Celeste;
My guts tumble, the darkness clearing as the spiraling club lights brush past the spots…and disappear.
The grip on my wrist lessens, cool air hitting the skin. "Are you mad, Poppy?"
The alcove shelters us from view—well, with everybody here going crazy and slutty, I doubt we'd even pique interest. But this is not just a regular club.
I don't think it saves us from the glares of hidden CCTVs, though.
"You have to quit sneaking in on me." I stare at Judy, her piercing gaze doing the same to me. A frown forms on my brow. "What are you even doing here?"
"I should be asking you that." She does a show of flitting glances around.
"I'm not alone."
"I figured," she says. "You shouldn't have followed him here, Poppy. This place is full of power-hungry underworld monsters. They might recognize you."
My eyes roam her figure. I pop a brow in surprise.
Judy is in a blue dinner dress that hugs her curves and a not-so-modest neckline. Her boobs are peeking out, supple and begging to be ravaged.
A dark checkered suit sits loosely on her shoulders.
She reads my gaze, knowing that I might have already figured why she's here—she's on a job.
A burning feeling of pity stirs in the pit of my stomach for the victim on the other end of her ire.
Back to business. "Greg's clients come here?"
She throws me a look that reads, 'What do you think?'
As if her presence here wasn't enough.
Great.
Silence clamors between us, the jarring music almost making my ears bleed.
"Any info about the Vault?" Judy suddenly asks.
I flick a glance to the crowd, letting it stay there. "Not yet."
She makes a sound that I can't quite interpret.
"I just got into the mansion, Judy. I can't just start snooping around." Veering to face her, "That will be flagged as suspicious, wouldn't it?"
She swipes a ginger-colored strand from her face. Adjusting the suit jacket on her body, she says nothing more.
Curiosity burns inside me like an unquenched flame. "What exactly is inside it?"
"Hmm?" Her inquisitive hum trickles into my ears.
"The Vault," I repeat.
Her eyes sharpen. "Mind your business, Poppy."
The skin between my eyebrows wrinkles. Seems it's confidential. And I doubt she knows what it is either.
Her sigh is barely heard as she angles her gaze to a room in the far corner. "Try not to get killed, Poppy."
And then she walks away without giving me a second glance, her mantra for me still ringing in my ears.
"I can't guarantee," I mumble, but more to myself. Because I honestly doubt I'll come out alive.
A slithering feeling prickles beneath my skin. I spin, watching for any intrusive eyes. But I find none.
Though something heavy still lodges in the pit of my stomach.
Gathering my feathery skirt, I make my way back to where Romano had me waiting for him.
My footsteps pause. Blinking hard, I walk up, eating up the distance while his eyes are pinned on me.
Shit.
When I approach, he surprisingly doesn't say a word. He's wearing his black suit now, looking regal and imposing. Romano reaches for my hand instead.
I quietly insert my palm into his.
If he doesn't say anything, then who am I to want to?
His gaze is steadily fixed down on me—for a little too long.
And as if he knows I've noticed it, his lips quirk up.
And I smile back.
The door to the private room before us suddenly clicks open. Only then does he remove his attention from me, taking the lead as I follow.
A dreadful beat thrums in my chest as the door closes behind us.
A round table sits in the middle. Leather chairs flank it. And the grim faces seated there make my blood run cold.
A silver gun lies in the middle, its mouth pointed to where Romano and I stand.
Seems I was right. But I pray that I make it out of here without being eaten alive.
...
The car pulls up in the drive, the chauffeur alighting to get the door. Romano's fancy shoes slap against the gravel as he makes his way to me.
I don't hesitate to take his hand, the looming fortress of the mansion making me feel bliss. My body feels like a bag of bones—literally. One I can't control.
I didn't have many drinks. Though despite Romano's subtle tone telling me not to, I rebelled. I drank.
Most of what was being discussed there were Mafia matters. Illegitimate laundering—oh, and my absolute apprehension when I found out the Giordanos deals with human trafficking; an information that doesn't sit well with me.
My stomach has felt raw since then.
Two people might or might not have been shot dead during their discussion.
The gun wasn't for aesthetics.
Plus, Romano doesn't do the dirty work himself.
"Can you manage?" Romano's voice breezes into my ears; I can hardly piece together what he's saying.
I manage a weak smile, nodding because I know my words will slur their way out.
I've been brutally trained to handle my liquor. But today, I don't know what happened. My nerves were spiked and on alert throughout.
Fuck Judy.
"Alright, you go in. I have somewhere to be," he informs, running a slender finger down my hair.
It's minutes past 12A.M. I wonder what business he can possibly have at this time.
I quietly nod again, turning on shaky heels to go in.
"Who was that at the club?" his deep voice rings in my ears—and then my brain.
I'm immediately sober as I face him, my eyes darting from his to his chest.
"I—" I stop myself.
I can't say I don't know.
Meeting his unruly calm gaze, I say, "Someone who remembers me. She knows my family." I bite my lips. "I lied though…I was scared."
Romano remains deathly quiet. He says nothing.
I believe that must have cleared me from his radar—that's if I've somehow found myself there.
The silence is deafening, so much so it begins to eat me up from the inside, my pulse speeding.
And just like that, a wry grin creeps up on his lips.
"In the future, don't go anywhere without me, okay? I have a lot of enemies, and I don't know what I'll do if they come after you."
Doe-eyed, I simply look at him, his fingers still entangled in my hair.
He then smiles. "Go on in," he says.
He believes me…right?
I desperately want to believe that myself, but something tells me that despite his cool, accessible appearance, Romano Giordano is no less a very dangerous man.
The thought haunts my hazy mind as I stumble into my bedroom—except the usual silver curtain drapes are blacker than the night, and the dull yellow bedsheets are suddenly a stainless white.
A scent so strong hangs in the air.
It smells like smoke and sin in here—
—and man.