AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And what’s that?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “Nero will tell you…but we gotta get out of here. Caius’s people could be anywhere.”
“Then let’s not keep Nero waiting,” Gunnar grumbles, his voice dark as the water lapping at the docks.
We board the boat, a sleek shadow that cuts through the waves. We stand apart from the girls on the boat, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves, Roman at the helm. Oberon’s gaze is fixed on the distant lights, where Nero’s mansion sparkles like a jewel against the night sky. I stand close enough to sense his tension, a silent storm brewing beneath his skin.
“Quite a view,” I murmur, my voice barely louder than the sea.
“Glittering lights can be deceiving,” Oberon replies, his tone low and even.
“Especially when they belong to Nero Rossi,” Gunnar adds, folding his arms as if to ward off the chill or maybe the truth. “You ever been out here before?”
Oberon shakes his head. “I never saw Nero until the night he showed up at Dreamland…the night when everything kicked off. I’ve always had a feeling he was up to something, but didn’t know what.”
“And what do you think he’s up to now?” I ask.
Oberon shrugs. “Hopefully something that will benefit us, but who knows? He’s always been described as a wildcard, and the Rossi family’s greatest weakness.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Drugs,” Gunnar says. “Pleasure. He used to buy from Rook all the time, back when I ran with the Angels.”
“So you’ve met him?”
“Only once,” Gunnar says. “And he was asking about some new drug…eros. My guess is that he knows something Caius doesn’t want spread around.”
As the boat docks, the mansion looms over us, a titan of indulgence. We step onto solid ground, but the certainty underfoot does nothing to ease the tension that coils within me.
This is Nero’s domain, and we are walking straight into the lion’s den.
The dock leads us up a winding uphill path, revelers making out on the steps and climbing into the forest, laughing like maniacs. I have to wonder how many people die here—falling off the cliffs into the dark water, drunk and high and having a great time until that final, fateful plunge. I wonder, too, if Nero cares…or if he gets off on the mayhem.
Knowing the Rossi family, it has to be the latter.
The path leads straight to a set of wooden double doors, the house a marvel of architecture that fuses the classic Italian villa with modern elements. The doors are flung open wide, and a riot of color meets us—naked bodies, flashing lights, the throb of heavy, rhythmic bass. Glasses clink, laughter rises and falls, and every breath tastes like temptation.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” I say, but it’s lost in the cacophony of indulgence that wraps around us tight as a corset.
We weave through the tangle of limbs, the heat from strangers brushing against my skin like whispered promises. Roman leads with a confidence born of familiarity, his path unerring as he guides us past writhing couples and throngs of the intoxicated. The girls with us vanish into the crowd, joining in the revelry and snorting lines of Glitter off marble counters and other people’s bodies.
“Stick close,” Gunnar murmurs in my ear, his voice a solid thing in a world gone liquid.
Oberon nods, his gaze sharp despite the distractions, scanning the crowd for any sign of threat or deceit. We’re an island of resolve in a sea of hedonism, our purpose clear even if everything else is designed to blur lines and break wills.
And I’m all silver, reflecting the light…hoping I’m not absorbed into this writhing mass of sin.
A bodyguard, mountainous and unmoved by the revelry, nods at Roman and gestures for us to follow him. He leads us away from the chaos into a corridor that thrums with a different kind of energy, one that’s hushed and heavy with secrets.
“Here,” the bodyguard says, and there’s a click as he opens a door we hadn’t noticed, tucked away from prying eyes.
Inside, the room breathes luxury and power. Nero stands by a window overlooking his empire of excess, the king of all he surveys. His dark hair, black as a raven’s wing, complements his tan skin, while his brown eyes seem to hold the depth of the ocean. He turns around, a crystal glass of what I think is brandy in his hand.
“Ah…you made it,” he says, giving us a lazy smile. He looks perfectly at ease, whereas we’re too tense to relax.
Fuck…I need a drink.
“Oberon, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Nero says, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Heard about the mess in Dreamland.”
