Sal Raniero's Little Black Book 1 (The Phoenix Journals)

He’s the eighteen-year-old kid of the Boston mafia.

She’s the middle-aged, rhinestone-wearing spitfire from Texas.

One weekend.

A whole lot of sparks.

new message from Hot Mama:

Meet me at Clint Ray’s Bar Grill on Friday at 7 PM.

Don’t worry about clothes for the weekend.

You won’t need them.

See you then, Sugar.

My hands trembled as I remembered the message for the thousandth time. I wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at my reflection. I wasn’t sure about any of this, but I needed to know who these people were and what made them tick.

If that meant kicking back a few beers at a bar and knocking boots with an older woman, I was okay with that. I was young, and they were paying. I was going to have a helluva good time.

In the little black book, I wrote her name down.

Trudy Diaz.

Deacon Cruz’s mother.

Deacon was the godson of Anna Ford.

And my best friend.

Sh!t was about to get interesting.