Page 85 of Tainted Princess

Let them come.

“I think we’ll be just fine, Anton.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” he said, waiving a hand. “It’s just, well, with this new player on the scene, there are so many unknowns. One can never be too cautious.”

“You mean The Chemist?” I asked, watching as the muscles in Anton’s jaw jumped when I said the name. “That sounds an awful lot like a threat, Anton.”

”No,” Anton said quickly. “Never,” he said, his face a picture of innocence. “But while I can speak for the men in my organization, I have no control over this new name I’m hearing. Why, just today, two of my guys brought word of this, uh, Frankie the Wolf.”

Beside me, Francesca started coughing, and I turned. Face red and eyes wide, she waved off my concern.

“Sorry,” she wheezed. “Allergies.”

“Of course, my dear,” Anton said graciously.

I placed my hand on Francesca’s back, rubbing gentle circles thoughtlessly while I continued talking to Anton. Beneath my palm, she stiffened, then slowly relaxed again.

I couldn’t tell you why that made something inside me feel proud, but it did.

“And you have no idea who this Frankie guy is or what he’s after?” Her breathing calmed now, Francesca leaned toward me, one elbow on the arm of the chair as she listened intently.

“So far, it seems he is only chasing information. But as you and I both know, information in our business is worth its weight in gold.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was why, even though our groups were supposedly on good terms, we were a long way from friendly. One thing, one secret getting out to the wrong person could bring the whole house of cards down around me.

I was still contemplating this Frankie guy and what he could possibly want when a roar went up from the crowd. I stood, glancing into the pit to see that Scratch, the biker from Fox’s club, was standing over his latest victim, his undefeated streak obviously still intact. As the patrons in the VIP booth went crazy, champaign bottles popping in celebration of money won or to drown the sorrow of a loss, a pained cry from Francesca drew my attention.

She sat in her chair, a little more slumped than before, and her one hand was rubbing the back of her head.

“Oops.” I glanced up into the smug face of Amber, holding a champagne bottle by the neck and clearly proud of having just ‘accidentally’ hit Francesca with it. “I didn’t see her there.”

I seethed, glaring at Amber and ready to show her that she had finally gone too fuckin’ far, when Francesca’s breathy voice reached my ears.

“Enzo,” she said softly, looking at me with her golden eyes wide with confusion. She opened her mouth to say something else, but her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed the fuck out.