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Rather than get hurt again, I chose to push Rafael away first. Even if I had no real evidence my suspicions are true.

I stand up, leaning over to drop a peck on top of Jayla’s head. “You really need to get your own dating life, sis. You’re too involved in mine… and making too much damn sense.”

She laughs from the couch. “Me and Adagio had a good time at my party until, you know. This sprained ankle and fucked up rib have put me out of the game. So much for birthday dick.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, maybe. But did you see after the blast? Me and Adagio got separated, and guess who picked me up and carried me the whole way to the lifeboat?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“Maurizio! Not going to lie, I forgot about Adagio in that moment. Maurizio scooped me right up like it was nothing.”

I can’t help smirking. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Me?” Jayla asks innocently. “Never!”

It’s not long after we have dinner—leftover Thai food from last night—that I start getting ready for my outing.

Jayla asks several questions that go unanswered. She even ponders if it’s a date I’m headed on.

I remain coy and mysterious, preferring to keep her out of it. If she knew I was headed to a dance club solely to find out more about this new drug hitting the streets then she’d lose her shit. She would absolutely refuse to let me go.

Even though she’s two years younger, I’d prefer to avoid her threats of FaceTiming Mom and Dad.

Tonight must be kept discreet and low key.

I shower and then squeeze myself into a form-fitting, body-con type dress that highlights my breasts and ass. One pair of strappy heels and a few swipes of makeup later, I’m ready to go. I walk out to more questions from Jayla.

Because even I’m not bold enough to ride the subway dressed like this, I call a taxi. My mind lingers on Rafael on the way over to Club U4EA.

He would probably be furious if he knew I was headed to a nightclub all by myself and dressed like this. He’d claim I was better than turning up at a club known for its party drugs and casual hookups. It would be too dangerous in his eyes.

But a lead is a lead.

I’ve been working for weeks to discover what’s going on between Il Diavolo and the Belluccis and their war with the Tucos.

It seems to be over the shipments of this new drug hitting the streets.

If I can connect with the dealers, then I can go from there tracing it back to the mafia families. It’s the kind of undercover investigative work that has won other journalists some of the biggest media awards out there.

Breaking a story like this could make me a household name not just in Newport. It could make me a household name across America.

Nerves flutter inside my stomach when I finally arrive and the taxi promptly speeds off.

I approach the dance club with a sway in my hips, walking like I’m a diva on the scene. It garners looks from others hanging outside the club. People in line stare and a few men whistle. I keep going, chin defiantly raised, the sway in my hips hypnotic.

Once at the front of the line, the bouncer raises both brows at me. He’s a beefy meathead type like almost all bouncers are, dressed in all black and with tattoos inking his thick arms. He looks distinctly Italian, even under the dim lighting outside the club.

“Yeah?” he asks, jutting his chin. “You know there’s a line?”

I think fast, my every blink emphasizing the sultry look in my eyes. “I’m here with Rafael Calderone. He’s VIP, correct?”

The man’s brows knit in confusion. He tilts his head toward his counterpart, the second bouncer who’s been messing with an iPad device. Presumably how he’s checking the names on the list. His counterpart nods.

“Mr. Calderone is always welcomed at Milos’s behest. You know that.”

“Alright,” the first bouncer says to me. “You’re in if you’re a part of his party.”