39. Day 100 – Domenico
“Buon compleanno, amico.”
Strobe lighting flickers over Matteo’s face, his caps gleaming. “Grazie, Luciano.”
I hold back my grunt of pain with effort as I shift from my position against the wall. Last night’s fight was more difficult than usual, man after man dragged into that fucking ring with a point of his finger. All part of the celebrations.
Luc steps back. As usual, he says nothing to me. But his eyes linger, taking in the new marks. “Your enforcer looks a little battered.”
It must be bad for him to comment. Matteo twists his head to look. Shrugs. “Nothing he can’t handle. He fucking loves the bloodlust. Isn’t that right, Rossi?”
He’s not wrong.
My world has narrowed to a view of parties and fighting. At least when I’m in the ring, I can let some of the savage, bitter rage simmering beneath my skin slip free. Release it before it consumes me in a storm of fists and bone and blood.
It’s the only time I even feel truly alive anymore.
The perfect lap dog for Matteo’s tastes after all.
Luc is still watching me. “A good thing that leash is tight, no?”
“I wonder if it’s even needed.” They talk of me as if I’m not standing right fucking next to them. Matteo takes a swig from his glass. “He’s adjusted well, aside from a few small issues.”
Such as my fist landing in his face, that night at Salvatore Asante’s house.
“Perhaps I should give him a little more rope, see if he hangs himself with it. The punishments are always amusing if not.”
I try not to think of that night. Of the way she screamed, her hands on me, the rage as she bucked and snarled beneath Morelli’s grip. Of what might have happened to her, after they dragged me out and Matteo had his men string me up as a punishment.
I rotate my left wrist at the thought. It hasn’t been the same since.
These days, I try not to think of her at all.
The chains on me would make me lose my mind, otherwise. Although maybe… maybe I’ve already lost it.
Matteo clicks his tongue. “Get me another drink, Rossi.”
My expression doesn’t change. This is new. Normally, he keeps me locked down at his side, never more than a couple of yards away. And when I am not there, for those few, too brief hours of rest, I’m locked down elsewhere.
Like an animal.
I slowly move past Morelli, hearing his murmured, amused words. “It should be an interesting evening.”
He catches up to me at the bar. The man on duty blanches when I signal to him, ignoring those still waiting and turning to fill a fresh glass. Luc taps his hands against the wood.
“Did you enjoy your rendezvous the other night, Morelli?”
My voice is hard. I watched as he slipped through that crowd, pushing Amie ahead of him before they disappeared upstairs.
And I watched when he came back, rumpled and full of satisfaction.
“I did.” He doesn’t say anything else until I’m turning away, Matteo’s drink in my hand. His muttered words barely register above the carnage around us.
“Alessia is here. Get out tonight, Dom. Quietly.”
I still. He brushes past with his own drink in his hand, lifting it in a toast. “To new beginnings.”
Luc blends seamlessly into the crowd, charming and carefree as he merges with a bigger group, his low voice sending laughter rising up into the air.
Matteo doesn’t look at me when I hand the glass over. Just takes it, downing it before he sets it down, his eyes already scanning the room for entertainment.
I lean against the wall, my head reeling.
Alessia is here. I haven’t heard a whisper of her, assuming Matteo had her stashed somewhere else as part of his manipulation to keep us all in our place.
And Luc is getting her out.
I force my face to blank.
Tonight.
I wait until Matteo’s eyes are at half-mast. He calls out, summoning Amie, and I use the opportunity to lean forward. “I’ll get her. I need a piss.”
He squints through bleary eyes, waving me away. “Fine. Go.”
I slip into the bathroom first. Wait for a few minutes until a man staggers in, nostrils lined with traces of white powder. He throws himself into a stall, and I follow him in, my hand on his back. “Need a hand?”
He shrugs me off as my hands brush against his pockets, searching.
Doesn’t even notice me lifting the keys.
Don’t drink and drive, asshole.
I slip them into my own pocket as I leave, strolling up to the guards on the stairs. “Matteo wants Amie.”
When one guard goes up to get her, I shift, jerking my thumb toward the front door. “You mind? I’ll be thirty seconds – someone had an accident in the other bathroom.”
The guard grimaces. “Thirty seconds.”
Just like that.
The Maserati parked haphazardly outside, one of a long line of cars, lights up when I press the keys. I whistle as I slide into the driving seat. “Nice.”
And fast. Which is exactly what I fucking need.