A shot hadn’t rung out. Yet. She was having dinner with the mob. Nell Whitby didn’t want to have dinner with Aleksi Afoniki and his creepy nephew, Dimitri. She didn’t want to have anything to do with any of them. Miss Manners had been no help with an invite minus an RSVP. So here she was. About to drive into the den of the Russian Wolf and his, um, evil cub. The invite had been directed to her and her best friend, Sarah, but Nell hadn’t told her. Hadn’t planned to tell Alex either. You didn’t spit into the wind or expose your friends to the mob, even if one of the friends was a big tough cop. Nell stole a peek at the big tough cop. Alex Baker had been showing up, off and mostly on, since her world spun off its axis into weird mob-relatives-ness. Even though the on times had gotten more frequent, there was a part of Nell that expected him to bolt at some point.
