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LILY
If I thoughtI knew how things would go with Nero, I could never have expected this: Just a few hours later, I find myself in the back of a limousine wearing a gorgeous gown, deep red with a split up the side to my thigh and classy black stiletto heels. I’ve covered my bruise in makeup, and there are real diamonds hanging around my neck and from my earlobes. But they may as well have been handcuffs, because I’m still a prisoner of the man sitting beside me.
Nero.
He’s looking devastatingly hot in a tuxedo, typing away on his cell phone. I assume he’s conducting business—or he’s using it as a way to ignore me, because he hasn’t said a word to me since he got in the car, leaving me on edge.
I try to steady my nerves. Just because he’s keeping me off-balance, impossible to predict his next move, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have any power here.
I cross my legs, bare thigh flashing through the tasteful slit in my gown and see his jaw clench.
I hide a smile. At least he’s still affected by me in one way.
I know I should shut the hell up, and plot my next move, but I can’t stifle my own curiosity about tonight. Nero in a tuxedo, attending some fancy event—and bringing me along, too? I have to wonder what the hell I’ve set myself up for here. I told Nero I’d do anything to save Teddy—and I meant it—but it’s impossible not to be anxious while I wait for him to fill me in on what exactly is expected of me. All I know so far is that we are headed to a charity event, but he hasn’t shared anything more than that.
As the city lights blur outside the limo windows, I finally sigh. “Are you going to tell me anything about this event? Like what your business is with McKenna.”
“That’s not your concern.” He doesn’t even look up from his phone.
“Since I’m the one dressed in stilettos and a lace thong, it is.”
His jaw clenches again at the mention of my underwear. “Careful, Princess,” Nero shoots me a slow, steely look. “Keep running your mouth, and I’ll give you something better to do with it.”
I inhale in a rush, desire hitting me like a Mack Truck all over again. I fight to hide my reaction. “If you won’t tell me what you want, how am I supposed to give it to you?”
Nero’s gaze darkens at my inadvertent double entendre. “What I want?” he echoes, his gaze stripping me bare.
I blush. “I meant, out of tonight. From this McKenna guy.”
Nero smirks at my reaction. “Why don’t you just focus on what’s important right now, Princess.”
“Which is?”
“Being more useful to me alive than dead.”
I shiver, and not with lust this time. I nod and turn away. I can’t forget for a moment the threat that he’s holding over me, however much my body wants to ignore it. So, I stare out of the window instead, watching as we head to the Upper East Side, arriving in front of a tall, stately building. The limo driver opens my door and I step out, followed by Nero. I look around. I haven’t been in this section of town in a long time. Luxurious townhomes and pre-war apartments with a view of Central Park….
“Homesick, Princess?” Nero’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“No,” I retort, collecting myself. “Just wondering what brings you so far out of your league.”
Nero’s eyes flash angrily, but the doorman is already greeting us. As we head inside the building, I notice a bronze plaque bolted to the white brick exterior just beside the door. It says that this place was built in 1891 to serve as a gentlemen’s club for New York’s most elite; members of the highest social class.
Again, I wonder why Nero has made the trip uptown. Mixing with rich kids was never his style, he liked to brawl in the muck, not sit around chatting about lacrosse and brandy.
Whatever he wants, he must want it bad.
As we step inside, I’m immediately in awe. There’s a marble floor beneath our feet and a priceless art on the walls. The high ceiling is arched, and there’s a grand staircase directly ahead.
“Hello, are you here for the gala?”
I turn my head to see a man standing near the entrance with an iPad in his hand. I didn’t even notice him at first as I soaked in my surroundings.
“Yeah.” Nero seems almost irritated with the question, and I’m not sure why. “I’m on the list. Nero Barretti.”
There’s a defiance in his eyes, as if he’s daring the man to say he’s not allowed here. That defensive attitude won’t get him far with the kind of people that we are bound to run into here, but I don’t say a word.
“Ah, yes,” the man says after scrolling through his iPad. “Welcome, Mr. Barretti.” His voice lingers on the name, just this side of a sneer. “How nice you could join us. You’re just in time for the cocktail reception.”
