I’m such a brainless fucker. She wouldn’t see me as worthless. Not over the thing with the guards. Not a woman like her.
“I’ll always answer any questions you have,” I nod, the echo of panic fading from my chest.
She throws a quick look over her shoulder toward the clubhouse entrance, worrying a corner of her lip between her teeth.
“Are you going to fight him? Luca?” She tries to sound unbothered. She fails. Curiosity hums beneath her words.
“He needs to understand who’s in charge here,” I shrug. “And that’s definitely not him.”
That dumb fuck would deserve to have his ass handed to him. But I’d rather avoid a physical fight for now. I have plans in the near future, and I need to be at my best, not walking around with a broken rib.
Then again, a fight might be unavoidable. He’s still acting like he’s part of the Famiglia. That ends tonight.
“Okay,” she sighs. “Assert your dominance, then.”
She turns away as she flings those words at me, already walking toward the front door.
“I feel like you just called me a dog,” I grumble under my breath as I catch up with her.
“Really?” she mutters with a serene look, offering no explanation.
Her tone makes me want to argue, but I don’t have time right now. I stop her with a hand on her shoulder just as she reaches for the door.
“Adora, you’ll need to go straight to your room,” I say. “Club business is about to go down in there.”
She rolls her eyes, nods once, and moves again. The moment we step inside, we both stop. The tension is thick. Suffocating. The silence is wrong. There’s always music playing here, even if it’s barely a whisper, but not tonight. Tonight, it’s just the brothers.
Each of them stands too still or moves too casually, fingers twirling weapons they don’t bother hiding — knives, guns, brass knuckles. All of them pretending they’re not one second away from attacking the jackass Italian. The same jackass Italian who’s leaning against a table right in the middle of the room, whiskey glass in hand, looking bored. Smug. Fucking Luca.
Everyone else looks angry. Well, everyone except Domino. He went ahead of us, now he’s perched at the bar, watching the scene unfold with a wide, eager grin, like he’s front row at a show he’s been dying to see.
“Go, Adora,” I murmur, nudging her forward as I pull the knife from inside my boot.
Metal kisses air. Every brother’s spine snaps straight. I swear I hear the pop of their bones.
Domino’s grin vanishes.
Where the fuck is Bones?
Adora doesn’t linger. She moves fast. The second she disappears at the top of the stairs, the room exhales as one. And then inhales again, hungry for blood.
I roll my shoulders. My grip tightens. The knife feels light. Familiar. I start moving. Straight to Luca.
In the blink of an eye, my blade presses against his carotid. He doesn’t twitch a muscle or say a word.
“I forced your hand when I asked for the tracker. I owed you one.” The coldness in my voice could freeze this entire fucking room. “Do it again and you’re worm food.”
His eyes narrow a fraction, but only for a moment. Then he smiles and leans into the knife. Blood starts trickling over the blade. I don’t move back. If he wants to taste my steel, he’s more than welcome to it.
“I’ll do it as many times as I like,” he says, voice calm. Collected. Smile still in place.
He thinks he can rattle me. Thinks he can make some stupid power move. Did he forget who he’s playing with? Time to remind him.
I push him harder against the table, getting right into his face, knife still at his throat.
“Do you think it’d be a fair fight between us?” My voice drops. Dark. Dangerous. A warning he’d better listen to.
“You have no one, fucker. You’re a mafia assassin without a family. A biker without brotherhood. You haven’t earned shit yet. But you’ve lost everything.”
