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“Brother or not, I won’t let anyone undermine me, especially for a fucking piece of ass. If I want her, I’ll have her.” His fingers stretch at his sides, like he’s itching to hit me again. “Now, get the hell out of my sight.”
Because I can’t stand to look at him anymore, I do.
CHAPTER5
Lacey
Why the fuck am I standing here?
Because Marco Zicari asked me to.
I figure, in the back of my mind, that if I can’t seduce Stefan himself into lowering his defenses, his brother is the next best thing. I wring my hands together before realizing the implications of the gesture and tossing my shoulders back.
Confidence. It’s got to be confidence and not fear; otherwise, the sharks around me are going to eat me alive.
Might not be such a bad thing, with Marco. He’s hot as hell.
But now that he’s left me alone, I’ve actually got to do something with myself, which includes not acting too obvious. I shouldn’t stay still, clearly, even though he wanted me to. Natasha Moretti would not stay in place because a man warned her to, not unless that man was Mad Dog.
Being with Marco will have certain implications in their world. I say as much out loud to Wes, who’s still murmuring advice in my ear.
“Nothing you’re saying is actually making me feel better,” I whisper in return.
“Oh, it’s my fault I’m worried about my partner?”
I shift my focus to a white and black penguin of a server, who’s holding a bottle of champagne wrapped in crisp white linen. I need to keep my head clear, but man, I’m parched—a few sips of bubbly will do me well.
“I’d be worried about me too,” I admit.
“With good reason. I hear the way you interact with Marco. What’s the matter? You got the hots for him?” Wes teases.
I roll my eyes, hoping he can somehow feel it where he is. “Shut up, Wes. Now’s not the time.” Left to my own devices, I get to snooping. The first stop is the waiter and soon, I’m making the rounds with a half full glass of dry champagne dangling between my manicured fingers.
“Laceee,” Wes sing-songs in my ear. “I know you. Besides, there was a lot of panting going on back there when he first grabbed you. I could hear it.”
“Okay fine. Have you seen him? He’s gorgeous,” I admit. “But I’m working, and he’s not here right now. I do, however, see a few high profiles over by the buffet line.”
Their faces match the mug shots I remember from cases past. All of them are men who got off on technicalities, and although the bureau suspected that money passed between hands to smooth the transition, we’d never been able to prove anything.
I go on to describe the rest of the room to Wes, making sure to keep my voice low and a sinfully confident expression on my face. The makeup helps—the makeup and the dress and the sparkling nail polish slashed across each finger.
This is a persona I can wear as easily as any mask, any costume. This isn’t me, which makes it much easier to do what I need to do.
“Just please, don’t start picking out curtains yet,” Wes continues, ignoring literally everything else I’ve told him. “Natasha might, but he’s the literal enemy here. You can’t let the D distract you. Unlikesomepeople.”
“And here I thought you put me in this position because I’ve got the V to handle the D.” My gaze zeroes in on another familiar face. This one has been on our radar for quite some time, a tall and wire-thin man with a gash across his chin that splits the peppered hair along his jaw into two, distinct patches.
“What is it?” Wes asks in my silence.
“I’m pretty sure I see Waldo the Rat standing underneath some mistletoe.”
“What’s the matter? You going to give him a little slip of tongue?”
Not exactly, but I’m pretty sure Waldo has been connected to Stefan and the syndicate for the last eight months or so, but nothing I’ve been able to find has substantiated the relationship between them. Time for me to do a little digging and see what kind of info I can drag out of him, if I can.
I drain the rest of my champagne and saunter over to where Waldo stands, staring at the garland of mistletoe as though scrutinizing every white berry.
“You know the lore about standing underneath the mistletoe,” I say by way of greeting.
