Chapter Eleven
Tank
“Double-checking my team's work, brother?” Bones asks as I turn the handgun slowly in my hands. “I assure you, the numbers are filed smoothly.”
“No, it’s not that,” I mutter, rotating the piece once more before setting it back with the rest and peeling off my gloves. “Did we get a new supplier?”
Spike looks up from his table. “Why? Something wrong with it?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Just… feels off.”
Bones snorts. “A gun’s a gun, brother.”
“Not always,” I reply. “Our suppliers know our standards. They know we don’t let sloppy shit cross our borders. No buyers on our turf, no surprises in our inventory.”
Spike straightens, his expression sharpening. “You think someone’s testing us?”
“I think someone might be getting careless,” I say. “Or bold.”
Neither option sits right.
We don’t let anyone bring guns or drugs into our territory…not to buy, not to sell. We move product through for a very hefty price, clean it, erase it, and pass it along to people who pay enough not to ask questions.
And anyone who does ask questions?
Doesn’t get answers.
“If a new supplier slipped in without us knowing,” I continue, “that means someone thought they could shortcut our process.”
Spike’s jaw tightens. “I’ll have Foster trace the last shipment.”
“Good,” I nod. “Because if someone’s trying to sneak bad metal through our hands,”
I glance back at the table full of weapons. “They’re either stupid.”
Bones grins darkly.
“Or dead.”
“I want the metal checked before we meet the buyer,” Spike orders.
Bones nods immediately. “Already planned on it. We’ll weigh them, run a magnet, and shave the stress points.”
“I want more than that,” I add. “Tap test. Heat one of the slides and see how it reacts. If it warps or sings wrong, I want to know now…not after it’s in someone else’s hands.”
Spike’s jaw tightens. “If a supplier cut corners, then they’re trying to make us the problem.”
“You think someone wants us to start a war with the buyer?” I ask.
“If the guns are bad quality,” Spike nods. “Yeah.”
I exhale slowly. “This buyer isn’t even connected to us,” I remind them.
“That’s not entirely true,” Maverick says as he steps into the warehouse. “What’s going on?”
I glance at him. “How’s Abigail?”
“Fiery,” his mouth quirks. “The twins showed up.”
My lips twitch despite myself.
“She’s not thrilled,” he adds, amused. “Your woman can be… sassy.”
“What did she do?” I ask, already bracing.
“She’s measuring my cousins,” Maverick says, clearly enjoying this, “so she can order mannequins in their exact size.”
Spike blinks. “Why?”
“Something about if she has to deal with two silent humanoids in her personal space,” Maverick says, “then she’s at least going to make them dress the part.
In her words… ‘Mannequins will make it easier to pin your outfits together. However, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to stand still and let me use your body as the pincushion instead. ’”
Skip laughs.
I don’t.
My only thought is, why is she making clothes for the twins when she hasn’t made a single thing for me?
Sure, I’ve never asked.
But now I want her to.
Desperately.
And preferably before the twins.
“Anyway,” Maverick says, dragging us back to reality. “Your buyer is actually one of my underlings. You’re selling to the Moretti Italian Mafia.”
I shake my head, forcing my focus back where it belongs.
“You’re our buyer?” Skip asks from the floor, where he’s running basic metal tests on a sniper rifle. “Why do you need this many guns?”
Maverick laughs and shakes his head. “You lot really do forget who I am sometimes. Italian Mafia…remember? What do you think we need them for?”
“Right,” Skip chuckles.
“Since everything went down with Los Fantasmas,” Spike says, “your secret identity isn’t much of a secret anymore.”
That still pisses me off.
Members of that cartel bombed Maverick’s mansion. Killed members of his family. And because explosions draw attention, rumors spread. Names followed. Someone dug into him and figured out exactly who he was.
It’s not like he was hiding. His property is in his name. A simple search would’ve done it.
But that’s not the point.
“People know you’re connected to the Shadows now,” Bones says. “If it turns out these guns are fake.”
“They are,” Skip cuts in. “Well, not fake. But cheap. Don’t even need the deeper tests. The metal on this one is shit.”
He sets it aside.
“But not all of them,” he continues. “I’m guessing about half.”
Maverick exhales slowly. “So, your supplier is either cutting corners to save money…”
“Or sending faulty guns on purpose,” I finish, “hoping something goes wrong, and the Italians turn on us.”
“Fuck,” Spike mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.
Yeah.
That’s exactly the kind of move that starts wars.
And someone out there clearly wants one between the Iron Shadows and the fucking Italian mafia.
“How does your supplier even know who you’re selling to?” Maverick asks. “If this is an attempt to pit us against each other, how would they know these guns were meant for me?”
“Well, technically,” Skip says, “we’re selling to an Italian mafia outfit based out of New York. Didn’t know it was your group, by the way. Sneaky. Anyway, your main guy over there is who I’ve been dealing with, right?”
“Our supplier this round is also out of New York,” Bones adds. “Could be rumors got around that a local organized crime group was looking to buy clean guns and got pointed in our direction.”
“For what purpose?” Skip asks, tossing another faulty gun onto the growing pile. “What does anyone gain by setting us against the Italians?”
“Enough theory,” Spike sighs. “Let’s get some fucking facts.”
“I’ll get my New York man on a plane,” Maverick says. “He’ll be here within six hours. We’ll meet at the compound.”
“You trust him?” I ask.
“Without a shadow of a doubt,” Maverick smiles. “He’s my twin.”
Skip’s head snaps up. “There are two of you?”
He squints. “Please tell me he doesn’t play for my team, too.”
“No,” Maverick laughs. “Stefano prefers only women.”
“I thought Luca was your right-hand man,” I say.
“He is,” Maverick replies. “One of six. Luca runs my Palm Springs operations when I’m not around. Stefano handles New York. I have an empire…I can’t exactly run it alone.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Skip mutters, tossing another gun aside. “No need to flex. We already know you’re awesome.”
“You just want to be an underling,” Bones says dryly.
“So fucking badly,” Skip whines.
Maverick throws his head back laughing.
“Anyway,” he says once he calms down, “my brother will land around six. I’m going to go secure the jet.”
“Underlings get jet privileges?” Skip asks, jumping to his feet. “Not cool, Spike. How come we don’t get jet privileges?”
“Because we don’t have one, you idiot,” Spike laughs.
“Feel free to use mine anytime,” Maverick offers casually.
Skip freezes. “Really?”
“I’ll just need a few hours’ notice,” Maverick says. “So my pilot can fuel it and file for air clearance.”
Skip stares at him, awestruck.
“I am absolutely going to abuse our friendship and use you every chance I get,” Skip says.
Maverick just laughs.
That fucker is always happy.
***ABBY***
“Do you two eat the exact same amount of food and work out in perfect sync or something?” I mutter as I jot down Twin Two’s measurements.
I look down at my notepad.
Exact. Same. Numbers.
“I mean, this is unnatural,” I continue. “There is no universe where every single measurement matches down to the millimeter.”
“We’re identical twins,” Twin Two replies evenly. “That is, quite literally, the definition.”
“I don’t care how identical you are, Twin Two,” I say, planting my hands on my hips. “This is weird.”
“The name’s Nico,” he corrects calmly. “But if you insist on your absurd nicknames, at least be accurate. My brother, Marco, was born second. He should be Twin Two.”
I stare at him.
“Well, I can’t very well change it now,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve already mentally committed. If I switch you, I’ll get confused. I’ll never be able to tell you apart.”
“You’ve known us for an hour,” Twin One…apparently Marco…says, looking at me like I’m the irrational one. “The adjustment period would be minimal.”
“Not now, Twin One,” I sigh, glancing toward the front windows. “My client will be here any minute.”
I point at both of them.
“And no more glowering. Smooth out your faces. Relax your jaws. Maybe… I don’t know… attempt smiling?”
They both look at each other.
Then back at me.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
They smile.
It’s worse.
“Oh no,” I mutter. “Never mind. Stop. Absolutely stop. Just… go back to looming.”
They do.
Honestly? Slight improvement.
Now, if only my customers don’t faint when they walk in.
I take a step back and really look at them.
It’s not that they’re not attractive.
They are.
Just… in a very specific, mildly terrifying way.
Both of them are tall. Not Tank tall…but close enough that most men would have to look up slightly. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. The kind of lean muscle that says they don’t lift weights for show…they lift for damage.
Their skin carries that deep olive tone that looks permanently sun-kissed, like they were carved out of some southern Italian stone and shipped here fully formed. Dark hair, cut short and practical. Thick brows. Strong noses. Sharp cheekbones that look like they could slice glass.
And their mouths…
Full. Firm. Usually pressed into a flat line that suggests patience is a limited resource.
If you caught them standing still in a photograph, you might think they belonged in some high-end cologne ad.
Until you looked at their eyes.
Dark. Cold. Assessing.
There isn’t a single visible difference between them.
Same height. Same build. Same faint scar near the right eyebrow…weird.
Same quiet stillness that feels less like calm and more like coiled restraint.
It’s almost unsettling how identical they are. Like someone copy-pasted a dangerous Italian soldier and hit “print” twice.
And yet…
For all the brooding intensity and murder-eyes, there’s something undeniably compelling about them. Rugged. Refined in a brutal sort of way.
Not sexy….But dangerously close.
And unfortunately, they’re standing in my boutique…looming.
Like matching designer bodyguards from a mafia-themed fever dream.
I sigh.
My customers are absolutely going to think I run a front for organized crime.
Which, technically…
No.
Focus, Abby.
Hmm…If all of their normal measurements are identical…I wonder!
“Do you have the same penis sizes?” I ask for absolutely no good reason whatsoever.
My brain disconnects from my mouth.
My face immediately catches fire.
My eyes widen.
Oh no. No no no.
“I am so sorry,” I rush out, dropping my clipboard to my chest like it might shield me from my own stupidity. “That was wildly inappropriate. Please pretend I did not just ask that.”
Twin Two stares at me, his expression blank but his eyes wide with something very close to disbelief.
Twin One, however, smirks.
“Would you like us to undress so you can measure for yourself, Principessa?” he asks smoothly.
Heat travels from my cheeks straight down to my toes.
“No,” I squeak. “Absolutely not. I do not. That will not be happening.”
The corner of his mouth lifts a fraction higher.
I’m going to die.
Luckily, I’m saved by the literal bell as the front door opens and the chime above it rings like divine intervention.
I spin toward the entrance faster than should be humanly possible.
“Welcome!” I call out, voice an octave too high. “I’ll be right with you!”
I turn back to the twins, lowering my voice.
“We are never speaking of that again.”
Twin Two nods once.
Twin One still looks entertained.
I point at him.
“Not. A. Word.”
He says nothing.
Which somehow feels worse.
And just like that, I straighten my shoulders, paste on my professional smile, and prepare to pretend I did not just offer to measure an Italian assassin’s anatomy.
I swear the aggravating men in my life are going to be the death of me.
***
I wait patiently while Twin Two gets confirmation that I’m allowed to leave my own freaking store.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. “What exactly are we waiting for?”
Twin One glances at his phone. Twin Two does the same.
“Waiting for the team to give the all-clear,” Twin One replies calmly.
“Team?” I repeat. “I thought you two were my only babysitters.”
“We are your protection team,” he corrects. “But I’m waiting for the cybersecurity man to confirm no one was seen lingering near the building.”
I blink.
“You have a cybersecurity man?”
Twin Two doesn’t even look up. “Multiple. But, in this case, I’m talking about Foster.”
“I hate my life,” I grumble. “At this point, I might as well move the shop into the compound.”
“Don’t hate that idea.”
I look up and glare at yet another annoying male who has inserted himself into my personal business.
“It’s a horrible idea, Tank.”
“Everything clear?” Maverick asks as he strolls into the shop like he owns it.
“Yep,” Twin Two nods.
“Apart from that moment when she asked if we were identical in… all areas,” Twin One says smoothly. “Wanted us to pull our dicks out so she could measure them.”
My soul leaves my body.
“That is not what happened,” I rush to say.
“Idioti…Of all the men to repeat that in front of,” Maverick mutters, shaking his head, “Tank is at the very bottom of the list.”
The shop goes very, very quiet.
I slowly turn.
Tank is not smiling.
He’s not yelling either.
Which might be worse.
His eyes move from me… to the twins… then back to me.
“You asked what?” he says mildly.
“It was scientific curiosity,” I say quickly. “Entirely professional. And, I didn’t ask them to pull their penis’s out. Idiot Twin One offered.”
Said twin folds his arms.
“She seemed very interested in measurement accuracy.”
I point at him. “You’re fired. As a human.”
Tank steps forward.
“Do I need to worry?” he asks the twins.
Twin Two shakes his head once. “She declined our offer.”
My face combusts.
“That is not how that…I did not…we are done with this conversation!”
Maverick looks delighted.
Tank stares at me a moment longer before he nods at some unspoken decision he’s made.
“We’re moving your shop into the compound,” he murmurs.
“I hate all of you,” I announce. “And, no, we’re not!”
Twin One checks his phone again. “All-clear confirmed.”
“Great,” I snap. “Let’s go before I embarrass myself further.”
Tank falls into step beside me, guiding me with his hand on my lower back.
And despite everything I’ve been through…despite how cruel and scary I know the outside world can be…I’ve never felt safer.