My shoulders hunched forward, and I wasn’t sure which way to go with this conversation. Maybe out of the room and away from him was the safest option. But he was here and talking, so I changed the subject rather than running away.

“How about you tell me why you were really at that rave?”

“How about you tell me why you were at that rave?” The attitude was on point with how mine had been at his age.

How did my parents handle me? This is my payback for that, isn’t it?

“You still doing assassin-y spy-like shit for the government?”

“No.”

“So, you did do it before.” He shot me a smug, satisfied smile.

I’m in over my head. “Just talk to me. Tell me what I need to know to keep you and your mother safe. Unless you’d prefer we wake her up and bring her into this conversation as well, then⁠—”

“Speak now or forever hold my peace?” His smile morphed into a cocky grin. “I’ll take option two.” He started to stand, but I patted the air, signaling him to sit his ass back down.

Shockingly, he obeyed. I had a reputation for scaring people without doing much, but I also didn’t want to terrify my kid. There had to be balance here somewhere.

As he pushed his bowl away, the Cheerios box fell, scattering the O’s all over the marble, and I did my best not to twitch at the sight of the mess.

“Your mother knows I had to kill someone last night. She didn’t take it well,” I let him know. “I’d prefer giving her more time to process that before we pull her into this conversation.”

“Thought you said his death wasn’t on you?” He crossed his arms, fortifying his guard. Message received.

My arms fell to my sides. “It wasn’t my fault. It was yours. Because you were hanging out with drug dealers, and you wound up punching a mafioso. It was your neck, or theirs.” I let the harsh truth settle between us, hoping reality would hit him.

He stared down at the mess he’d created, remaining quiet.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t get through to him without some give and take here.

“I was at the rave for Jamie.” At my admission, he immediately looked at me, surprised. “One of his guys, Daniel O’Brien, attempted to mug my intern earlier in the week. Hit her in the process. The night you tried to boost a car was when I’d tracked Daniel down to question him. He had ecstasy pills laced with fentanyl on him.”

I strode closer, letting my truth sink in with each step.

“Kids have been OD’ing on these drugs, and my friends and family don’t tolerate anything involving the endangerment of kids. Or women being hurt.”