Burn for Me (Chaotic Love)

25. Twenty-Five

Twenty-Five

9-3-2024

I swear, this man and his damn whiskey is going to be the death of me.

-Jasmine

I can’t believe I just openly cursed like that. It was so unladylike, but I’m not much of a lady around Sam anyway. My blush deepens as he rounds the car and opens my door, his balaclava pulling tight around his jaw. The jerk is still grinning. Who knew he would be so amused? It’s hard to tell whether it’s because of my slip-up, because I just gave him the thrill of his life, or if he’s simply pleased that I licked my palm clean.

As I flick my tongue out to wipe away the remnants, he quickly grasps my jaw, turning my body as if he’s pulling me out of the car—my seatbelt strains against my chest, holding me in place.

“Careful. You’ll wipe off the gloss.” Sam murmurs, and I scrunch my nose in disbelief. Is he serious right now?

“Showtime, baby.” Moe laughs in my ear, and I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. It feels like he’s been held back on this trip, so I’m glad he’s finally getting some action in the field. However, sometimes, his overly ecstatic behavior gives me a headache. I link my fingers into the crook of Sam’s elbow, drawing his attention to the movement. The black diamond ring sitting delicately on my finger shimmers under the yellow lights, illuminating the front of a large, extravagant mansion and casting a sparkling reflection onto Sam's chest.

“We don’t want any bodies tonight, Sam. Nice and easy.” Caspian comes over, and Sam clasps his hand over mine as if needing to know I'm right here. I focus on the spot where we're connected. His band reflects the light, and the little red diamonds emit a dull shine.

One word keeps echoing in my mind, and I've never been so drawn to an idea:

Mine .

He has made it clear that he accepts me, flaws and all. He has forgiven me much quicker than I’ll ever be able to forgive myself. He has shown me what it’s like to be chosen above everything else.

My head tilts, and our eyes meet, but his aren’t crinkled as if he's smiling beneath the fabric. They’re the same as always—strenuous, cold, almost empty. Yet, when he flexes his hand over mine and starts walking, I'm reminded that the man only I’m allowed to see is still in there.

My heart rate picks up as we approach two large white wooden doors. They’re taller than I remember, and the silver skulls embedded in the middle make my stomach churn.

The Omertà Club.

I attended parties as a child, but all I can recall is being absolutely terrified of the people there. It wasn't just the sons of the influential figures; the leaders were always present, too.

Oh God, I'm going to be sick.

Sam lets go of my hand, allowing me to slide into his side as his arm wraps around me.

“Names.” It’s the same bald man from the club, but this time, a curvy woman stands close to his side, so he waves his hand to dismiss her. Unlike the people strolling by in the large-pane windows, he is the only one wearing a black surgical mask.

“Morana,” Sam says casually.

“Any weapons?”

Sam nods, using his free hand to pull aside his jacket, revealing a pistol. The man looks at me, and I freeze.

“You have to show them. They’ll pick up on the scan either way. If you lie, problems will arise.”

I know Tide just shut up.

Sam picks up on my anxiety and drops his jacket, brushing his fingers against the slit in my dress to reveal the red gardener's knife pressed tightly against my thigh. The man stares momentarily, then nods, allowing us to pass.

With each step, I glance around out the corner of my eye, studying our surroundings without being obvious. Hopefully, we won’t need backup because everywhere I look, there’s a man or woman dressed in all black, with straps open at their hips and walkie-talkies attached to their shoulders. If it’s serious enough that they have the place surrounded, then I don't even need to search for the cameras that I’m sure are securely positioned all around.

“Just got past the hard wall. Ladies and gentlemen, we have eyes.”

I take a deep breath through my nose, and Sam huffs louder than before. Moe may be trying to lighten the mood, but this isn’t a show. This is a dance with death, and quite frankly, I’m not ready to see his face.

“Two coming through!” The man yells behind us as the doors swing open, revealing a grand staircase that stretches through the center of the large room. The gorgeous gray wood steps perfectly match the sleek, shining floors below.

I am drawn to the chandelier high above the ceiling as we pass through a white archway that looks simple enough to be an undercover metal detector. When I was younger, I naively thought I wouldn’t have to crane my neck as much to see the silver tassels or make out the shimmering black diamonds hanging from the metal bars. However, I was mistaken.

“Enjoy your night.” A woman sings the words lightly as if this place isn't filled with people who could start getting trigger-happy at any moment.

Sam squeezes my hip, and I glance around at the crowd dressed in extravagant clothing, ranging from simple mermaid tail dresses and black tuxedos to more elaborate princess corsets and intricate suits, all complemented by masks.

This might be harder than I thought. Without seeing anyone's face, we're truly going in blind.

“Well, shit. Hold on. I highly doubt people change their masks yearly, so maybe I can pinpoint a few.”

Sam guides us through the area, and I spot a group of men wearing similar half-face masks that cover their eyes and extend down the sides of their cheeks. From the stiff, straight posture of their shoulders and the relaxed position of their hands on their pistols, I realize I’ve just identified the Bosses. I clear my throat and glance up at Sam, but he doesn’t look back at me; instead, he focuses on picking up a glass from a passing tray.

I swear, this man and his damn whiskey are going to be the death of me.

Turning, I step in front of him, and he glares down at me as if offended that I pulled away from his hold. My hands slowly trail up his chest to tug at the collar of his tux, urging him to bend down at least a little so I can lazily wrap my arms around the nape of his neck.

“That means put the damn drink down, Sam. This is a mission, not a party.” Tide huffs. Judging by Sam's mask's tightening, I’d almost say he’s amused.

Another waitress passes by, and he sets the glass back onto a tray before wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. It's different from the first time we were in this position. He’s much more relaxed now; his hands don’t hesitate to wander along my waist and the small of my back. The music is louder than before, especially since it’s not coming from a phone off to the side. Instead, it feels like the sound surrounds us, creating a soft buzz in the air, almost as if it’s floating down from the ceiling.

“Eleven o’clock,” I whisper, taking a deep breath as I try to follow Sam's steps instead of overriding them. Thank goodness I’m not barefoot again; I don’t think my big toe could handle another crush under his weight.

Sam traces his fingers lazily along my spine as he nods in understanding.

“It’s not them,” he grumbles.

Surely, if someone is doing the bidding, it’ll be them. I play with the end of his mask tucked into the back of his collar, trying not to be frightened by the skull so close to my face.

“How would you know?”

“Wouldn’t make sense.”

I gnaw at my bottom lip and nearly fall over when his taste invades my mouth again. I don’t need to see his face to feel his chest puff out a little more. Laugh all you want, jerk.

“He means it wouldn’t make sense, considering the only people you've interacted with are the successors,” Tide says.

I roll my eyes; it still makes plenty of sense to me. Sam tilts his head lower until I can feel his breath fanning the length of my neck through his mask. I brush my fingers along the nape of his neck.

“Are you okay?” Sam murmurs, but I don’t get a chance to fully nod before he pulls his head back and glances over his shoulder. I don’t see anyone at first, but judging by how his grip tightens, I assume someone is trying to get his attention.

“Mind if I cut in?” The voice is quiet but has a hoarse rasp as if the man has spent hours screaming. Finally, Sam steps to the side, pulling me along with him so I can get a better look at the man. He’s about my height and is wearing a peculiar respirator mask. It’s missing the filters, and the eye holes are darker than the ones we typically have on base.

“I do,” Sam says, biting off the words, and I can’t help but fight back a smile. I’m not sure when I started finding an overly possessive man so appealing, but I’m enjoying it.

“Morana, right? Sam and Jasmine? Rurik mentioned you earlier at the gambling table.” The man shoves his hands into his pockets and shifts on his feet.

“Do we know you?” I ask.

"My apologies. You can just call me B. I must say, I wasn't expecting guests from afar to attend my party, but I truly appreciate you taking the time to come and mingle. It creates..." He seems to pause, sucking the back of his teeth before continuing, "business opportunities for everyone."

“I thought this was the Bravettis ball?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Typically, yes, but tonight's a special occasion.”

Sam and I stay quiet as the man looks around nervously. The tension in his shoulders only increases when Sam steps closer. I quickly grip his arm and tug him back.

What the hell has gotten into him?

“I need to mingle. Please enjoy your time.” the man says before stepping away. A few people wearing similar masks disperse from the crowd and follow behind him.

“What was that all about?” I whisper harshly. I don’t mean to sound irritable, but one wrong move could blow our cover, and I’m trying to save myself so Sam doesn’t have to. He’s not making it easy.

“I recognize him,” Sam mutters, but he shakes his head as he realizes how ridiculous that sounds.