He pushed up off the desk, fully facing me now. “‘Mafia’ is just a broad term for organized crime. There are a lot of them. We’ve taken down a few in New York, including the biggest one. But new families always rise and take their place.” He paused, letting that sink in. “The Messina family is based out in Brooklyn. They’re the ones who were at the rave. No connection to my family, but they fear us. They know better than to cross me. And I made it very clear that they’re never to come near you or Colin.”

There it was again, that or else. As loud as a shotgun blast next to my unprotected ear.

I wanted to feel relieved we had some kind of Costa Family Forcefield around us, but I still didn’t quite understand what that meant.

“So, does that mean you’re also in this League group?” I needed to sit. Shit, I already am.

“No, they don’t operate out of the U.S., but they’re following the lead on Lennon’s father in Ireland for us.” He cleared his throat. “And I have worked with them before. They helped on a case involving my sister-in-law last year.” He traced one of the scars on his arm, and my chest tightened.

Was that animal tied to that case? I stood, my heart shattering all over again at the memory of what he’d been through. And yet, he was still standing. Still strong—a wrecking ball of good against this world’s evil.

I reached for his hand, lifted it to my lips, and softly kissed his knuckles. I offered him my silent support, hoping he could feel it in my touch.

“Tell me more,” I whispered. “Tell me everything.”

I tightened my grip on his hand, pleading for him to continue.

He exhaled. “I guess I need to return to Bianca’s death, then.” His voice was somber, laced with something heavier than pain.

“Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Why was she murdered?”

His eyes squinted slightly, like the sun had hit his face. “She loved the wrong man.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “We didn’t know it then but learned the truth later. Mafia.”

“Oh.” I must’ve taken a step back because I bumped into the chair.

He let go of my hand and reached for his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. I watched silently as he removed a small, folded piece of paper and set the billfold on the desk.

“This is why I came to your place on Wednesday.”

He unfolded the note and held it out to me.

This wasn’t just an olive branch, it was something much bigger.