Where was that room? Backwards. I had to go back. I had just left The Champs.
I cursed under my breath.
I had to go to The Peak or The Champ, the two alleys Gina and I had walked through, buying all sorts of extravagant things that weighed down my purse and now seemed to pull me down, inviting me to sit on the floor and give up. I was walking toward the opposite side of the club. I turned around, hoping to see the familiar yellow sign indicating
Alright, at least I was in the right alley.
Hoping to see Gina, as confused as I was, following my steps. I found myself alone and dazzled by a red sign that said I was entering Serrano. I have no idea how I got there. Or why I kept walking forward instead of looking for Ginaor calling her on the phone.
People were walking in all directions, and I pushed through them with difficulty. I was surrounded by cheerful voices and loud laughter. Formal exchanges of two kisses on the cheek and handshakes. Luxury and appearance. Darkness and dirt and drugs and shady deals and someone getting beaten up in a secluded corner. Another someone stepped in, and the fight ended with a handshake.
Then I understood what Enzo had meant. There was nothing rich people liked more than playing at being poor. Club Montari was an organized chaos. A dangerous but safe place. A sham. The mirror streets could well be made of solid gold; no one would blink twice.
I weaved my way through the throng, my steps unsteady but purposeful, propelled by the liquid courage coursing through me. The crowd seemed to part effortlessly as I advanced, though whether I was heading in the right direction was anyone’s guess.
Then, through the haze, I spotted a door flanked by a bouncer, the same imposing figure I remembered from the quiet room where Enzo and I had parted ways. Miraculously, it seemed I had found my way to the right place.
I couldn’t recall the exact amount I’d paid to get in, but it had to be far more than what I’d shelled out earlier. The room before me was anything but quiet.
At the entrance, they swapped my cash for heavy, round tokens that clinked ominously in my purse. My senses were overwhelmed; I could barely discern the cacophony of sounds around me. The rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat drowned out the noise, and my head spun with each step I took. I caught the faint chime of a slot machine, the whirlof a roulette wheel, and the tense silence of a betting table waiting for a dealer’s card.
I had stumbled into a casino.
All I could think about was sitting down. So, when a woman dressed in a black tuxedo took my arm and said something like, “Welcome. What would you like to try first?” and tried to drag me toward the betting area, I tried to leave. I couldn’t shake her grip on my arm, stumbled on the red carpet in the lounge, and ended up falling on a sofa.
I breathed a sigh of relief, the room’s chaotic noise fading slightly as I sank into a plush couch. Whenever I felt dizzy, sitting down always helped me recover my balance. I stretched my legs out, feeling the cushion’s softness beneath my ass. My vision gradually began to clear. I attempted to stretch my arms back and ease the tension in my neck, but as I leaned back, the couch seemed to shift.
“Vera? This can’t be happening.”
It couldn’t be. I’d just punched my boss’s nephew in the face. I blinked, convinced that the dizziness was playing tricks on my eyes. Bastian Saidi looked back at me, his expression one of sheer disbelief, as if he had just encountered a ghost.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
He’d stolen the words right out of my mouth. His eyes travelled down my dress and my bare legs, settling on the floor. His curls were dishevelled, and his gaze was outlined with eyeliner and silver glitter.
“What areyoudoing here?” I spat out the words.
Bastian recovered from the shock before I did. He lifted his head, and in an instant, arrogance flooded back, wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.
“I asked you first. You’re the one who fell on top of me! Ithink I deserve an explanation.”
I realized my mistake almost too late. My rear hadn’t hit the sofa; it had landed squarely on Bastian’s lap.
“I tripped!” I blurted out, my face burning with embarrassment.
I scrambled to my feet, stumbling slightly on my heels. Bastian’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist to steady me. My heart raced, not just from the jolt but from the close contact, too.
I was fine—just startled, really.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I mumbled, turning away quickly. I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “I’m looking for someone.”
But Bastian wasn’t letting me off that easily. He stood up, still gripping my arm, and positioned himself next to me, blocking my path.
“Are you alright?” His voice was deep, and the concern in it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Yes,” I replied, taking a step forward. Bastian mirrored my movement, not letting go.
“Then answer my question.”
