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DEIMOS
“Drink?”
Dante finally came out to greet us, and Hades opted to stay in the club proper, posting up at the bar with a bartender who remembers him—a guy, for what it’s worth.
After following Dante down dark, matte black hallways with gold and blood red accents and through a door with the gold emblem of a viper—the club’s logo—on it, I find myself standing in his private office.
“Why not.”
He shoots me a curious look from where he’s standing at the bar cart before pouring us two generous whiskies. He hands me one and then sinks down into a couch in front of a crackling fireplace, gesturing at the one opposite him.
“Care to sit?”
“Depends. Has anyone jizzed on this tonight yet?”
Dante chuckles quietly. “The evening’s festivities happen out there, Deimos. Not here.”
“Well, in that case…”
I sit, crossing an ankle over my knee as I casually sip my drink.
“Can’t say I ever expected to see you here again, Deimos.”
“Bad penny.”
“Aren’t we all, though.” He draws in a deep breath, sitting back in his couch and eying me curiously.
Dante’s an imposing man: tall, broad-shouldered and muscular, with deeply bronzed Italian skin, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a sharp, swarthy jaw. And for all of the disagreements we’ve had in the past, I have to admit, the man wears averynicely cut suit.
He’s not direct mafia, but he’s cousins with the Carvelis, one of the five Italian families that form The Commission here in America—a sort of high council of important, powerful mafia families.
To say Dante is “connected” is the understatement of the century.
“Well,” he sighs. “Here you are. And you even managed to bring the other stray Drakos brother back here, too.”
“Stop it, I’m getting all emotional,” I drawl.
Dante smirks, but then his smile drops quickly. “What are you doing here, Deimos. I’m confident you’re not interested in joining again, and I would never let that happen anyway. And leave your usual biting sarcasm and snark at the door, if you could. I’ve got a busy night.”
“Indeed. Those cum stains on the rugs won’t clean themselves, will they.”
He levels a cold glare at me. I smile back just as icily.
“I don’t have any interest in rejoining your little circle-jerk club, Dante. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Well then? Don’t keep me waiting,” he mutters dryly.
“I need information.”
His brow lifts. So do the corners of his lips. “Well, this is interesting. The spymaster himself, king of The Reckless and psychopath extraordinaire, needsmyhelp in deducing something.”
“Been waiting for years to use that one, haven’t you.”
“What do youwant, Deimos.”
I reach into my coat pocket and drop a stack of wrapped bills on the small table between us. Dante smirks, arching a brow at the ten thousand.
“You wildly undervalue the sort of information I can deliver.”
