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Men. It takes literally nothing to distract them. But I’m not going to be distracted tonight. I need my eyes open and my head clear. Until now, I’ve only set my sights on the Santoro family through news reports, photos in the paper, and the extensive intel gathered at the depot. The capo, Rocco Santoro, would never show his face in a place like this.
For one thing, he’s too old-school and well past his partying days. My research into the family has given me a decent idea of what he likes to do for fun— theater, restaurants, and concerts. The rumors say he’s gotten into gardening in his old age. Less murder, more mulching.
On the other hand, his two sons have been known to frequent one of the family’s few legit businesses. Dante is the eldest and the family underboss. He wouldn’t run this kind of establishment, not when he’s overseeing so many of the family’s other interests.
It’s Luca, the second son, who prizes this club so highly.
And it’s Luca I’m hoping to set eyes on tonight.
Once we make it to the front of the line and pay our cover charge, I remove my driver’s license from my wallet, figuring somebody who looks as young as I do would get carded, and the last thing I need is someone seeing my badge.
As I breeze past the bouncer without so much as a second look, I am swiftly welcomed inside, and a nagging thought arises. Are the long hours I’ve put into my work starting to show on my young face?
Taking a deep breath, I push forward. At first, the darkness surrounding us is disorienting, but once we’re past the coat check, the narrow hall opens into an enormous club. Flashing white, blue, and purple lights illuminate a long bar set against the wall to my left, spanning the room from front to back and already six customers deep.
Along the back wall and to my right are dimly lit and discreet booths. The sunken dance floor is already full of writhing bodies driven by an upbeat song pounding through speakers throughout the space. The floor’s vibrations travel up through my body until it feels like I’m part of the room itself.
“Come on. Let’s get a drink, at least.” Craig scoffs at our surroundings like he’s unimpressed before he leads the way, and for the first time tonight, I’m actually glad he’s with me. Although highly fucking annoying, his larger body parts the crowd easily, and I follow on his heels like a running back taking advantage of the blocker in front of them.
A running back in needle-thin stilettos.
One thing is for sure. This place is much more upscale than I imagined. It’s not some hole-in-the-wall dive where thugs gather to conduct their shady business.
I run a hand over the smooth marble bar after Craig elbows his way through. “White wine,” I shout to Craig, who places the order with a handsome bartender while I scan the room.
There’s a roped-off section in the back corner, and I instantly recognize a few faces at a semi-circular booth from countless award shows and movies. I guess it doesn’t matter that a crime family runs this club.
Maybe they don’t know…
… or maybe they do, and they don’t care.
Either way, it’s none of my business.
What is my business, though, is the young man in a dark suit who approaches the table and shakes hands with everyone seated there. He waves over a pretty girl wearing a black dress shorter than mine, who presents a bottle of champagne.
Luca Santoro.
Goose bumps cover my arms, and my heart skips a beat. He’s gorgeous, but then I knew that, with jet black hair and a jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But there are some things a photo on a website can’t convey. Like the way his smile seems to brighten everything around him. His easy laugh—I can’t hear him from here, but I see the way everyone around him reacts. He’s good at handling people. It’s obvious this is the right sort of business for him to run.
When he leans down and murmurs something in the ear of that actress from the new Marvel movie, she blushes under the light hanging above the table and swats playfully at his arm. Something about their casual flirtation leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
Thanks, I mouth to Craig once he hands me a glass. “Be right back.”
“What are you doing?” he questions, his deep voice ringing out over the chatter surrounding us, but I ignore it in favor of the instincts pushing me forward.
The wild thumping of the music is nothing compared to the pounding of my heart as I elbow my way through groups of people, always keeping one eye on Luca. I don’t want him to get away. I can’t let him slip away. Bringing him down means so much more than just catching a culprit. It’s about finally getting the recognition I’ve worked tirelessly for all these years. Those countless nights spent working instead of going out with friends or dating someone.
Nowadays, my friends rarely invite me to hang out, and the few boyfriends I had couldn’t handle how committed I was to my job. But despite all that, I’m still holding onto the hope that the sacrifices I’ve made might be worth it if I can succeed now.
Is this crazy?
Maybe.
But it could be my only shot of getting close to him. And for some reason, that seems more important than anything else.
Desperation floods my veins when he turns away from the table, and I move faster, turning the corner. Now, we’re approaching each other, two speeding cars on a collision course. And once he’s close enough, I make a point to stumble and spill my wine before falling against him.
Right away, the mountain-size man hovering behind him gets between us and takes my shoulders in his massive hands. “I’m sorry!” I gasp, swaying unsteadily. “I’m so sorry! Did I get you?”
