The bow tie is trying to strangle me, so I fidget with the stupid thing in the mirror. The attendant’s gaze sears the back of my head, but my desire to punch him is the least of my problems right now.
The De Lucas are a free-range bachelor party full of angry, disorganized, violent killers. They used to be one of the top Italian crime syndicates in New York, but shit went sideways when their heir was sent to jail on human trafficking charges and their don, Matteo, was killed only a few years later.
By us. Well, by Finn. With Shane’s blessing.
Matteo De Luca’s death sent out a shockwave that brought their entire organization down. With their heir incarcerated and no clear succession plan in place, the family fell from grace and dwindled to nearly nothing.
For a few short years, they were practically wiped off the map. Then, this past spring, they came back with a vengeance. Led by Enzo De Luca, they’d partnered with the Red Hill Mob, an Irish outfit from Philadelphia, to take us down.
Enzo swore vengeance against the Irish Kings for his brother Matteo’s death. We all recognized the vow as just a farce—the brothers hated each other, and this was simply an opportunity for Enzo to claw back power and, with the true heir out of the way, take over as don.
Anyway, Enzo’s old news. After he kidnapped one of the Kings’ women, my friends and I ensured he didn’t live to tell the tale. That should have been the second and final end to the De Lucas.
But only a week or so after we put the man in his grave, Leonardo was released from prison on some bogus technicality.
Word on the street is that Leo’s even crazier than his half-baked uncle. Prison never improves anyone’s character, so no surprise there, but in the few months that Leo’s been at the head of his clan, the conflict between our families has reached an entirely new level.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” In a fit of irritation, I move the tiny microphone into the collar of my tuxedo shirt and rip the silkfrom my throat, flinging the mottled thing into the nearest onyx-encrusted waste bin.
Even the trash cans in this place are works of art.
I stride toward the door, unbuttoning my tuxedo shirt at the top.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Darren’s voice pipes into my ear as I duck back into the hallway.
“Nothing.”
“You need back up?” A faint shuffling comes through Darren’s end of the line. “I can get over to you with a couple of grenades in under five minutes.”
“Down, Rambo. I don’t think we’ve reached the grenades portion of this mission yet, but if we do, you’ll be the first to know.” A few more steps and I re-enter the grand auditorium in this underground palace. “What do you see?”
Stage lights rove around the room and cast a shimmering glow on the ceiling and walls. They’re leading up to something. The big-ticket auction item must be coming up.
A server drifts by me with a tray of Champagne. I nip a flute and down the contents in one gulp.
I’m disguised as one of the guests, and Darren’s disguised as one of the custodial staff, but I wish we’d swapped roles. I may have a better idea of what we’re looking for, but Darren doesn’t have to wear a tux.
Darren speaks in a low voice that I strain to hear. “Seems like they’re keeping most of the auction items in a guarded antechamber on the back end of the stage area.”
“Can you get in?” I trade my empty Champagne glass for a full one as another waiter slips past me.
“Might take a little work, but probably.” Darren’s voice cuts out for a moment. “What do you see on your end?”
I start to answer, but then my system short-circuits when my eyes land on a woman hovering near a group of men. Unlike theother female attendees, she’s not draped over anyone. Instead, she stands awkwardly in a deep red scrap of material that only just manages to cover an impressive set of assets.
From my side view, I get a good glimpse of her firm, rounded ass, and soft, full tits. The woman has the Goldilocks of breasts. Not too big, and not too small, but just right.
Cosplay has never been my thing, but for this woman, I’d dress up in a bear suit and slather her skin with honey before tucking her intomybed to devour.
She’s not tall, but she has long legs with deliciously strong calves and thighs displayed to perfection by a glittery pair of high heels.
Gentle, dark waves flow past her shoulder blades. Long lashes and smooth, pale cheeks present a picture of innocence that must be an illusion given the venue and her attire.
She turns her head in my direction, and the second our eyes meet, I feel as if someone punched me right in the gut. Her lips part as if I stunned her, too, and her doe-like eyes widen. I think they’re hazel, but I can’t quite tell from here.
For the first time in my life, I regret not being the type of guy who pays for sex. If I were, I’d be all over her in a heartbeat. I wonder why she’s the only one wearing red in the entire place.
“Earth to Rory. You still there? Shit, I hope we aren’t having technical difficulties already,” Darren mutters.
