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I scan the room but can’t find Owen. This place is bad, bad, bad. But so far, our poking around 21 Love Street hasn’t yielded anything and we can’t get a search permission for the entire building withoutsomethingto go on. This is our best shot.
“Hannah.”
I turn when I hear my name, coming almost nose to nose with Sergio Benedetti. Tonight he’s the slick power-player in a fitted black suit, black shirt and a blood-red tie. Devil’s colours.
“What a pleasure to see you again.” He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips. I resist the urge to pull away.
“Thank you for the generous invite.” I tilt my head, feeling the earrings brush against my skin.
“You’re a vision. I admire a woman who has good taste in jewellery.”
Unlike most men here, his eyes don’t drift to my cleavage. Oh no, Serge only has eyes for the sparkly things in my ears.
“Where did you get those spectacular earrings?”
I smile, bringing my hand up to fiddle with the diamonds, remembering how Owen coached me to play it. “Oh, these old things? I’ve had them forever.”
Serge’s expression hardens for an instant. “They suit you.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got a bar set up out the back for my VIPs. I’d love for you to join me.”
My senses immediately prickle at the invitation—something isn’t right. I’m not a VIP. Well, other than the fact that I’ve given the house three thousand dollars. But compared to the people who come here regularly, that would be nothing.
“That’s very kind of you to offer—”
“I’m insisting.” Serge smiles and it’s like a dog baring its teeth.
“Why don’t I find my husband and then—”
“He’s already received the invite.”
My heart stalls for a moment. They have Owen out the back already. But how? I’d only played one more round after he went for a walk. I swallow against the fear mounting in my throat. If I walk away now, Serge will know something is up.
“I would love a drink.” I hold my hand out, allowing him to lead me away from the safety of the full room.
We weave through the tables, slowed by wannabes basking in the sunshine of Serge’s attention. Here, he is king. The master of his domain. The criminal underworld is full of men with god complexes. It’s why there’s so much bloodshed. Greed, pride, fury. Retribution. They don’t care about anything else.
“I was very pleased when Matthew told me about you and your husband.” Serge’s lips are close to my ear—and it’s nothing like when Owen whispers to me. Now I’m fighting every feminine instinct that tells me to run, reasoning with myself that this job will nevernotbe dangerous.
And what happens when you have a baby at home?
Hell, I don’t even know if I’m pregnant. I’d promised myself I’d never let having a child frighten me away from this career—my dad didn’t. My brothers didn’t. Max didn’t. But I can’t deny there’s a tiny little seed of doubt unfurling in my gut. Would I walk into this potential ambush if I had a family waiting at home?
I honestly don’t know.
We reach a door at the back of the room. With each step, my head is screaming louder and louder for me to get away while I can. When I falter, Serge’s grip tightens. He says nothing and neither do I. Before I know it, we’re leaving the gambling room and heading into a dimly lit corridor. The heavy door swings shut behind us, cutting off the music and general din with guillotine precision. We’re in a soundproof area and soon I know why.
A keening wail comes from the other end of the corridor, behind a closed door.
“This doesn’t sound like a VIP experience,” I say.
God, what if that’s Owen?
“Oh, but it is.” Serge’s grip tightens further and the pretense is dropped. “I knew the second you walked in here I’d need to deal with this.”
He seems angry now, and it makes his Italian accent more pronounced. It’s almost unnerving how he can switch back and forth between sounding Australian and Italian, like it adds another level of mystery about him.
