Page 41 of Pretty Lies

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

It was a motto Della had adopted recently. Though she was walking a line of fire with what she hoped to gain through the venture she would attempt today, if it worked out, then what did a little burn matter? At least, that’s what she would tell herself if everything crashed and burned straight to hell. Because if nothing was ventured, then nothing would be gained.

So, when a chance presented itself to have a sit-down with a connection she had made—during the spell of her relationship with Luis—to another gang leader in the city and discuss what, if anything, the man knew about her attack and Luis’s possible involvement, she decided to have it. Without her father or brother’s knowledge.

Why?

Because that was her contact’s request. He didn’t want to fuck with the mob—didn’t need the Outfit in his shit.

But her?

He’d talk to her. And if he had something good to tell, or Della thought she might be able to solve the issue, if there actually was one, with Luis through Thion Dirks, then she would do exactly that. If it meant her father no longer felt like she was in danger and all their current problems went away to remove Luis from the picture altogether, then Della was willing to do that.

First, she needed to talk to Thion.

Or Dirks, as he preferred.

Unfortunately, the only time Della had been able to find to meet with the gang leader of the west end was after her meeting with the strip club owner that couldn’t seem to get himself out from under her father’s thumb in his constant debt. Which was fine, in a way, because no one would think it was strange for Della to be here—she stopped in once a month to collect money from the owner, anyway.

She simply hadn’t mentioned her other meeting.

What did it matter?

Jennika decided to go and have her nails done with the promise of picking up the rest of the cash to deliver to Della’s father later—Frankie would be expecting it. Everything else that day went perfectly fine.

And Cory?

Well, in the duration of her meeting with the owner of the strip club, she’d lost track of him. In the flashing purple and red strobes, dancing girls on their platforms and poles, and the black lights overhead, it was hard for Della to discern what was what through the crowd.

Soon enough, she did find him.

Sitting in a corner booth, a woman danced in a fishnet bodysuit that hid nothing but for a scrap of fabric, one might call it a G-string. Even that was too nice. Cory wasn’t even watching the woman, though. He was looking straight at Della. His gaze slid to the woman who dipped low with her ass high at the same time, and then right back to Della. His jaw flexed rhythmically; a sign he’d popped in another piece of gum from the pack she noticed he liked to keep on him.

She had to give him credit.

Even if part of her wanted to rip his eyeballs out—for being there at all; also because he put her on edge without doing a thing; and maybe a little because the stripper was too close to him—he’d done everything he said he would during their first week working together. Didn’t step in on her business. Never made his presence more obvious than it had to be. Kept his distance.

So far, he kept his word.

Points in his favor.

It was the crowd of men dressed in black and leather that pulled Della’s attention away from the man that seemed to be on her mind a little too much lately. They strolled into the main floor of the club with an aura that screamed we own it all and back off. Another time and that might have excited her.

Now, it only meant one thing.

The first words to come out of her mouth?

“I should have known.”

Because that wasn’t Dirks at all. Her meeting had been canceled, it seemed. There stood Luis. Someone was definitely going to get hurt.