Sunlight beams through the vast windows of the diner onto fluffy stacks of buttery pancakes covered in brown syrup as I sit across from Jackson and Sammy. It was a long night, and now I can barely keep my eyes open as we chew, so I must not be the only one.

But I’ve spoken too soon.

“So, still want to kill Ramona?” Jackson asks, wiping his mouth and setting the napkin down.

I nearly choke and dart my gaze to Sammy, who continues cutting into his omelet without a hiccup. Of course, this kind of breakfast chit-chat is probably ordinary to him. 

“Maybe. I don’t know,” I say, but Jackson doesn’t let it go.

“So what triggered this?” 

I slurp my coffee and then clear my throat. “Fucking my ex.”

That gets Sammy’s attention as he looks up and takes a bite of his food. Then he points his fork at me. “Go on.”

“Ramona has always been this wedge— this splinter in my relationship and marriage with Celia. I guess I started daydreaming about what life would be like if she wasn’t around.”

“Come on, man,” Jackson smirks. “We both know it would have resulted in the same outcome, only with someone else.”

I furrow my brows, the fork in my hand pinched between two fingers as I stab a piece of pancake. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that Celia has issues. She cheated on you for years with Ramona, and according to Gwen, people cheat because they have deep issues they’re masking by escaping through an affair. Instead, they need to work on whatever trauma is causing them to seek validation elsewhere.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.” I sip my coffee.

“It’s not. Gwen says affairs become an addiction, and until that person cuts off the addiction, they’ll remain in a pattern of cheating until they face the core issue of what is driving them to cheat. And even though you’re a complete asshole ninety-five percent of the time, Celia choosing to cheat is not your fault.”

“That we can agree on.” I nod.

“She chose to cross the line over and over again. The only responsibility you own is the part you played in the marriage failing, which is your inability to communicate openly. Your stubborn ass bottles things up, but you can’t do that. You gotta let people in. Especially the people you love because when you bottle that shit up, it eventually explodes and pushes everyone away,” Jackson concludes.

Sammy bobs his head. “Your friend has a point. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I can tell you keep people at arm’s length. I used to be hot-headed like you, but the only thing it achieves is loneliness. Trust me. As a consequence, my daughters barely talk to me now.”

“You really ought to see Gwen again,” Jackson says.

“Who is Gwen?” Sammy asks. “She sounds like a smart lady.” 

I sigh and sit back against the squeaky faux leather of our red booth. “Our therapist from the divorcee support group we attend.”

“A therapist.” Sammy quirks a brow, then shrugs. “I see one myself.”

“Isn’t that against mafia rules or something?”

He laughs and looks at me. “Kid, the mafia don’t exist.”

“Right.”

“But part of the deal when I got released from prison was I had to see a therapist. At first, I hated it, but after a while, I got used to it. Now I go because I learned how my actions have affected my daughters, but I want to rebuild my relationship with them. So, this is all to say that you should stick with therapy.”

“Well, I have been meaning to give Gwen a call…” I lean forward and take a bite of pancake. “Maybe I’ll do it this afternoon.”

“Good for you.” Sammy nods, then looks me dead in the eyes, his fingers nudging my chin. “Now, if you tell anyone about me going to therapy, I’ll kill you.”

I stop chewing and study his eyes, searching for the joke in them, but an uncomfortable silence passes. Even Jackson seems to inch away from him in the booth and busies himself with stuffing his face. 

But then, Sammy bursts out laughing.

“I got you good!” He points.

“Yeah, you did,” I exhale.

∆∆∆ 

By the time I make it back to my apartment, I’m ready to crash, but after a long night of cleaning a crime scene, burying a body, and hauling Richie’s infected ass around, I need a steamy shower. So, I take my time running a soapy loofa across my skin and give little Miguel a few tugs to release the tension knotting my shoulders. 

When I’m done and step out of the shower to wrap a towel around myself, I almost feel brand new. However, as the steam clears from the mirror above the sink, the bags under my eyes are big enough to fit the wardrobe of an entire department store. 

“You need sleep.” I rub my face with one hand while leaning against the sink with the other. The muscles in my arms flex from the movement, but even they look deflated. 

So, I push away from the counter and head into the hallway, but something in my peripheral vision makes my bare feet skid to a halt.

For fucks sake.

There is no mistaking that shitty fur coat, even from the corner of my eye.

“Angie!” I stomp my way to the living where she casually sits on the armrest of the yellow sectional couch. 

“Oh. Hey, handsome,” she says nonchalantly with a little wave of her fingers and glances down at my hips. “Nice towel.”

“How the fuck did you get in here!?”

She shrugs. “Spare key?” 

I laugh, but there is zero amusement in my expression as I tower over her. “And how the hell do you have a spare key when I never gave you one.”

“From Jackson.” She shrugs again, her head tilting back to look me in the eyes. 

“He gave it to you!?”

“Pfft, no,” she scoffs. “But he really shouldn’t leave your spare key, on a hook, in his kitchen, with a label that says Miguel’s apartment.”

Thrusting my hand in front of her face, I growl, “Give it to me. Now.”

“Give you what exactly?” Angie shimmies her fur coat to expose her shoulders and gives me an innocent yet pouty look. “A little Ooo la la?”

She’s fucking with me. She has to be, and I don’t like it. 

“What the hell are you on about?” I say and fasten the towel around my waist a little tighter. “Last night at the club, you basically told me to fuck off because I threatened your ex-husband, and then you stormed out of the place. Yet, now you’re here flirting. What the actual fuck?”

“Relax.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m just goofing around. I have zero desire to jump your bones. Even if you are dripping and half naked.”

“Why are you here?” I touch the towel, making sure it doesn’t slip.

“Because we must figure out what to do about the Chloe situation.”

“Jackson and I already took care of it. Barry is done. Buried. Gone.” 

“That takes care of half the problem. Chloe told Alma and me that Evan was freaking out last night because you and Jackson were against calling the cops,” Angie takes a breath, then locks her gaze on mine. “Is he going to be a problem?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should suck his dick, so he doesn’t say a word. You’re good at manipulation mid-fellatio.”

Angie pushes against my chest and gets to her feet, moving away from me. “You’re rather sensitive this morning, and after I sent Sammy to help you.”

“You mean your mafia friend!”

“The mafia doesn’t exist.”

“Now you even sound like him,” I huff.

“Well, he helped you, didn’t he? Where is the gratitude?”

“Angie…” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I spent the night cleaning Chloe’s apartment, burying a body, and dealing with Richie's shit, so I’m zombie tired. Could you cut me some fucking slack with your bullshit?”

“No. I’m actually livid with you.” Angie narrows her gaze and rests her hands on her hips. “You acted like a gorilla at Penthouse and had a pissing contest with my ex, but you have no idea about the kind of man Jeremiah is!”

“Oh, I have every idea. He’s just a white version of Richie fucking Reddy in a Versace suit and needs to be taught a lesson about fucking with the wrong people.”

“Seriously? Now you want to be in cahoots with me about killing the fucker?”

“Well, now that I’ve met him, he has a weak chin I’d like to smash my fist through.”

Angie brings her fingers to her temples. “You give me a headache.”

“And you give me a ball ache.” 

“Says the guy who had the audacity to pull the shit you pulled at Penthouse. I’m surprised Jeremiah hasn’t texted me with the latest threat. Do you understand the position you’ve put me in? The setback you’ve caused?”

“How would I know when you don’t tell me anything.”

“My life is my business,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“And what about mine?” 

“That’s different.” She raises her chin.

“No, it’s not. Now hand over my key.”

“No. Finders keepers.”

“Angie…” I step forward, and she steps back. “Give me the key.”

“No.” 

This time, I don’t argue. Instead, I lunge forward, but Angie’s shitty fur coat slips between my fingers as she spins away. So I chase her around the coffee table while trying my best to keep the towel in place as she glances back at me, laughing. I snag a pillow from the couch and fling it at her, but she dodges as we circle the dining table. 

My apartment is tiny, yet Angie manages to outrun me as we do another lap around the coffee table, and this time she tosses a pillow at me. She’s enjoying this with her wide grin and giggles filling the living room like foam as it expands into every corner, including the chambers of my lump of coal heart. 

But it only fuels me. 

Ducking the fluffy cushion, I decide that enough is enough and dive across the coffee table. Cool air kisses my ass as the towel falls, but I ignore it and tackle Angie to the sofa. 

“Ahhh!” she wails as I take her down and pin her. 

Her dark curls land in a heap on her face, so she blows them out of the way and shakes her head, chuckles bubbling from her mouth.

“You’re no fun,” she says.

“Give me the key,” I breathe in her face.

“No.”

“Then I’ll find it!” 

Releasing one of her hands, I begin digging through her jacket pockets, and she writhes underneath me, her legs wiggling to break free as I sit on top of her body. I don’t even care that my twig and berries are exposed to the chill in the air.

“Where is it, Angie!”

“In a place, you can’t reach,” she laughs.

“Where!”

“Inside my panties.”

“Like hell, I can’t reach!” And I’m about to shove my hand inside her pants when a knock at the door has us both jerking our attention toward it. “Fuck. What now?”

“Maybe you should ignore it and find the key instead?” she bobs her brows. “Our little skirmish has kind of turned me on.”

“You would.” I snap my attention back to her, my gaze going to her lips as she licks them. Little Miguel betrays me as it starts to swell. Angie smells so good right now, too, like citrus and mangos. I love mangos. It makes me want to lick her skin.

But whoever is at the door knocks again.

“You should probably answer it,” Angie says.

“I don’t really have a choice.” I get up, and Angie’s gaze drops to my crotch, a smile threatening to spread across her face as she sits upright. 

“Don’t forget your towel.” She points to it, and I glare at her, snatching it from the floor.

“As if I’d answer the door naked.” 

“Nice buns,” she snorts, and I slap the towel around myself.

It’s a short distance to the door, and even though I’m trying not to, my mouth splits into a grin as I head over there. I shouldn’t like this back-and-forth with Angie — the kind that makes me hate her guts yet love the flaws that makes her the feisty person she is. 

Because I’m flawed too. 

And it’s a toxic combination, but I drink the arsenic every time.

Pressing my eye to the peephole, I flinch back upon seeing who is on the other side and spin around, bringing a finger to my lips.

“Shhh…” I whisper. “It’s Mindy.”

“Oh.” Angie chuckles.

“She can’t see you here.” I glance around, searching for a place she can hide. “Get inside the closet in the hallway!”

“No.” 

“Angie. Do it!” I snap at her.

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes and makes her way there but does it ever so slowly. Mindy knocks again, and Angie finally slips into the closet, so I blow out a breath, then open the door.

“Hey!”

“Hey.” Mindy smiles. “I brought coffee and muffins.”

I step aside, motioning for her. “Well, come on in, beautiful. Sorry about the towel. I just got out of the shower.”

“Mmm. Good. I like you half-naked. Now I can get you all dirty again.” 

She brushes passed me but pauses as she presses her mouth to mine. On any other occasion, I'd toss Mindy over my shoulder, race to the bedroom, and have my way with her, but Angie is in the closet. More importantly, I can’t help but think about everything that’s happened in the last few hours. 

It flashes through my mind like a montage of banging Celia against the wall, discovering Barry’s dead body on the floor, meeting Sammy the fucking mobster, taking Richie’s infected ass to the doctor, and Kay hauling his body away. 

Closing the door behind me, I take the coffee and muffins out of Mindy’s hands, then set them on the counter. She weaves her arms around my waist and kisses a trail up my spine, but I can’t entertain this. Especially when Celia's filthy cooter juices were on me last night, and moments ago, I had a semi-chub with Angie pinned beneath me.

I'm a fucking mess.

“Mindy, I’ve had a hell of a night.” I turn and cup her face. “Would it be alright if we just cuddle on the bed and fall asleep?”

“Late night at work?” 

“Yeah…” I take her hand and guide her to the bedroom, where I have her climb onto the bed first to spoon her from behind.

We settle in, my arms wrapped around her as I bury my nose in her neck with our backs to the door. Her entire body relaxes, and I try to do the same, but the hardwood floor creaks somewhere in the hallway. To Mindy, it’s probably just the sound of an old apartment, but I know it’s Angie exiting the closet.

When I glance over my shoulder, she’s standing in the doorway, staring at us. However, I can’t decipher the look on her face. It’s not disgust or anger, or even curiosity. Instead, it looks like her favorite toy has been taken away and given to someone else. 

Our eyes meet, and her expression shifts as she holds up her middle finger and mouths the words, sit on it, fucker. So I wave at her to leave, but it causes Mindy to shift.

“What are you doing?” she laughs and is about to turn her head, so I clamp my mouth onto hers, preventing her from seeing the little troublemaker in the doorway.

Moments later, the hardwood floor creaks again, and I hear the apartment door close behind Angie. I’m sure I’ll get an earful from her later on about how much of an asshole I am. I break away from the kiss, but Mindy sees it as an opportunity to pin me down and climb on top of me. She must think I've changed my mind about having sex, and when I start to object, she presses her mouth to mine, shushing me.

Fuck.

I should stop her, but I don’t.

And I’m going to hate myself later for this.