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Both the thought that Rio and I may be about to die, and the fact that he’s going to make me go back to that club. The place where I witnessed so much death.
But I don’t get the chance to ask if we can go through the paperwork here instead, as Rio is already speaking again.
“Carnarvon will bring the papers upstairs at six, and once we’ve signed everything, I will take you out for dinner afterward. With Angel and Nicky.”
“Oh, that’ll be…nice.” My heart sinks.
I’m not particularly raring to see Nicky again anytime soon. But Rio continues, oblivious to my trepidation.
“Angel will already be in the city—she told me she’s spending the afternoon with our brother so we can all meet up afterward. It will be good to spend more time as a family.”
I smile at him, but my earlier thoughts about writhing on his lap and being thoroughly seduced by him have now dissipated into nothing. Lost in the dust of reality.
And when we finally head to bed, he does not try to make love with me as he usually does, either. Instead, he simply pulls me close and wraps me in his strong embrace. I rest my head on his chest, the vibration of his heart beating steadily against my cheek, in a moment that calms my jangled nerves and stretches out into several minutes.
This feels far more intimate than any sexual act.
“I love you, Rio,” I murmur into the silence, not wanting this moment to end.
After a minute, his breath tickles my hair, and his lips graze the top of my head. “You and Emilia are my everything, Bianca. Whatever happens in the future, I wish you to know that,mia cara.”
“I do know that,” I answer, and his arms tighten around me.
But the moment of intimacy is broken as thoughts of danger and threats begin to crowd back into my mind.
Whatever happens in the future… In this world, there is violence lurking around every corner.
And for some reason, it feels as if that violence is coming closer every day.
24
“Things are seldom what they seem.”
W.S. Gilbert
Rio
I decideto meet Carnarvon and my wife in the club itself rather than my office above because Bianca hasn’t been back here since the shootout, and I want to prove to her there is nothing for her to fear here anymore.
I’ve noticed she avoids certain places at the estate—those specific spots where she knows people were killed—but she doesn’t have the same avoidance issue there as she does with this place. It doesn’t take rocket science to understand that’s because she was here when it all went down, and so the club is far more tied to her trauma memories than anywhere else.
My team worked hard—and quickly—to remove all traces of the violence and destruction. The couches in the VIP area are new since then, as are the carpets and fittings. The modern-luxe look is similar to what was in place before, but there is no evidence to link back to blood, bullet casings, or traces of body matter.
No matter how hard the police tried to find some. And try damn hard, they did.
It took a few weeks for the crowds to return, but the location is good, and the club’s reputation is significant in this city. We are now busier than ever. Right now, being only just past six p.m., it is far too early for the crowds that will fill the space later in the night. But the bar is open, and there are many patrons from nearby offices already drinking and laughing as they wind down after their day at work.
I expect Bianca to be wary, coming back here. I stand on the raised dais area, leaning my back against the glass-paneled railing and watching the elevator bank closely so I can greet her as soon as she arrives and try to allay any concern she may have.
When the silver doors glide open, Bianca steps out, followed closely by Leon—the man she calls Lee—and the other regular on her detail, Mitch. She stops, her gaze darting around, and I see her swallow before her arms wrap across her middle. It is her usual tell. She only does that when she feels particularly unsettled.
She has dressed up for the visit in a cream-colored minidress that hugs her curves as she moves. Her hair is down, tumbling past her shoulders just as I like it, and the familiar thread of desire hums through me.
So many men in our world have a wife at home and a mistress—or several mistresses—on the side. I have no need of a mistress. My wife satisfies my every sexual craving, and I cannot imagine a time when she won’t.
The two men with her scan the room, noting my men already in place, and both turn to give me a respectful nod as I start toward them.
Before I can reach her, a business-suited man at the bar slides off his stool and heads toward the elevators. Leon stiffens, but then relaxes when the man appears to have no interest in Bianca. He is simply a patron who has finished his drink and obviously wants to head home.
