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Fuck.
I recognize the Marchetti brothers, all with the same dark curly hair and Roman noses, watching me with predatory glee. They have the same lean muscular forms of scrappy fighters, and while I’m sure I could take one of them, I doubt I can handle all three.
But they’re blocking my way home, and from the looks on their faces, they won’t be letting me go anywhere until I face them. It’s probably about the purple-haired kid I punched in front of their sister today.
Well, good to know my statement got heard.
Squaring my shoulders, I head for my car without missing a beat.
“Haven’t you all gotten enough of college? Or is this how you like spending your days? Skulking around Rosehill campus, looking for students to bother?” I sneer as I reach my Corvette.
Nicolo pushes up off the hood of my car, looking perfectly at ease. “Actually, you’re just the man we wanted to see,” he says lightly, his hand gripping to top of my shoulder with impressive force. “We haven’t given you a proper ‘Welcome to Chicago’ experience.”
“Thoughtful, but I think I’ll have to pass,” I counter, pointedly brushing away his grip as the Marchetti twins round the back bumper of my car, all but caging me in.
“I think this one, you really deserve,” the one says, though I can’t tell if it’s Cassio or Lucca.
I eye him over my shoulder and shift my stance to a defensive one.
A distinct click draws my attention back to the oldest Marchetti brother. “Unless the school has changed its policy, I imagine you don’t have a gun on you.”
Facing Nicolo again, I look down the barrel of his Colt, noting the ease with which he holds it–like an extension of his arm.
“I think it’s in your best interest to do as we say,” he says cockily.
Double fuck.This is exactly what I meant about stretching my neck out. I shouldn’t be here. But I’m not about to show the rush of adrenaline now humming through my veins. Shrugging casually, I meet their eyes. “What do you want from me?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
“For you to get in,” one of the twins says, popping the back seat of the sleek black Maserati next to my car.
This can’t be good. But I have no alternative. The odds of me ending up shot if I don’t are pretty fucking high. Still, I have to try something.
“I’ve got shit to do, so I think we can skip the welcome wagon,” I state, eyeing the gun Nicolo continues to point at me.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to insist,” one of the twins says. A distinct click tells me he’s pulled a gun on me as well.
“Fine,” I state flatly, sliding into the back seat of the Maserati.
The twin without a gun, slides into the car behind me, forcing me to move to the other side of the car. At the same time, the other twin takes the passenger seat, twisting to keep his weapon focused on me.
Nicolo takes the driver’s seat, and for a split second, I debate whether I might be able to slide out the far door of the car before the armed twin can shoot me. Unlikely, and the car slides out of its parking spot before I have time to react.
Keeping my senses on high alert, I stay silent as we drive down the city streets, weaving in and out of traffic. The brothers don’t speak. But twins keep their eyes locked on me, their faces almost unnervingly similar.
We pull up in front of a tall building that seems to house a multi-story nightclub. Danza is emblazoned over the front door in what looks like it would be a brilliant neon purple sign. It’s a milky white right now, only tinged with color since the sign isn’t lit.
“A night club? You shouldn’t have,” I state dryly.
“Of course we did. Wouldn’t want you to feel… unwelcome,” Nicolo sneers.
It says something that he parks right out front of the club doors. They must own the place if they plan on dragging me in there in broad daylight.
Nicolo kills the motor and slides out of the car. My door opens a moment later, and the twin sitting beside me shoves me forward, silently telling me to vacate my seat. With a low, rumbling growl, I do as I’m told, unfolding myself from the car.
Standing to my full height, I stalk toward the club doors, scanning for anything I could use as a weapon. Then we’re inside the dimly lit interior. I pause to let my eyes adjust, taking in the cave-like entrance. The twins push me forward, guiding me down the hall.
It opens up into an impressive layout. Every inch of the club seems to be cut from glass, with thin metal bars and railings to hold it in one piece. A wide dance floor fills the bottom level with staggered balconies climbing the walls and looking out over the open space. Each is encased in glass, making it as easy for any balcony viewers to be seen as it would be for them to watch the people below.
But what really catches my eye are the impressive glass cubes suspended from the ceiling, like ornaments. I imagine that when the club is open, they might contain some type of performer paid as entertainment. Grudgingly, I have to acknowledge the club is pretty fucking cool.
