I gesture toward the tables near the octagon. “Sit. Let’s talk.” Both our crews hang back behind us. Niko offers me a cigar and I take it from him. “Cuban.”

“Heard it’s your favorite.”

I clip the end and slide it over to him. “I’ll start by saying you have my word that I won’t carry the hit out on your old lady. But how do I know the La Rosas won’t be touched?”

Niko flicks the tobacco out of his mouth. “Because that was also my hit. When I saw who it involved at the gates, I figured out what was happening.”

“Why you taking on hits?”

“Why are you?” he asks, brows perked.

“I’m not now. That was old. Your old lady’s ex came to me with a photo and a date he wanted it done. It’s not for years from now, when she’s happy and married and settled.”

“Fucking bastard.”

“I’ve already burned it. I’m not planning to take any new jobs. Got my fucking hands full.”

Niko chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. Mafia wife, MC president.” He leans his elbows on the table. “I’ve burned her from mine. You have my word. I know that may not mean shit to you, but I think we understand each other.”

I nod as we both rise from the table. Niko looks over his shoulder as they make their way back to their bikes. “Hit me up next time you’re in my town. We’ll have a beer.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, alright.” It’s not until they’ve taken off out the gate that I toss the cigar onto the ground.

“You believe that?” Royce asks, coming up beside me.

“I do.” My jaw clenches.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The clubhouse is decorated with pink and purple party lights, and the kitchen is filled with little finger foods and cakes.

Betty rushes through the doors with Wolf on her hip. “He’s getting heavy. What the fuck?”

“What the fuck!” Wolf repeats.

I glare at my best friend, taking him out of her grip. “Aunty Betty…”

Betty slides up onto the kitchen counter, stealing one of the club sandwiches and biting into it. “There are too many kids out there. I only like one kid.”

I rush around the kitchen, gathering up the spoons for the Jell-O and placing Wolf back onto the ground so he can go and play. “Be nice.”

“I am!” Her hand comes to her chest in offense.

I reach beneath the cupboard until my hand comes to a large plastic bowl. “Fucking Psyko doesn’t count, Betty!”

Standing to my feet, my eyes meet hers. She glares at me. “Okay, that’s fair.” We both make our way back through the kitchen and to the outside patio. Wicked catches my waist with his arm, directing me down the stairs.