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Anteros shrugged. “For show.”
Crazy A narrowed his eyes at Frankie and said, “I’ve seen enough of this dog walking on its hind legs for a lifetime.” He felt Frankie stiffen, though she didn’t respond.
Anteros gripped Frankie’s hand and slowly removed it from his forearm. Tearing his gaze from Crazy A’s menacing, coal depths, he turned to her and said, “Leave us.”
She gripped his arm tighter. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What should I do?” Frankie looked around the ballroom with wide doe eyes. His chest felt tight. For a moment he could taste that divine rush he got from her. If he just gave in a little bit…His eyes collided back with Crazy A’s.
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Anteros shrugged her off. “Go stand in the corner and wait.”
“And I was worried tonight wasn’t going to be fun,” she said as she walked away.
“Where are the others?” Anteros asked Crazy A, scanning the ballroom. He could see Frankie had positioned herself on the farthest wall, next to the kitchen, arms folded. His eyes narrowed when a man approached her, but Frankie waved him off quickly.
Crazy A took a slow sip of amber liquid. “You’re in deep.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Anteros said harshly.
“I know better than anyone.” Crazy A didn’t talk with gentle, wizened sympathy. It was bitter and broke off, implying a past they never acknowledged. “And you know that.” Anteros faced Crazy A, whose glare was like the burning sun. Theirs was a past never spoken; not even the other Wolves knew what had happened between them. The tension between them felt as though it was about to reach boiling point when someone slapped him on the back.
Anteros turned, affecting a terse smile when noticing who owned the arm that had so carelessly slammed into his back: Governor Dubois. If it were any other person, the arm would have been chopped off. He nodded at Emilio De Luca standing next to the governor.
“Tonight’s the night,” Governor Dubois said, hand still grasping Anteros firmly on the shoulder. Anteros rubbed a finger to his nose as the potent smell of alcohol hit his nostrils. Governor Dubois leaned in, stumbling slightly.
“This is Vic!” Dubois threw a haphazard hand over the shoulder of the man called Vic. “H’swith the Times. Doing an exposé on our boy.” Anteros followed the hand to Vic. He wasn’t like any journalist Anteros had ever known. He was nearly as tall as Anteros and held himself with the poise of a warrior, eyes cold from death. Vic met his stare head on, unflinching.
Anteros reached a hand out. “Nice to meet you.” Vic grabbed his hand with just as much force, maintaining eye contact the entire time. As he leaned over, his long, straight black hair fell over his shoulder.
“You as well,” Vic replied. They broke the handshake at the same moment. Leaning back, Vic kept his eyes locked on Anteros’s until breaking to look to Governor Dubois.
“Thank you for introducing us, Governor,” Vic said. “I’ll find you in a bit.”
“Aren’t you here to do an exposé on Emilio?” Anteros asked, skepticism cool on his tongue.
“I am,” Vic replied evenly. “I’ve already spoken with Emilio at length. Now I’m going to get a feel for the room.”
Anteros narrowed his eyes just as Emilio whined, “He asked me so many questions.” Anteros shifted glares. “I mean,” Emilio said, adjusting his suit. “I look forward to the honor.” He smiled, the grin cracking slightly.
“It was nice to meet you…” Vic trailed off, signaling for Anteros to give him his name.
“Mr. Drago, but friends call me Beast.”
Vic raised a brow. “Interesting nickname.”
Anteros shrugged. “Uninteresting story, I’m afraid.” Vic gave a wry smile and disappeared into the crowd. Anteros watched him leave, suit a little too tight on his muscular frame. There was something off about him, something he couldn’t place. He knew journalists, had bribed many. None of them had looked like that.
“It’s planned for thirty minutes from now,” Dubois said, breaking into Anteros’s thoughts. “That bald guy of yours—what’s his name? Reese?” Anteros nodded, redirecting his attention to Dubois. “He’s been finagling the press’n…” Dubois paused, bending over. “Should not have had that seventh Grand Marnier.”
Anteros breathed deeply. If there was anything he despised most, it was someone who couldn’t hold their liquor.
Dubois stood up and swallowed. “He’s been finagling the press’n got everything set backstage. Got all the women ready and—shit.” Dubois stopped, looking struck. “Emily.”
“Do you mean Ellie?” Emilio offered, trying to be helpful.
“No, no, Emily,” Dubois said. Anteros looked through the crowd, growing tired of Dubois. Emily was Dubois’s mistress, one of many. Anteros looked over the heads of the crowd, most of whom were smaller than him. Frankie had disappeared from her spot against the wall. Frowning, he looked along the wall, but he locked eyes with Pretty Boy instead.
Pretty Boy was talking to Councilman Hangman and when he saw that Anteros was watching him, he made a noose gesture. Anteros smiled at the motion. When Hangman looked back, Pretty Boy quickly snapped his head back to attention, taking on a stern countenance and pretending to be deep in conversation.
