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“Your guard.”

“I can almost see your pussy.” I clench my jaw, mad at fucking me for picking this dress handmade to make me lose my mind.

“Almost being the operative world,” she says with the sweetest, most fake smile possible and walks down the stairs in high-heeled sandals that could be used as weapons—blame it on fucking me.

“Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for the last hour,” I grumble.

She places her palms on my chest, tilting her head. “Aww, you waited for me.”

The ease with which she touches me and speaks to me as if we’re somewhat equals pisses me off just as much as it turns me on. She’s fearless. Bold. Takes what she wants. And I am her fucking easy prey.

Going outside, I head toward my Lambo rather than the Audi to allow us to live another day. She climbs in the passenger seat.

“It’s fucking blasphemy to let you even sit in this one.”

The corners of her mouth arch up into a bright smile. “Fun times.”

I press my finger to the start button, wanting to stab it to death with my lack of control with her.

“You don’t have enough money to pay back the havoc you wreaked.”

She fists her hands on her lap, glaring at me. “I know, Enzo. I fucking know, but the constant reminder doesn’t help either.”

I jerk my chin at her, not bothering to hide my incredulity. “I thought you’d make at least a few escape attempts.”

“I wonder why,” she says, playing with the collar before stabbing me with a hard gaze, but there’s no desire to act on which unbalances me.

“That won’t come off until I take it off. And as long as you wear it, it means you’re still alive.”

“We sucked at killing each other. That hasn’t changed, at least.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, sitting in silence as I drive to midtown with classical music floating through the audio system.

The line is a few blocks long, people waiting for a chance to get in while I drive into the underground garage.

She’s right behind me as I swipe the card to the private elevator that brings me straight to the office of the club. When the doors open, I see Mika at his desk, staring at something on his phone. He quickly hides the emotional turmoil and smiles, but it quickly fades when he sees my company.

“What the fuck is she doing in my club?”

“My life is interlinked with his, so I really need to keep his ass alive,” Luciana says, unperturbed by the frosty welcome as she wraps her arm around mine.

I try to shove her touch away, but she only digs her fingers into my skin.

“Does that include fucking him?”

“Mika,” I warn, then I pry her hand away.

I won’t make the same mistake twice. His incredulous face tells me he doesn’t believe me.

Luciana, being her unapologetic self, says, “Do you two really not have lives outside of your business?”

“More than you do, Silver Death.”

She places a hand on her chest in faux hurt, then turns around to see the partygoers through the tinted floor to ceiling window. It’s our most luxurious nightclub and people come from all over the world to listen to the DJs. The nights are legendary, with the party lasting until 5 a.m.

And this is his domain. I have no fucking clue when my best friend sleeps.