~ Niamh ~
The air in the VIP lounge was thick enough to choke on.
I sat on the edge of the leather sofa, my fingers digging into the upholstery, waiting for the door to that inner room to open. Every second felt like a blade dragging across my nerves.
Andrej must have noticed my hands shaking because he quietly stepped forward and offered me a glass.
I took it without a word, my movements stiff and robotic. I filled the glass with whiskey and dumped in a handful of ice, watching the cubes swirl and clink against the crystal.
I needed the burn. I needed something to ground me because my mind was a chaotic mess of "what-ifs."
Were they back there beating the crap out of each other?
I kept imagining the sound of fists hitting bone, of yelling, of the brothers finally tearing the Valentino name apart just because I'd decided to play a dangerous game in a red dress.
As if on cue, the heavy mahogany door swung open.
