I was too distracted to remember the “him” she was referring to. The only “him” that mattered now was Colin.

“We have a problem,” Hudson said. Did he know about Colin? “Check the stairs on your left.” At Hudson’s direction, I forced myself to rip my gaze away from my son to locate whatever problem he was actually referring to. “That who I think it is with them?”

What the hell were the Irish doing with the mafia? I didn’t personally know the two men following our marks upstairs, but the ink on the backs of their necks clearly indicated they were in league with the Sicilians now running things in the Triborough area.

“What are we doing?” Izzy asked. “You think he set us up, knowing they’d be here, too?”

“Or are they the ‘you have no idea who you’re messing with’ people he was referring to the other night?” Hudson tacked on his theory, and Daniel’s interrogation now felt like five fucking years ago.

I barely remembered what Daniel had said to us in the basement. And as of right now, I gave zero fucks. Because my too-young-to-be-there son just punched someone on the dance floor.

No one stopped dancing or seemed to care that a fight had broken out.

After executing a brilliant palm strike to the man’s throat that I shouldn’t have been proud of but was, Colin fisted the guy’s shirt, snarling in his face.

My guess was the guy had bothered Colin’s girlfriend, and Colin reacted how I would have back in the day. Swing first, ask questions later. Hotheaded and overprotective.

“I have to handle a situation,” I told them over comms, already on the move.

“What situation? A different one than why we’re here?” Izzy asked as I stopped mid-pursuit when two other men surrounded Colin.

Not just any men. Sicilian mafia. What the hell did Colin just step into?

Colin was about to resist and fight them, but one of the assholes pulled out a gun. The man pressed the pistol to Colin’s side, and Colin immediately lifted his hands in surrender. It was dark enough that no one would notice what was happening unless they were trained to.

Anger curled into a tight fist inside my stomach, moving up into my chest. I had no choice but to block the pain and the rage so I could think straight and map out an execution plan.

Snap Guy One’s neck first. Once there was no longer a weapon pointed at my son, headshot for Guy Two. Then, I’d let my son go ahead and knock out Guy Three, the original asshole.