It was a voice that was telling me to brace.

Luckily, I already was. I just did it more.

“What are you gonna tell me?” I asked.

He leaned into me and his hand went back to the side of my neck and stayed there when he declared, “You do not fuck with me, Ally. This disconnect with Vito is gonna go fine, because the people who I deal with in my business understand that.” He paused. “And why.”

“You’re a made man,” I whispered my guess.

His head moved back an inch and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

Why was he asking “what?”

“You’re, uh, not a made man?”

Ren said nothing and stared at me.

“Ren?” I prompted when this went on a while.

“We’re Sicilian, babe, but we’re not Cosa Nostra.”

My head jerked. “You aren’t?”

“Fuck no. If we were, I’d never get out.”

Wow.

I did not know this.

How did I not know this?

I mean, I didn’t know everything that went down in Denver and I’d purposefully never gotten into Zano business, but I knew a lot.

Just not this.

“I just assumed—” I started.

“We aren’t clean,” Ren interrupted me. “Vito’s into a variety of shit that his father was into and his father’s father started. But they left New York to come to Denver to leave that shit behind and do their own thing.”

“Oh,” I mumbled.

“Fuck, you thought my family was mafia?” he asked, his voice getting louder. Which, by the way, was not a good sign.

What it was was a sign that we were moving out of easy.

“Actually, I—”

“Jesus,” he clipped. “I was gonna say this is gonna go fine, not because if it doesn’t, I’ll whack anybody who fucks with me. Just that they all know I know how to take care of myself and my family. I’ve proved that in a variety of ways. I’ve also not hesitated proving it or getting creative. So they’ve learned not to fuck with me.” He scowled at me and repeated, “Jesus.”

I didn’t know what to say. I personally didn’t think that it was a huge leap to make, him being Sicilian and the nephew of a third generation crime boss, but it was also an assumption that didn’t shine a great light on me.

“Ren, your family does certain… things. And they’re Italian. Sicilian Italian. Your dad was whacked. And Vito can be scary. I put two and two together—”

“And made twelve.”

Oh man.

I put a hand on his chest and leaned in. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That was totally uncool. Totally. Really, I’m sorry.” I tipped my head to the side and pressed my hand into his chest “Forgive me?”

“For thinkin’ I’m an underboss?”

Hmm.

Time to shut my mouth.

See, I’d been stupid and I’d apologized.

And he hadn’t accepted.

I offended him and maybe his acceptance was going to take a few minutes.

So I was going to give them to him before I lost my patience and pointed out (in a perhaps snotty or sarcastic way) that he should accept my apology.

“I’ll just take the dishes down to the sink,” I muttered, moving to exit the bed.

Instead of getting out of the bed, my coffee mug was pulled from my hand, put on the nightstand, and I was shoved back into position facing Ren.

“All this time, you thought you were fuckin’ a wiseguy?” he asked.

“Um…” I mumbled, because I did. It was just that he was angry and I didn’t want to say it out loud.

“You did. You thought you were fuckin’ a wiseguy,” he pressed.

I pushed my lips to the side.

“And you let me in there,” he went on.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He stared at me.

I fought squirming.

Then he burst out laughing.

I stopped fighting squirming and glared.

“What’s funny?” I snapped.