Page 112 of Jig's Last Dance

Shrugging, I bite the inside of my lip before saying, “I was curious. I’m sorry, but John’s really weird.”

Sal raises a brow and looks over my shoulder. “He’s playing a game, but he won’t like where this ends.”

His words are so close to dad’s that I shiver.

“Game?”

“Yes. I don’t like games, Alice. Do you?”

“Um, no.”

He smiles and I blink. Holy shit. I’m like a fucking gazelle being stalked by a lion. “Good, because I’d hate to see my dearest niece lose her way.”

“I’m not . . . losing my way. I’ve done as you asked.”

“Really? What do you know about the keys?” he demands, swinging toward me.

Swallowing, I stutter, “I heard McCafferty is the one who did it. Revenge.”

I’m parroting Ben’s words from Castinetti back to him, which feels fucking stupid. But I don’t know anything else. Those assholes have kept everything really close to the damn vest, ironic considering Cyn’s proclamation.

But as I stare at Sal, I think over the events that led me here and wonder if maybe Sal wouldn’t have pushed me in this direction if Jig hadn’t pissed all over me that night I came to dinner on Sal’s arm.

Am I here because of John or Jig?

“What do you really want from me?” I whisper.

He levels me with his dark stare, and I pinch my thigh to keep from squirming. “I thought that was clear. You get me what I need.”

“What if I can’t? What then?”

“Don’t worry. There’s always an opportunity to please me.”

He spreads his arms wide, and I laugh. I can’t help it. “You want me to—what? Be your slave? Why?”

“Don’t be stupid, Alice. In this business, it’s all about loyalty.”

“I don’t want to be in this business,” I say, and he slams his palm on the desk.

Flinching, I bow my head as he says, “I’ve given you a home. Food. Protection. You will repay me.”

Uncle Sal may be my honorary uncle—I refuse to entertain more—but he’s also apparently a demon who does nothing without requiring something in return. I just hope it’s not my fucking soul.

Without my dad as a go-between, I have to navigate the treacherous waters myself. And it’s turning out to be more daunting than I imagined.

Hell, I don’t even really know the rules. Dad hid so much of what he did, and the full truth has only emerged now that he’s supposedly gone.

“Then I’ll leave,” I say, clenching my hand in my lap.

He chuckles. “No, bambina. You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours! Never.”

He stalks around his desk, and I lean back, sucking in a breath. Calm. Be fucking calm.

“I want to leave.”

His brows drop over his eyes before he looms over me. “I don’t like your tone. You’ll not talk to me that way.”