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As I scanned the bustling crowd, Sophie invaded my thoughts—her body swaying to the music like an ethereal vision—laughing at something Cristo said to her.
I shook my head, forcing her memory back into the shadows.
Back where it belonged. However, the memories were never far from my conscious mind, hovered there, just to invade and take over whenever I wasn’t strong enough to keep them at bay.
It had been almost two months now. I’d stopped asking Hawk how she was doing a while ago.
Stopped torturing myself.
Fuck. I hung my head and stared at the polished surface of the table.
What was it about her that made forgetting her so difficult?
The way she was kind to everyone? The way she was strong and resilient and never surrendered despite being at my mercy? Or the way she gave herself completely—body and soul—even though she should’ve hated me.
My spidey senses tingled, and I turned to the door to the VIP area as Fausto entered, slithering through the people gathered there like the snake he was.
He was stopped by my people, patted down and disarmed, before they let him come closer.
His sleek smile made the small hairs on my neck stand on end and my stomach tighten. I imagined his venom spreading—poisoning our family, thick and gooey, like the gel in his slicked-back hair—the little he had left.
I clenched my fist, feeling my nails dig into my palm—a painful reminder to keep my focus.
“Gabriele,” he purred, sidling up to me with a sinister smirk. “Enjoying the night?”
I shot a look at Alessio who was leaning against the railing, his back to the club and the dance floor beneath us.
His jaw tightened in an effort to keep his anger in check.
A perfect mirror of mine. “You asked for this meeting. What do you want, Uncle Fausto?” My voice was unyielding, hard, but emotionless. Betraying none of the turmoil brewing within me nor the simmering hatred I was feeling.
He leaned in, his minty breath invading my senses as he whispered, “Oh, there are some important proceedings going on you’re unaware of.” The malicious gleam in his eyes told me he enjoyed this, enjoyed yielding what little power he still held.
“Proceedings?” I arched my brow. “Why don’t you fill me in then?”
He settled down on the stool beside me and ordered the same that I had. My eyes met those of the barkeeper across the room as soon as the server conveyed the order.
He looked at me questioningly—I nodded.
Rum and Coke—that’s what I was drinking.
Once Fausto had his drink in hand, he took his time to take a big gulp.
“Talk,” I snapped, unwilling to mask my disdain any longer.
He turned to me, his face a fake mask of cordiality. “Your father made some significant miscalculations shortly before his death.”
“Miscalculations?” I couldn’t help but feel unease when I searched Alessio’s eyes.
He shrugged, then took a phone call.
I turned back to stare at the dance floor beneath us.
There was a flash of blond hair, and for a split-second, before the woman turned around, I hoped it was Sophie.
Even now, with Fausto right next to me, when I needed my full focus on the treacherous waters of our conversation, my subconscious was still searching for her.
I sighed. Sophie’s absence gnawed at me—a phantom pain I couldn’t shake. The fact she would never again be within my reach was as suffocating as the used air in the club.
