It took every ounce of discipline he possessed to stay in his seat and watch his brother engage her in conversation when she handed him his coffee and reached into the case for his macaroons.

“I’m Timur, Timur Amurov. And you are?” Timur lifted the drink to his mouth and sipped cautiously.

Alonzo watched him take that first drink and get the look on his face that most of her customers did. The woman knew how to make coffee and drinks. On the other hand, she knew his brother’s real name, and his was a fake. When she talked to him, she thought of him as Alonzo, an Italian. He was Fyodor Amurov, from Russia. He was an Amur leopard shifter, and that made him a rarity even among rare shifters. It also made him a member of the bratya. In fact, he was from one of the most lucrative and cruel families involved. His legacy was one of blood and death. Of patricide. Of mass murder.

“I’m Evangeline. It’s nice to meet you.”

Her voice went right through him. Wrapped around his heart. Fisted his fucking cock until he thought he might scream with need. All the while his leopard purred. Rubbed. Needed like he needed. Alonzo’s breath stilled in his body. His leopard only needed one thing—to hunt. He lived for the hunt. He loved the freedom, and he saw everything and everyone as prey. Not Evangeline. He looked at her amorously. That was new.

“Your last name?” Timur pushed as he took the plate of macaroons.

Alonzo heard her heart accelerate. He caught the jerk of Gorya’s body as he heard it as well. Timur was relentless, standing still with no intention of moving.

Evangeline turned her head toward Alonzo. “Don’t,” she said softly.

She knew Timur worked for him. She thought, correctly, Timur was getting information for an investigation, but, incorrectly, that Alonzo had ordered him to do so. His woman had secrets.

“Don’t what?” Timur pushed. “Look at me, not him,” he ordered. His voice gentled. “I’m just asking for your last name.”

She didn’t obey him. She kept looking at Alonzo. “I haven’t pried. I haven’t done one thing to give you cause to do this.”

The bell over the door tinkled and Timur instantly spun around, his hand going inside his coat. Three men entered. They were in their thirties and all three looked carefully around, noting Alonzo first, then Gorya and Timur. Right away Alonzo pegged them as undercover cops. They were dressed in casual clothes, jeans and tees stretched tight over muscles. Tattoos down their arms. One had a short beard and mustache. One just the mustache. The third man hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.