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I pull up to Bronson and Paige’s magnificent estate. Getting out of the car, I swallow back the tightness lodged in my throat. I stare up at the balcony that spans the entire second floor. Her room is up there—the princess. I’ve been in bedrooms like hers, a shrine of soft colors and expensive clothing. Everything and anything she could want, right at her fingertips.
A bitter taste rises in my mouth.
Let’s just say it didn’t end well.
I’m greeted at the door then led to a small gathering of men in the dining room, mingling in suits, sipping drinks. Making deals, solving problems.
She’s the first thing that grabs my attention when I enter the room. Dark hair, pale skin, those bright blue eyes. A picture of pure perfection.
Ever the amazing hostess, she approaches me with a smile. A swirl of her Chanel No. 5 wafts over with her enchanting presence. She gives a light laugh, placing her hand, nails filed to points and painted a shiny candy apple red, to rest on my shoulder as she greets me.
I’d love a taste of those pretty fingers.
It would be the last thing I ever tasted.
I’ve had an innocent, boyhood-like crush on Paige ever since I can remember. The first time I met her, she was lying out on the shore of the Parish, wrapped in a black bikini, her curves those of a woman much younger than her age. Like all the rest of the Brotherhood, I’d lay down my life to protect her, her husband, and her children.
We’d never cross the line with anything other than an admiring glance.
She smiles at me. “You clean up well, Paolo. I haven’t seen you in a suit for a hot minute. I believe the last time I saw you, you were strutting shirtless across the beaches of the Parish.”
“I only dress up for you, Mrs. Bachman. Thank you for having me.” I take the kiss she offers my cheek.
She gives me a pointed look. “I believe my husband was the one who invited you.”
“True.” I take a sip of my whiskey, wondering why I’ve been called here from New York a full day before the gala. The amber liquor only serves to further heat my blood. Anyone with two eyes can see how beautiful she is.
“Your husband ready to cover business before this party tomorrow?”
“He is.” Her eyes sparkle with drama. “We both are. I need to speak to you as well. After the presentation, of course.”
God, the boss and his wife want to talk to me. My throat goes tight. I loosen it with more whiskey. “Nice.”
“Bronson and I would like to speak with you alone. We’ll talk later. In the library.” She leaves me with a soft kiss on my other cheek and a waggle of her pretty fingers.
Fuck. The library. What did I do?
I glance around the room as she walks away, mingling with her guests.
There’s Rowan, a big guy with short dark hair and beard, looking similar to my best friend Damian, a tattoo of a snake slithering over his spine at the back of his neck. He rode with me last week. I trust him implicitly.
He might know something.
As I make my way across the room, I wonder what Bronson and Paige would want to talk to me about. Did I fuck up somehow? Did one of my guys? And I didn’t hear about it?
Impossible.
I’m careful. Meticulous. That’s why they made me the Planner.
I flip through the past few weeks in my mind, looking for holes. We just finished the most dangerous mission I ever had, wiping out three members of a family of enemies.
Some of the newer brothers think it’s how I earned the nickname Savage.
What I did to get the name was much worse. Something I did in prison. A lifetime ago.
But hey—not only did I meet the Bachmans through that ordeal, I also got an amazing education while I was locked up and I found my love for numbers.
This last mission tested me. Infiltrate the seedy underworld of the city and find out what the smaller, rival gangs were up to.Then take out any threats. I had to be careful. One wrong move and I could lose one of my guys. I would never forgive myself.
