Celeste;
Risk is one thing I've never missed out on in life.
I mean…it's basically my lifestyle. And judging from the kind of risk I'm taking right now?
It makes me excited and equal parts terrified.
I'm playing with bloody fire. And I'm not sure I'll come out unscathed.
My feet pad against the floor as I saunter from the kitchen back to my bedroom, a bottle of water in my grip.
Thanks to my brooding brother-in-law-to-be, the entire household staff is avoiding me like the plague. They were immediately horrified when I'd stepped into the kitchen, flocking together at a distance.
I had to scan myself like a fool before it all clicked—what happened days ago.
Honestly, I couldn't care less about the minus-one servant. After all, all the giggles and smiles I'd given him were forced.
Just like the ones I'd given the servants in the kitchen earlier.
Luckily, I haven't set my eyes on him after that day.
Sigh.
I roll my head sideways as I approach my bedroom, only to halt. Fixing my expression, I continue.
Romano has his back to me—huge shoulders and a tapered waist tucked into black slacks. It's all I've ever seen the man in. Black.
When I reach him, my palms splay on his muscled back. "Hi."
He looks over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips before he turns around. He tucks his phone into his slacks pocket and gazes at me.
"Good evening." His eyes peruse my body.
"Evening." Flashing a smile, my eyes squint as they dart to my closed door.
"I figured you weren't in, so I decided to wait for a while," he replies to the unspoken question he smartly reads from my gaze.
"Oh." Swiping hair from my face, I murmur, "Anything you needed?"
He remains quiet for the breath of a second. "Would you like to step out for a while?"
My eyebrows narrow, perplexed. "Leave the residence?" I'm not sure that's what he's asking, but—
"Yeah. You've been indoors since I brought you home. I thought you'd like some air…and maybe see this part of the city." His tongue wets his lips as he grins.
My pulse spikes. Fuck yeah.
But I don't say that.
My lips twist as I battle the urge to smile. "Of course," I tell him instead.
Very demurely, I add, "Thank you. I'll go change now." I gesture to the door with a finger from the hand holding the bottle of water.
He nods, wetting his lips again and stepping back. "I'll be downstairs."
I don't respond as I walk into my bedroom, hearing the slap of his shoes against the tiles as he leaves.
My mind reels, bouncing back and forth with all the thoughts I can think of.
He suddenly wants to take me out?
Maybe I shouldn't obsess over it too much. It could be a harmless outing.
I shrug to myself as I walk to my glass wardrobe.
However, my heart skips three beats at the reminder that I'm weaponless.
Romano had taken my dagger after I'd used it to scoop the bullet from his flesh.
I click my teeth. That's my favorite dagger.
Hold on—my eyes fly wide.
He hadn't asked me how or why I was in possession of such a weapon.
I decide to relax. Perhaps he hadn't thought much of it.
Making haste, I rummage through the piles of feminine wear I'd received the day after that eventful dinner.
I don't really know where Romano is taking me, so I'm unsure exactly what to put on. But finally, I go with a simple purple tulle skirt that passes my knees, a white fitted off-shoulder top, and white kitten heels—of course, to maintain that persona of a Montagna daughter.
Though when I'd last seen them, they were nothing close to elegant.
Angelo can be quite brutal when he wants to.
I hold back a shiver and then giggle.
Strutting over to the dresser, my gaze skims the brush options. I don't hesitate to pick one, running it through my hair. I use my fingers to adjust my bangs before walking out of the bedroom.
I have no use for a bag. I've got nothing to put in it.
Expertly going down the stairs, the soles of my heels click, alerting him of my presence. Because before I reach where he's standing—feet planted wide—he's already looking at me.
I pretend to avoid his gaze, finding the ground interesting while I walk toward him.
Romano takes my hand. "You look beautiful, Piccola Mia." His Italian is strong. It flows naturally.
I blush, my glances brushing his form too.
He's dressed in a black turtleneck, long sleeves, and black slacks. A slim diamond chain rests around the collar of his turtleneck. A matching black suit hangs in the crook of his other arm.
His hair is styled back, with dark tendrils dropping over his forehead.
He smells heavenly.
"Thank you," I mumble. "You look good too."
He chuckles but doesn't say anything more, leading us outside with my fingers wrapped around his arm.
A black Rolls-Royce sits outside, its door already opened for us.
I doubt it's the same car our men decorated with bullet holes a week ago.
Romano steps forward. With a large hand above my head, he helps me into the car.
So gentlemanly of him.
But something tells me it's all just a façade.
He gets in next to me, and that whisper in my ear disappears. I relax my tense shoulders, choosing to enjoy the night view as the vehicle cruises along the asphalt.
The drive takes twenty minutes before we pull into a lot in front of a very famous club.
Blue and red neon lights flicker and spiral from the signpost. Devil's Den.
A very famous nightclub that belongs to the Giordanos.
Oh, the rumors I've heard about this place.
I swallow, pushing past the lump in my throat.
Romano steps out, rounding the vehicle to my side to open the door.
He offers his hand. Without hesitation, I take it.
"Stay close to me," he orders.
But it feels more like a warning. And my bones chill from the intensity of it.
Clinging tighter to him, I follow his lead.
Two heavily muscled men guard the entrance. They immediately bow at his presence before pushing the glass door open.
I know we've been quiet since the ride, and it has been peaceful. But I risk that peace now.
"Any reason we're here?" I ask.
My eyes catch on wild, swaying bodies on the dance floor, a group of heavy drinkers in one corner.
And—oh goodness—an indecent trio consisting of two men and a woman who is as dressed as Sandro Botticelli's The Birth of Venus painting.
Directing us down a path, he lowers his head to my ear. "To see someone," his voice remains clear despite the blaring music. "A business partner," he clarifies.
"Oh, okay," I mumble, unsure if he even hears me.
Just when we reach the door to what I suspect is a private room, his phone rings.
Romano pauses.
"I have to take this," he tells me, the phone already at his ear.
I nod, pursing my lips.
"It won't take long."
And then he walks out, leaving me standing there.
Not until I feel a firm yet soft grip below my elbow.
Before I can register it, everything goes blurry—
—and I'm being snatched.