I hear a slapping sound and look up to see Gracie shaking her hand, and Leo gripping his cheek.
“Don’t ever fucking talk about her like that,” she grits out. “Go take five. You’re drunk.”
He looks at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry, Cecilia. I didn’t mean it.”
I don’t accept his apology. I can’t yet. I’m too hurt to forgive him. But we both know by the time he returns, I will have.
Gracie pushes his shoulder, and he walks away from the table.
“Fuck Leo! I hate him, Cecilia! I fucking hate him!” Gracie growls.
“We don’t hate. It’s bad for the soul,” I remind her gently.
“You don’t hate. But I sure as hell do. I hope he doesn’t come back.”
“He will. And we’ll pretend it didn’t happen. It’s his birthday, and I invited another guy and bailed on him to dance with Roman. It’s my fault too,” I explain.
“Fuck that. Leo being jealous is not your fault. But forget him.” She shakes her head, then grins at me. “So, what was that on the dance floor? Seemed like a lot more than dancing.”
I groan and lay my head on my hands, unable to make eye contact.
“Did everyone see?” I murmur, too embarrassed to face the world.
“No, just us, and only because we were watching.” We see Leo making his way to the table, three bottles of water in hand. “We’ll talk about this later. I want every detail.”
“I’m sorry. I come bearing apology waters. Time for me to sober up.” Leo dips his head in remorse.
I reach for the one closest to me, but he gives it to Gracie. Instead, he hands me the one in his left hand.
I open it and am surprised it doesn’t crack like an unopened bottle typically does, but I’m too thirsty to care.
I gulp half the water down and see Leo staring at me with hard eyes and a grin that makes me uneasy.
This grin isn’t his usual one. It isn’t jovial and friendly.
After a few minutes, the room tilts, then spins. A terrible headache comes on. I lean against the table, still seated, needing help to balance. And suddenly, I’m so tired.
“I’m going to… find… Roman.” The words come out slurred.
I let my eyes drift shut, just for a moment.
Chapter 19
Roman
Once I situate Cecilia in her seat, I beeline to Drew, pissed he cut our dance session short.
“What is it? I said no distractions tonight. I’m off duty,” I spit out.
“Mafia’s here. Only a few low-level guys, but I figured you’d want to know,” he explains.
“Fuck. Fine. Lead me to them. They can’t be here tonight.”
We haven’t had any issues with the Mafia in years, but I’m not willing to risk anything with Cecilia here. Although we have territory lines, the Mafia, Irish Mob, and Cartels don’t have the same rigidity as we do with the Bratva. We won’t typically kick them out or torture them for coming into one of our clubs. But not tonight.
He leads me to a group of guys in their twenties. They’re all pretty drunk. Their Italian heritage is obvious, and their tattoos are clearly Mafia. But they’re low-level.
“You need to leave,” Drew tells them.
