“There’s a party Friday night. A rave at a closed-down factory in SoHo. The guy I work directly for will be there.” He rattled off the address, and I made a mental note. “You can’t keep me until then, or he’ll know something is up.”

I handed Hudson his knife back. “We’ll let you go, but we’ll be monitoring your every step. Bodycam on you inside the rave as well.” Rolling down my sleeves, I buttoned them at the wrists, my voice low as I warned, “You bought yourself time with this information, but staying alive after the rave depends on if you told us the truth.”

While we only killed in self-defense now, or if left with no choice on an op, he didn’t need to know that. Fear of the unknown was a much better motivator in getting someone to walk the path of righteousness.

“Don’t make me hunt you down again. I won’t be so nice next time. Am I making myself clear?” I maintained eye contact so he could see the truth in my eyes. Read it. Believe it. Accept it as fact. His life was in my hands.

“Understood.” The word left his mouth low and bitter, but his compliance was appreciated.

Keeping my white shirt clean of blood was also a wise choice on his part.

Hudson returned his knife to its leather holder and tipped his head toward the door. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

Right. He followed me into the other room, and we both tossed our masks now that we were alone.

“I think we can handle going after his boss at the rave without calling anyone else in for help.”

“I agree.” There was no need to drag my brothers up here for an easy op. Enzo was home with his family in Charlotte. Alessandro was with his pregnant wife in Nashville. And I highly doubted we’d need to bring in the other guys we worked with for a quick grab and bag of a drug dealer from a rave.

Hudson tamed his messy hair with his fingers, and I did the same, remembering I had a date to get to. “So, was that too easy, or are we just getting too good at this?”

“You having doubts about what we do?” Was my sister’s wholesomeness starting to get into his head? While Izzy’s moral line was still much farther north than all of ours, mine no longer sat comfortably below murder like it once had. “It’s Izzy, isn’t it?”

“She works with us. She knows what we have to do sometimes.”

That wasn’t an answer. He was buying time to tell me what was really on his mind. I could only imagine the influence she was having on him.