his fingers against her silken skin. He was hard under the table, ready to take her to bed.

They’d stopped by the Eastside Lounge at the Wynn Hotel and Casino after dinner. It had been Abby’s idea, and he’d had the sense that she hadn’t been ready to go home just yet. In spite of the bad news delivered by Sean Bolton earlier that day, it had been a nice evening.

Max should have known if there was one thing that could set everything right, it was Abby. It didn’t matter what they were doing — sitting on the sofa at home, making dinner or eating out, taking a walk on the desert trails surrounding the house.

She always set everything right.

“I like it here,” she said, sipping on her drink.

“I do, too.”

The Eastside Lounge was a bit of old-school Vegas glamour amid the trashy modern glitz. With plush Art Deco-style booths and Sinatra playing in the background, it was easy to imagine it was 1950, Vegas still an island in the middle of the desert, untouchable by modern law enforcement, unreachable by the vast majority of Americans who either couldn’t get there or didn’t want to, owing to its reputation.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today?” Abby asked, looking up at him.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled. “Come on. I did my part. It’s your turn.”

He’d sensed something on her mind at dinner. When he’d asked about about it, she told him about her decision to mentor at City Lights, about her need for some kind of purpose while she was figuring out what was next long-term, about her conversation with her father and the imminent discussion of all that had happened between them.

Max had been happy to hear her excited about something. The little house in the city had been her passion before Bruce Frazier burned it down, and while Max had been happy to give her time and space to recover, he knew better than most that purpose was important.

Max was less enthused about her burgeoning relationship with her father. Abby might be able to forgive him for the things he’d done to her, for her fucked up childhood, but Max never would. He would be nice for her sake. He would go through the motions of giving the fucker a second chance because he knew there was no way for her to be whole without some kind of resolution.

But Max would never, ever forget all the ways he’d hurt Abby.

“So?” She interrupted his thoughts. “I’m fresh out of stories. It’s all on you now.”

“Jason’s turned state’s witness,” he said.

“What does that mean, exactly? I mean, I know what it means, but how does it impact your plans?” she asked.

He’d been vague about their plans to eliminate Jason, worried that she might still harbor concern for him, but she’d known something was up, had known he was talking to Nico about how to deal with Jason.

“It’s a wrinkle,” he admitted. “It means increased scrutiny — of Jason and of us.”

She was working to keep her expression impassive, but he saw the concern lurking underneath it. “Could you and Nico be in trouble?”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “We’re a long way from that. The Syndicate is experienced and careful. Anything Jason knows is probably a holdover from his dealings with DeLuca.”

“But you took over DeLuca’s businesses,” she said. “You and Nico.”

“We’ve made a lot of changes. It would be challenging to connect Fredo DeLuca’s businesses with the revenue streams now being run by the Syndicate.”

Not just by the Syndicate, he thought. By me.

“So explain ‘increased scrutiny’ to me,” she said.

“If Jason brings the Feds enough to convince a judge there might be something there, a wiretap isn’t out of the question, and other surveillance too.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be talking on the phone about that hit I took out on my yoga teacher,” she said.

He tugged at a piece of her hair and smiled. “Are you really joking about this?”

“Who said I’m joking?”

He sighed and lowered his head to kiss her. “I’m glad you’ve maintained your sense of humor, but we have to take this seriously.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’m not not taking it seriously. I just…”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “All the big stuff is falling into place. We have each other, the Syndicate seems to be giving you something important, I’m finally feeling like I might get some closure with my dad.” She sighed. “I just don’t want to sweat stuff that hasn’t happened yet.”

“What do you want to do about it?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She slid her hand up his thigh. “I want to take it as it comes, enjoy what we have now, have a little faith for a change that things will be okay.”

“Is that all?” he asked, nuzzling her cheek. “Because that hand of yours is making me harder than I already was.”

She laughed, low and throaty. A private laugh. A bedroom laugh. “Sounds like it’s time to leave.”

He spotted the waiter and lifted a hand. “I’ll pay the bill.”

Five minutes later, they were sliding out of the booth, heading for the front of the hotel with the speed of a couple teenagers who couldn’t wait to tear each other’s clothes off.

They were waiting for the valet to return with Max’s car when Abby’s phone rang.

She reached into her bag and glanced at the display with a puzzled expression, then put the phone to her ear.

“Hello? This is Abby Sterling.” There was a note of alarm in her voice that made him turn to look at her. “I don’t understand… Is he all right?”

Alarm rang inside him as her hand shot out to clutch his arm.

“Just tell me if he’s all right!”

She was practically screaming. An elderly couple turned to look at her, questions written on their lined faces.

Abby shuddered as she drew in a breath, obviously fighting to regain control. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”

She removed the phone from her ear and he took her face in his hands.

“What’s going on, Abby?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my dad,” she said, her voice shaking. “There’s been an accident. I need to get to the hospital.”