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The door swinging shut echoes through the damp, dim hallway as I head for the hidden staircase, shoving past a guard with my shoulder, even though I don’t need to touch him at all.
“E, I think you should head home.”
Approaching the indoor entrance to the main floor of the club, I glance over my shoulder at the sound of Gia’s voice. It breaks through the violent flood rushing between my ears, hot blood making it difficult to see straight.
My knuckles are sore, but that might not stop me from laying into him for insubordination.
“I didn’t ask what you think.” I push through the double doors, eyes homing in on the bar where Phoebe attempts to fill orders as quickly as they come up. It’s a Thursday night, and Crimson is a hotbed for college students from Stonemore. Usually, I try to avoid the area on nights like this, but I need something a little stronger than the scotch in my office.
Gia follows close behind as I make my way to the front of the line. Phoebe’s doe eyes relax slightly at my appearance, one of the few people that seem to take comfort in my presence.
I thought Caroline might be one of them, especially after everything we’ve gone through, but I suppose I was wrong. She still considers me collateral, a vessel she’s using to get her to another space in time.
For some unknown reason, the fact that she’s using me pisses me off. What kind of a fucking king lets that happen?
“Maybe that’s your problem,” Gia says, his voice loud in my ear. “You do whatever the hell you want, damn the consequences. Can’t you, for once, think ahead and see how your recent decisions are affecting those around you?”
Lifting one hand in a half-wave to Phoebe, I cut my gaze to Gia. His eyes are hard, jaw set. I can tell he’s angry, probably about the fact that I’m pulling away from his counsel, but I can’t find it in me to give a shit right now. “I’mCapoof the Montalto outfit, G. I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I wanted to turn and blow your goddamn brains out right here, right now, I could. And the cops would buy that it was an accident, or self-defense, or any other lame excuse I came up with because I bankroll their asses. So, no, Idon’tcare how my life is affecting my men. You shouldn’t, either.”
He rolls his eyes as Phoebe traipses over, dark brown hair pulled in a neat bun, a pencil tucked behind her ear. “What can I do for you, boys?” A couple of frat brothers to my right groan in protest, and she shrugs her tiny shoulders. “Sorry kids, gotta serve the boss first on his rare appearances down here.”
Gia frowns. “Any chance you’d cut him off instead?”
Phoebe pulls the pencil from behind her ear and taps it against the bar, eyes dancing between him and me. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t pay attention to him. I’m completely sober and need something strong,stat.”
“There’s some absinthe and spiced rum we just got in from a shipment last week.”
“Pheebs.” Pressing my palms into the counter, I lean forward, locking my gaze onto hers. “What’s the strongest stuff you’ve got?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “We have some lemonade moonshine that Marco is experimenting with. I think it’s got Everclear in it.”
“Perfect. I’ll have one.”
“He wants me to serve them in mason jars.”
“I don’t give a shit if you spit it in my mouth, just go get the fucking drink.” I’m not exactly sure when Marco took over duties behind the bar, but whatever. I’ll deal with that later.
As she scurries away, disappearing into the storage closet, I shrug into my jacket, turning and leaning against the bar to survey the crowd. It’s mostly young people who reek of stale perfume and have more money than they should carry in their pockets.
About half of them are buzzed—probably from the routine coke sale we conducted just before we opened for the night—and thrashing around on the dancefloor like fish out of water. Sweaty bodies line the walls, looking for others to connect with, for someone to share in their misery.
If only for a small, minuscule moment in time.
Gia leans too, following my stare. “Seriously, Elia, what the hell’s gotten into you?”
“Don’t act like you aren’t fully aware.”
“I’ve never seen you this worked up over a girl.”
I huff. “She’s not just somegirl, G. For all intents and purposes, she’s my wife, and she’s made it very obvious she doesn’t even want to be.” Shaking my head, I tilt my chin toward the strobe lights throbbing on the ceiling. “Why the hell did she agree to marry me if she’s this against the union?”
“You think she’s using you for something?”
“I know she is; I just can’t figure out what the fuck she has to gain here. If we divorce too soon, it voids the prenup, and she literally gets nothing. Even less than if we divorce after six months. I don’t think she’s got a hand in whoever’s stealing from us because she seems to pretty much disdain the entire Montalto name and all it encompasses. What’s her angle?”
“Maybe she wants to kill you.” He chuckles, the sound loud against the music bleeding from the walls.
