Page 348 of Don’t Say Mafia

Long enough, I decided.

I didn’t plan on losing her.

CHAPTER 36

EDEN

Jagger had not been thrilled when I told him I was going to work.

“Eden,” he’d said slowly, like he was explaining gravity to a particularly stubborn child. “You don’t have to work.”

“I know,” I’d replied.

Which had been exactly the problem.

Because if I stopped working completely, then suddenly everything in my life—where I lived, my food, my clothes, the air I breathed—would belong to him. And while the idea of belonging to Jagger Thatcher in certain contexts made my stomach flip in ways that were definitely not practical . . .

The rest of my brain still needed a little independence.

So, I was at the casino.

Which meant noise and lights and the constant churn of voices and chips and machines, familiar chaos that had once felt normal and now felt strangely small compared to the world Jagger had started showing me.

I was weaving between tables with a tray of drinks when a hand suddenly clamped down on my ass . . . and it wasn’t just a brush. It was a full squeeze. I spun halfway around automatically, glaring at the back of a middle-aged man already pretending to focus on the blackjack table as if he hadn’t just committed sexual assault.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

Honestly though . . . between things like that and the constant wandering hands of drunk businessmen, Jagger’s offer to quit was starting to look more and more appealing. “Eden.”

I looked over and saw Leigh was standing near the service station, her eyes huge and bright in that way they got whenever she had a piece of gossip she couldn’t wait to unload. Except this time there was something else mixed in with it.

Nerves.

“Can you take a five-minute break?” she whispered.

That alone made me pause. Leigh never voluntarily stepped away from the floor. Not when there were rich men wandering around looking bored.

“Yeah,” I said slowly, setting my tray down. “What’s going on?”

We slipped into the small employee hallway behind the bar, where the noise of the casino dropped to a dull roar.

Leigh ran both hands through her hair. “I think I’m going crazy,” she blurted.

That was not how Leigh usually opened conversations. Normally it was You will not believe what I just heard followed by a ten-minute breakdown of someone’s divorce or secret mistress.

“Okay,” I said carefully. “That’s a strong opener.”

“I think something happened to Carl.”

I blinked. “Like . . . he got fired?”

The words came out before my brain caught up, and only then did I realize something strange.

Carl wasn’t here . . . and he was always here. Carl had worked this floor longer than anyone. He practically lived at Paradise.

Leigh shook her head fast, her hair bouncing. “Yesterday,” she said, her voice dropping even lower, “I saw Cruz Vale come down onto the floor and take him into the back.”

I pursed my lips thinking of Jagger’s best friend. “And?” I asked.