Chapter 23
Sloane
Iknow Rafe likes bad ideas. I’m counting on it.
I pull on one of the dresses he bought me, the blue one with the fancy designer tag, and slip on the black heels that make my legs look impossibly long.
He spots me in it and looks like he might rip it off.
But instead, he grins like he’s holding all the cards and says, “You ready?” He doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but we’re in the city before I know it, and I’m more nervous than I want to admit. I’m betting he knows.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he says as he drives, the city lights flashing across his face.
“I’m afraid to move,” I say, shifting in the seat. “I might split a seam.”
“Worth it,” he says, glancing over at me.
The look in his eyes is pure fire, and it’s a wonder the dress doesn’t burst into flames.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but he just smirks, all mystery and mischief.
“You’ll see,” he says, the words low and teasing.
My heart is a drum. My pulse is a live wire. I don’t know what to expect, but I know I won’t forget it.
Il Lusso. I’ve heard of this place, but I never thought I’d set foot inside.
The entrance alone is enough to make my jaw drop.
Massive glass doors. Velvet rope. A line that wraps around the building and disappears into the night.
But Rafe breezes past it all, taking my hand and leading me straight to the front.
“This is the kind of joint you belong in,” he says, looking smug as hell.
“If you say so,” I reply, my voice a bit shaky.
Inside, it’s even more jaw-dropping. Dim lights and dark marble floors. Chandeliers that look like they cost more than a house. People who look like they own entire blocks of the city, sipping expensive drinks and whispering about things I probably shouldn’t hear.
I tighten my grip on Rafe’s arm, and he leans down, brushing his lips against my ear.
“Still think you’re a bad fit?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep it cool.
“I’m not sure this is me,” I say, glancing at all the women in dresses that probably cost more than I’ll make in a year.
“They’re not you,” he says, tilting my chin up with his finger. “They wish they were.”
He leads me through the opulence, and I sense that everyone’s watching us, wondering who I am. Wondering if I belong.
“Domenico!”
A woman’s voice cuts through the noise. A striking woman with dark black hair in a style that defies gravity, possibly the most elegant person I’ve ever seen, loop her arm around a man who must be one of Rafe’s brothers, the one I haven’t met yet.
“Ignore them,” Rafe murmurs, but he must know that’s impossible.
The man turns, and I’m sure of it now. It’s Domenico, the oldest Rosetti. The one who looks like he’s carved from stone. His green eyes narrow in on us.
“Rafe,” Domenico says as we reach them, the single word carrying the weight of a command.
“Dom,” Rafe says, nodding. “Besiana.”
Besiana’s smile is warm, but there’s something sharp in her eyes, like she’s figuring out a complex puzzle.
She takes in Rafe, then me, then Rafe again.
She’s stunning, even more so up close. Her clothes are impeccable.
The green of her eyes is even more striking.
It makes me glad of my designer dress and aware of the impact an outfit can have on others. Hers is a damn suit of armor.
“You must be Sloane,” she says, not waiting for an introduction.
“That’s me,” I say, trying not to sound like I’ve lost my mind. “And you must be wondering what I’m doing here.”
Domenico’s lips twitch, the closest I think I’ll ever see to a smile on him.
Rafe cuts in.
“Heard anything about the Red Hooks, Dom?”
“Quiet,” Domenico replies. “You might get lucky and they’ll wipe themselves out.”
“Unless we help them along,” Besiana adds, her voice smooth and easy.
I detect a sexy lilt of a foreign accent. She fits in perfectly here, like she was born in rivers of gold and raised in smoke and secrecy, which makes me feel even more out of my depth.
Domenico’s eyes narrow further, his version of a scowl.
“We don’t need to intervene,” he says.
“It was a joke, Domenico,” Besiana says, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I think Sloane got it.”
It hits me that she’s the only other woman in a conversation full of Rosettis, and she doesn’t look the least bit out of place. She looks right at home.
“So, Sloane,” Besiana says, looping her arm through mine. “Is Rafe keeping you busy, or do you have a life outside of this chaos?”
“Is that an option?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She laughs, and it’s genuine, warm.
“I like you,” she says. “But I’m going to make it very clear: if you break Rafaele’s heart, I will break your neck.”
“Er, I suppose that’s fair,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
Somehow, a threat from Besiana is more terrifying than being held hostage by the Red Hooks, and I don’t doubt she means every word.
“We should get drinks sometime,” she says. “A proper welcome to the family.”
Her words make me reel, and I’m still trying to process them when Emilio appears. The quiet brother. The one who blends into his surroundings. Tonight, that means a black suit, finely tailored but completely forgettable.
Rafe looks pleased to see him, and that alone makes me like him right away. He’s softer than the other Rosettis, almost shy, but I know better than to let appearances fool me.
“Milo,” Rafe says. “Want to hit the tables?”
I’m wondering what kind of tables they’re talking about when Emilio’s gaze settles on me, curious and assessing.
“I’ve looked into you,” he says.
“Looked into?” I ask.
Suddenly I like him a little bit less.
“Investigated. Your dad’s a cop.”
“Was a cop. He’s retired. I’m not undercover or anything.”
The group bursts out laughing. Domenico, Besiana, Emilio, and Rafe, all chuckling like school kids.
“What?” I demand.
“Nobody suspects you’re undercover,” Rafe says, circling my waist with his arm.
“I could be,” I say defensively.
Emilio gives a ghost of a smile.
“You’re the most trouble my brother’s ever been in,” he says. “But not like that.”
“She’s worth it,” Rafe says, with a bite that makes my blood hum.
“Need to ask you something,” Emilio says, turning his attention back to Rafe, pulling him away from the others. “We’re having a hell of a time following the missing money from the fights.”
Rafe is still holding my waist, so I end up in the little tete-a-tete between him and Emilio.
“Where’s it going?” Rafe asks as we follow Emilio through the bar.
“Wish I knew,” Emilio says. “Took a look at the Callahans’ financials.”
“You hacked their bank records?” I splutter, losing whatever cool I had.
Rafe glances at me with a sparkle of amusement in his steely eyes.
Emilio ignores me and keeps talking.
“Nothing unusual there. Clean, if you can believe it.”
“Nope. I can’t,” Rafe says, leading me to a table at the far end of the room.
I have a lot of talents, but financial espionage isn’t one of them, and I try to keep up as they dive deeper into talk of money laundering.
How money could disappear through a stream of banks, switch hands a dozen times, and end up looking as clean as if it was earned by Girl Scouts raising money for polar bears.
Even dirtier money, Emilio’s saying, free of any fingerprints.
I nod like I’m following, but I’m pretty sure the confusion shows on my face.
Rafe watches me as Emilio talks, and I’m convinced he’s getting as much of a kick out of my bewilderment as he is from the actual conversation.
“Legitimate investments,” Emilio says. “Can’t pin a damn unpaid parking fine on him.”
His voice is so calm, you’d think we were talking about whether it’ll rain tomorrow instead of which mob family’s screwing them.
I remember what he said earlier, about how the Callahans’ books look clean. Now I wonder if that means their money’s strolling through a chain of banks, too, getting bleached and ironed along the way.
I keep pace with them, and they don’t seem to mind me lurking, but I feel like I’m hearing things I’m not meant to.
“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Emilio says.
“Double-check the Callahan accounts, then look into anyone associated with them. If some asshole gave Chase Callahan a blowjob ten years ago, I want you to pull her records. The money has to be going somewhere. You know what Dad always says…”
“If you want the crook, follow his book,” Emilio finishes.
That’s so true. I’ve spent this whole time on Maddy’s case trying to analyze the psychology of everyone involved, from the mob stooges to the shifty boyfriend, but I never thought to follow the money trail. If there is one.
“Keep me in the loop,” Rafe says.
“Obviously.”
Emilio’s about to leave, but I reach out and stop him. He gives me a sharp look, surprised.
“You think you could look into someone for me?” I ask, glancing at Rafe.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly interested.
“I have a name,” I say. “Ethan Reyes from the Red Hooks. Maybe something in his bank accounts will give us a clue about what Maddy was involved in. About why she’s dead.”
“Maddy?” Emilio asks. “The dead chick?”
The words hit me, sucking the air from my lungs. A flare of anger rises as I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but the heat spreads to my cheeks and neck. I know the color is blooming like a neon sign, and I feel everyone’s eyes on me.
“She’s a lot more than just a… a dead chick. She was my best friend. The very best person in the whole world.”
I hear the quiver in my voice. I feel raw, and I sense that Emilio isn’t the only one paying attention. Rafe must see the storm about to break because he pierces Emilio with a glare sharp enough to cut through brick. The kind of look that could strip paint from walls.
Emilio stares at me a moment, his eyes shifting from detached to something a little more human. It isn’t until Rafe gives him a death stare that he mumbles out an apology.
“Didn’t know she meant that much to you,” Emilio says, actually sounding like he might mean it.