Page 14

“Escargot at a rave? Why didn’t I think of that?” Another tray filled with champagne passes by, and I grab two flutes. “We’re way too sober for this.”
Laughing, Rose leads me toward our table, which issituated right on the edge of the dance floor. I glance around, eyeing NYC’s elite and wondering if they were all born with sticks up their asses, or if that’s a right of passage. A confirmation, of sorts.
“I hate this shit,” Remy grumbles, taking the seat on one side of the table. Rose and I take the chairs on the other side, sipping the sweet, effervescent drink. My nose wrinkles. Usually I prefer wine, but a free drink is a free drink.
When two women storm toward each other through the tables, I nudge Rose, tipping my head in their direction. Bethany Whitting and Ellen Vorhess, two particularly terrible humans, stop and glare at one another. Ellen points at Bethany, and Bethany slaps her hand away. I gasp.
Rose clutches my arm. “Oh my God. We’re only five minutes in, and this is already the best gala I’ve ever been to.”
That’s pretty sad, considering she’s been to a lot, but normally, I think these things are pretty lame.
“It’s a total disaster,” I agree, eyes widening when Bethany starts to screech.
“It’s like watching a documentary about wild animals,” a deep, rumbling voice murmurs.
I scowl at Mace as he drops into the seat beside me and casually slings his arm over the back of my chair. Tonight, he’s dropped the suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his black button-up shirt, baring only some of his tattoos.
Remy and Mace exchange nods of acknowledgement, the bodyguard’s eyes hard and dark. Remy is no saint. He’s probably killed before, but at least he makes no attempt to hide his rough edges. Mace, on the other hand... I eye the man.
I can’t help feeling like I have a front-row seat to a performance.
What sort of secrets is he hiding?
“Hey,” Rose greets him. He’s best friends with her husband, which means I have to suffer through his presence more than I’d like.
“Hey, Rose.” Mace smiles at her before sliding his gaze in my direction. “Cassia.” His eyes slowly trace down my body, darkening as they take in the curve of my hips and my exposed thighs before they move back to meet mine. “Nice dress.”
Since I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, I don’t bother responding. I sip my champagne, savoring the apricot and peach flavors, and focus on the fight unfolding in front of us. Even as I ignore him, I’m keenly aware of his arm right behind me as he and Rose talk about some business venture. Someone calls Rose’s name.
And so it begins.
She glances at me in question. She won’t leave me if I ask her to stay, but I’m not going to be that needy when she’s here to show everyone that her company is as strong as ever.
“I’ll order drinks. Gin gimlet?”
She nods. “You know me well.” She looks at Mace. “Be nice to my friend.”
He chuckles, and the sound brushes along my spine. “I’m always nice to your friend.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I promise I won’t be long.” Remy goes with her, his eyes scanning for threats as they move through the crowd. My sense of security leaves with Rose’s departure.
Even though I pretend he doesn’t exist as I place our drink order with one of the servers, all of my attention goes to the man beside me. How does he take up so much space?
“You’re ignoring me again,” he muses, fingers brushing over my shoulder.
My skin tingles. That same longing from before awakens, my body too touch starved to realize I’d rather have any other person touching me. I shift forward and his fingers fall away. “Maybe I don’t have anything to say.”
Mace leans into my space, his vetiver cologne twining around me. “Do you want to tell me what the fuck you were doing in a capo’s bank account?”
Lines cut across my forehead. “Excuse me?”
Navy blue eyes boring into mine, he lifts an eyebrow. “You know what I’m talking about. A hundred grand?”
My stomach drops. How does he know about the wire transfer? But, wait, a capo’s bank account? Motherfucker. I never should have helped Ian. It took a while to get past the firewall and access controls, but once I was able to direct the verification codes to a burner phone, the rest was easy. It was clean. How does Mace know it was me?
Reading the question on my face, Mace sighs. “I know what your work looks like. Does the name Luca Marino sound familiar?”
Keeping my face relaxed, I shake my head. “No.” The lie is bitter on my tongue. That was the name on the bank account. Everything Mace and Ian have said clicks into place. My heart skips. Russians. Italians. Bratva versus mafia, and I’m in the middle. Goddammit.