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It looks like my luck is running out, because a second later, he's meandering over to us with two Eclipse buddies. Luka squareshis shoulders, towering over everyone else, lifting his chin and giving Oberon an imperious glare.
"Angels slumming it in our territory?" Oberon drawls.
"Last I checked, Nero's clubs are neutral ground," Luka replies, voice steady as a rockslide. He's always had that diplomatic streak, but his hand inches toward his jacket, ready for more than words.
"Neutral's a funny word," Oberon says, his gaze drifting to Rook. "Isn't it, chemist?"
"Words are your game, not mine," Rook counters, and I can almost see the equations running behind his stare, calculating risks, outcomes, escape routes. "I deal in certainties."
"Certainties," Oberon echoes, lips curling into a sneer. "Let's test that theory."
Tension coils around us, ready to spring. One wrong move, one misstep, and this dance floor becomes a battlefield.
But then, like some deus ex machina, Nero Rossi himself steps between us, his presence slicing through the stand-off like a knife through silk.
We were supposed to meet with one of his lackeys tonight, not the man himself--but here he is, in the flesh. I know he's dangerous, I'veseenjust how dangerous he can be in person, but his charm makes it seem like we're all perfectly safe and secure.
That in itself is a threat.
"Take it easy, Mr. Vega," Nero purrs at Oberon, his voice commanding attention despite the music's roar. "You're scaring my patrons."
"Your patrons seem to thrive on a little danger," Luka says, tilting my head toward the crowd. They're watching us now with a mix of fear and fascination, eager for a show.
"Perhaps," Nero allows, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "But tonight, we play nice. Come, let's talk business away from prying eyes."
We follow Nero to the back, leaving Oberon scowling in our wake. My gut churns with unease; deals made in shadow tend to come with a steep price, and I feel like Nero is smart enough to realize I'm up to something. But I push the thought down, focusing instead on the play of power before us.
"Business," I echo under my breath, knowing full well that every alliance, every transaction, is just another move in a game that never ends.
The door to Nero's private room closes with a soft click, sealing us away from the chaos of Exotique's main floor. I scan the place–lush velvet, dark wood, and the faint scent of something expensive burning in the air. Power sits heavy on every surface.
"Take a seat," Nero says but doesn't sit himself. His eyes fix on Rook, sharp as the blade he keeps hidden under his tailored jacket.
Rook nods, cool as ever, and drapes himself over a chair like it's his throne, not Nero's. He's rail-thin and rangy as fuck, but he's got this swagger I've often found myself envious of since I joined up with the Angels. Luka stands by the door, silent watchfulness etched into every line of his frame, his shoulders tensed for a fight while Rook looks as relaxed as if this was his living room. I lean against the bar, palms flat on the cold marble.
"You brought the stuff?" he asks.
"All the Glitter you could ask for and then some," Rook says. He pulls a bag out of the interior lining of his jacket, dangling it toward Nero like a cat toy. "You got the cash?"
Nero pulls out his cell and taps the screen. "I hope you take direct transfers."
Rook smirks. "I should have known I was dealing with a professional."
Nero chuckles and pours himself a glass of whiskey down the bar from me, giving me a knowing look. I swallow my anxiety, averting my gaze.
"Haven't met your friend here," he says.
"Gunnar Finch--he's new to our operation," Rook says.
"I wasn't aware the Angels were recruiting."
"He's a legacy," Rook says. "And damn good with a pistol. You know Mr. Solace is always on the hunt for someone who knows how to use a gun. Ever since we started having scuffles in the street, they're in shorter supply."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Nero says, shaking his head. "For what it's worth, I don't approve of how my brother is ramping up the tension...I'm more of amake love, not warkind of guy."
We all laugh, and I join in more uneasily than the others. I know Rook and Luka have to be nervous themselves--this wasn't the plan--but they don't wear their emotions on their sleeves like I do.
"Speaking of which--word is you're selling something new," Nero says, his gaze never leaving Rook.
