Micah’s mind shot to the story he and Caprice had come up with. “My boyfriend’s sister lives here. We were planning a party for his birthday.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Jensen repeated doubtfully, which… ouch.

“Why can’t Micah have a boyfriend?” Tessa demanded, coming to his defense like the faithful friend she was. “He’s hot as fuck and adorable. Not to mention he’s sweet, and smart, and loyal, and kind. He’s a damn catch.”

Micah’s and Jensen’s cheeks were both tinged pink by the time she was finished. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He turned to Micah. “You’re always so busy with work.”

“And whose fault is that?” Tessa snapped.

That shut Jensen up. Micah’s father, however, looked confused. And maybe a tad hurt. “You never told me you were dating anyone. Who’s this mysterious boyfriend?”

That was his cue. The time had come for Micah to tell his dad, a frickin’ NYPD police captain, that his son was dating a known mafia boss.

Sensing his nerves, Tessa grabbed his hand and squeezed. Micah held on for dear life.

But it appeared the universe had it out for him. Because before he could even open his mouth to admit anything, a dreadfully familiar Rolls-Royce was speeding onto the scene.

Micah knew immediately that it wasn’t Geoffrey behind the wheel – not at the speed at which the vehicle was traveling, not with the way it was hastily thrown into park after the front wheels hopped the curb.

He was proven right when Damon jumped out of the front seat.

Micah didn’t know what he was expecting. He had no idea what Caprice had told Damon, but one thing was certain as the man scanned the scene before spotting Micah in the back of the ambulance and making a mad beeline for him: Micah had never seen Damon like this.

Damon had an aura of power that no one could deny. But composed as he usually was – dressed to the nines and hair perfectly styled – that power had always seemed contained. Yes, he was a predator – a dangerous one, at that – but a controlled predator.

Not so tonight.

He was like an animal unleased, the energy around him wild and chaotic and dark. His hair was messier than Micah had ever seen it – like a tornado had landed in it (or he’d been gripping at it in a panic since his sister had called him) – and his eyes were bright, dangerous, worried – and focused entirely on Micah.

“Fucking Christ,” the man spat when he reached him, hands grasping either side of Micah’s face, turning it this way and that – either not noticing or not caring that Micah was surrounded by a trio of police detectives. “What the fuck happened?”

Micah gnawed his bottom lip. “Jason had a gun,” he said, voice small and tinny.