The Enemy's Secret : A Hidden Heir, Marriage of Convenience Sports Romance, livre ebook

Three hundred and forty-two dollars after expenses. That is one good night, and it buys about a week before the next set of demands arrives.
*And if I see you skimming again, Mickey, I'll break your other thumb.*
Mickey laughs, wipes a glass with a rag that has seen better days, and sets it on the polished bar.
*You got no proof, boss.*
*I got a nose for theft. And I got Lucia's eyes. She saw you pocket that quarter from Mrs. Rosenstein's tab.*
*That was a tip.*
*Quarter's a quarter. You want tips, you charm the customers. You don't lift from my regulars.*
Rafe Castellano slides the bills into a leather satchel beneath the counter and counts under his breath. The place is full tonight, thirty-eight bodies packed into a former laundry basement, off-duty dockworkers nursing gin at the far end, a piano doing what it can.
Across town, in a narrow room where typewriters clatter like machine guns, Julian Ashford sits at the third desk from the window, the one with the loose bolt that makes his chair list two degrees left, staring at a blank form he has no intention of filling in honestly.
What follows: a name he did not ask for, a face in an alley, a saint's judgment, a saint's bargain, a pact made in a coal cellar, a diary and a dagger, a sister's test, and medicine handed over alongside a lie.
*I'm a fed. I was sent to arrest you.*
*I know.*
*I lied to you. About everything. My name, my reasons, my—*
He held him in a cold safehouse and kissed him like he was the only thing worth saving.
The file still exists. The testimony still exists. Somebody still has to sign something, and the signature is going to come from one of these two men. And even then, in a city that has already decided what both of them are, forgiveness is not promised to anybody.