"You've met Massimo," Gabe introduces smoothly. "And Alessio and Damiano. But to make it official—" He nods toward the two dark-haired men watching me with predatory interest, gesturing to each in turn, "These two are Damiano and Alessio."
I swallow. Both men were at… the warehouse. No, I'm not thinking about that right now.
"My… friends. The only one missing is Enzo, but you'll get to meet him, too. Soon."
Alessio leans back in his chair, lips curving. "Enzo doesn't like these things."
"He's afraid he'll lose," Damiano snarks.
Gabe continues as if they hadn't spoken. "And this is Dr. Ben Harper from Philadelphia, and Grigori Arsenyev, a businessman from New York."
Dr. Harper looks like a doctor, but Grigori looks anything but a businessman. He's dressed well enough, but his piercing eyes give me the creeps. An aura of danger surrounds him that is almost palpable.
Gabe looks at me, and something in his expression shifts—darker, hotter, almost reverent. "Gentlemen… our dealer for tonight, Audra Hale."
A low murmur of "Pleasure to meet you" ripples around the table, but I barely hear it. My heart is hammering so hard I'm sure they can all see my pulse fluttering at my throat.
Black dress. Black table. Black silk gloves, waiting beside the deck. I finally understand. Gabe brought me here todeal. I confided something that I wanted, and he's making it happen. I stare at him, and gratefulness runs through me, because nobody, and I really mean nobody, has ever seen me like him in my life. The dress, the jewelry, the purses, all that pales in comparison to him making a dream of mine come true.
And the way he's looking at me right now—like he wants to devour me in front of all of them—tells me this night is about so much more. I swallow hard, heat is pooling low in my belly despite the guilt over Pete still clawing at my chest. But how can anybody, dead or alive, ever compete against a man like Gabe?
"Wait a second, you brought your squeeze here to deal for us?"
The doctor's words land like a slap. Hot embarrassment floods my cheeks. I feel suddenly ridiculous in this tight black dress, like I've walked into a world I have no business touching.
Before I can even draw breath, Grigori moves like lightning. His big hand clamps onto the back of the doctor's head and slams his face down into the felt table with brutal force. The man's nose explodes with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays across the green felt. Grigori doesn't even let go of his cigar. Smoke curls lazily from between his fingers as he leans in, voice low and ice-cold. "Apologize to the lady."
The doctor screams, high and broken. "What the fuck?—"
Gabe is already moving. He grabs the man by the back of the neck like a rag doll and rips him out of the chair, throwing him down hard at my feet. Blood drips onto the expensive carpet, pooling near my black heels.
"Apologize," Gabe growls, and the sound vibrates with lethal promise.
"I-I'm sorry," the doctor wails, clutching his ruined face, tears mixing with the blood. "I'm so fucking sorry?—"
Gabe's boot presses down between the man's shoulder blades, pinning him there while he looks up at me. His eyes are dark and stormy, burning with something dangerously close to possession.
"I'm sorry," Gabe says to me, voice low and rough. "He won't speak to you like that again."
I don't even have time to feel embarrassed anymore. I've seen worse—much worse—with Razor and the MC. Broken bones, blood on the floor, men begging for their lives. But this… this is different. Cleaner. Colder. More controlled. With sudden clarity, I know that Grigori isn't a businessman. Not even close. The casual way he crushed that man's face while still holding his cigar tells me everything I need to know. These men don't play by any rules that I understand.
One of Gabe's men appears at the edge of the room like a shadow. Gabe jerks his chin. "Take him downstairs."
"Yes, boss."
The man hauls the doctor up by his collar and drags him away, still whimpering. The heavy doors close behind them with a soft, final click, and the room settles back into dangerous silence like nothing happened.
Gabe steps close to me, his hand sliding around my waist, his thumb brushes the silk over my hip. His voice drops, meant only for me. "You okay?"
I nod, even though my pulse is racing. The heat of his body, the raw power rolling off him, the way he just handled that man without hesitation… it shouldn't turn me on. But God help me, it does. The guilt twists sharply in my chest, but it doesn't kill the ache low in my belly. Or the excitement running through my veins.
Grigori taps the ash from his cigar into a crystal tray like he didn't just break a man's face thirty seconds ago. "So," he says, voice calm and bored, "are we playing cards or what?"
Gabe looks at me. "It's okay if you don't want to?—"
I don't let him finish his sentence; I'm behind the table in the next breath, grabbing the waiting deck of cards, which feels as familiar as the gun did in my hands. "I'm fine."
Grigori taps ashinto the crystal tray like he didn't just paint the table with blood. "So," he drawls around his cigar, "are we playing cards or what?"
