On her way to work, Frankie had dashed off to Bull’s house—her house, too—while answering a call from Birgit.

It was the first time she’d heard from her sister since her family returned to New York. Honestly, that night at the restaurant, they’d been almost as shell-shocked as the PZs were after Mako’s sons dealt with them. Yet, at the airport, they seemed pleased she’d found Bull and was happy.

She cried when she sent them off.

Today, though, Birgit whined that Frankie’s replacement wasn’t good enough and never would be. So, Frankie said since the replacement wasn’t up to the job, someone in the family should take over. Since Birgit was the youngest…

It was the fastest end to a phone call on record.

“What’re you laughing about, Ms. Boss?” Felix called from where he was waiting for a platter of nachos.

“I was—”

Shouting came from outside the kitchen, then a crash.

Crashes were bad, very bad.

Frankie hurried out and into the barroom. “No, no, no.”

A fight, in her bar. A broken chair lay on a crushed barstool with a short, stocky man sprawled beside the mess.

Gabe punched a bearded blond man who stank like dead fish, then shoved a lanky rat-nosed one at JJ.

So many people—did they bring an entire fish camp here to brawl?

Yelling, a barrel-chested, bald man raised a chair, planning to hit JJ from behind, then staggered back with a knife in his shoulder.

Caz, seriously?

When a thickset man with a receding chin lunged for Gabe, a heavy mug bounced off the guy’s forehead. Mr. No Chin landed on his ass.

The glass mug shattered on the floor.

Che palle! Frankie scowled as she looked around.

Bull stood off to one side, two men at his feet. He’d probably thumped their heads together. At least, he’d been tidy about it. He smiled sweetly at her.

She stomped through the battlegrounds, seeing how the regulars had simply moved their tables and chairs away, treating the fight like the best entertainment ever.

Alaskans.

The bald fisherman with a knife in his shoulder tried to stand.

She grabbed his ear and twisted. “Sit. Back. Down.”

When Caz pulled out another knife, she pointed her finger at him. “Basta.” Enough was enough. “You got blood all over my clean floor.”

Caz sighed, and the knife disappeared.

“Jesus.” The idiot whose ear she had grabbed shuddered and held his hands up. “You sound like my mama.”

“I am far meaner than your mama.” Releasing him, she said without bothering to look. “Felix, the first aid kit, please.”

“Yes’m, boss lady, ma’am,” he answered from beside her.

“Tonto.” She slapped the back of his head affectionately, and he laughed.

Felix wasn’t the only idiot—they abounded in this place. She eyed the shattered glass on the floor.

Someone had thrown it. Someone with particularly good aim.