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A throng of people appears in front of me as if conjured up by my cheating Dom to block my way.
I try to push my way through the crowd and when that doesn't work, I try to at least catch a glimpse of that girl’s flaming red hair. That doesn't work either. When I finally get through the group of people he's gone again, of course.
I push my way back through the crowd and walk down a hallway I haven't seen before. There’s one hallway that leads to the kitchen and another that leads away from it. Bella Notte, like I guess any multimillion-dollar sex club in Boston would, has lots of different alleyways and rooms and private entrances. I’ll never find them.
If Eden, my bestie, were here wielding her pragmatic perspective and temperate spirit, she would probably tell me to let it go. She would be compassionate about what he’s done, and would say, “Quinn, you know that you don't make good choices when you act out of anger."
I don't give a fuck. I have good reason to be pissed off and someone is goingdown.
I swing open one door and have to duck because a broom handle almost cracks me across the skull. Great. I've found the housekeeping entrance. I slam that door, blow out a breath, and keep hunting.
I suppose the smart thing to do would be to turn around right now, maybe call Eden, maybe go back to the bartender, and take that usual. But no, I don't. I'm not Italian, but I think that I’ve sort of acquired some of that Italian temper just by being around a lot of them, because I could punch someone in the throat right now.
Motherfucking little fuckity fuck fuck!When I step into a room that feels aged and smells musty, it’s like I've opened a wardrobe into Narnia. The vibe is very otherworldly here. I swear even the temperature has dropped a little bit. Where the hell am I?
A little voice in the back of my mind tells me I probably shouldn’t be here. And another, more annoying little voice reminds me that I signed an agreement to stay within what are clearly the community areas of the club. It had something to do with privacy—yada yada yada. Whatever.
You tell me not to do something and that’s the first thing I'm gonna want to do.
And now I have a good reason. I have to find my cheating Dom, so it's actually his fault that I’m trespassing.
Conscious of the plush carpet underfoot, I realize I can’t hear anything that’s going on in the main rooms at Bella Notte.
The lighting here is dim, and there are little circle things on the floor outside the doors. When I bend down to look, I realize they are white noise machines. I once went to a therapist—believe me when I tell you, it was under duress—and the therapist always insisted on having a white noise machine outside the room so that nobody could hear the conversation going on inside.
Well, that’s just spiked my curiosity.
The next doorway appears. A little thrill runs through me because I don't know where I am or where I’m going or what's going to be beyond this door. I know I’m nowhere near the private entrance to the club and I also know that the Montavio brothers are mafia, so I kind of sort of imagine something like gold or money or jewels or maybe hostages hidden back here. Suffice to say, I’m completely intrigued.
But when I open the door, I don't hear anything. I take one step in. Then another.I stare at mirrored walls and a polished barre.It’s adance studio. An actual dance studio. Right here in the club. I don’t know why or how it got here, but it is beautiful. I close my eyes at a sudden rush of emotion.
I was a dancer once.
I imagine holding onto the barre. I imagine letting the music flow through me like it did before, like magic, the feel of—
Someone turns the doorknob.
I stare in horror around the room. Yoga mats, exercise balls, and resistance bands sit in a corner of the room next to a stack of storage boxes. I realize that there's a door behind a stack of cushions. Maybe a closet of sorts. I need to get to the closet now. There's a mumble, and someone lets out a sharp cry.
My pulse spikes.
Oh. My. God. Am I going to be an unintentional witness to a scene?
I move as quietly as possible behind the cushions and whisper a plea to the universe that I’m small enough they don’t see me.
I peek through a tiny hole between the cushions, and I have to cover my mouth with my hand. One of Sergio’s men drags in his latest victim, covered in so much blood his face is unrecognizable and his eye is swollen shut. Oh, God. Does he look a bit familiar? Is he one of the members here, or… I watch as Sergio’s guy lifts his victim by the shirt and throws him onto the floor. The man lets out a little moan as if he almost wishes this was over and he didn’t have to suffer anymore.
What the actual fuck is going on here?
I stop breathing… I can’t let them see me. If I let them see me, I’m fucked.
A shiver runs through me when a sliver of moonlight illuminates his face, highlighting a strong jawline, full lips, and a dangerous hint of a scar. But he's big, he's scary, and he’s going to fuck this guy up.
Adriano Bruno.
Now IknowI shouldn't be here. I really,reallyshouldn’t be here.
“I told you what would happen.”
