25. Zarina
ZARINA
I can’t believe I put on a corset for this.
If Pat hadn’t broken into my room and literally shoved me into the shower, I would likely still be in bed, blue-light glasses perched on my nose, hair in a greasy top-knot, researching every property my parents own in Gachico and trying to figure out a pattern. But I haven’t deciphered anything yet. And it doesn’t help that they own the entirety of Gachico—at least until the last few years. I shift on my stool in Tamayo’s throne room above the Den of Inequity’s dance floor and signal the bartender for a third drink. My frustration at my continued failure sits heavy in my chest. Pat knows me well, knows I wouldn’t have left my room of my own volition if they didn’t make me. But for this?
Tamayo and Logan stand at the window, the latter surveying the people below like he can pluck someone out of the crowd at his leisure. I wish everyone down there would see through him, see him for the lecherous, narcissistic turd dressed head-to-toe in bloodstained Tom Ford that he is. His eyes have stuck to my ass so often tonight, I’ve debated forcing a long, loud fart just to offend him.
Another uber-fancy cocktail I don’t know the name of slides across the bar. I pass back my empty glass and thank them for the drink. Pat stands by the door, allowed to carry their weapons inside this time and playing guard while Darius does whatever he’s doing in the club. I sip my drink and wish I was back in bed, minimally dressed and organizing the last decade’s worth of Gallo business dealings so that I can finally make sense of the information I stole.
“Miss Gallo!” Logan waves me over to join them, and I shoot the nastiest side-eye into the mirror behind the bar, not moving an inch. This isn’t Casa Nostra, and I’m not a fucking dog, happy to come at his beck and call. The bartender shares a knowing look with me, and I pop the fancy dragon fruit garnish into my mouth as if I don’t hear Logan.
He tries again. “Join us, hm? We’re lacking for feminine energy.”
I almost choke.
“Yes, Zarina”—Tamayo’s voice is teasing—“it’s far too masculine over here.”
I tap the bar once and shoot a pointed look at the bartender, who nods in understanding. I don’t think I can do this without alcoholic armor. My wine-red leather pencil skirt slides up my thighs as I slip off the stool. “Of course, gentlemen.”
Both Tamayo and Logan watch as I pick my way around the couch and chairs to the wall of windows overlooking the club. While Logan’s eyes attempt to mark the dips and curves he would like to claim, Tamayo’s gaze is shared amusement.
Logan’s hand hovers at the small of my back, millimeters from touching me. “What do you think of Tamayo’s little club?”
I step closer to her, and she wraps her arm around my waist, blocking the heat of his too-forward-hand. “I love this place,” I say honestly. “It’s actually where we met.”
He tucks his hand into his pocket, no longer able to almost touch me. “Surprising—I could swear we’ve all attended the same parties before.”
“And yet we didn’t shake hands until this week,” Tamayo says.
“You got me there.” He points a finger at her.
“You could say Tamayo and I shook hands here for the first time, then.” I insinuate whatever Logan wants to infer for himself.
He laughs with his whole belly. “I can imagine.”
I bet he is. Thankfully, the bartender delivers my replacement drink, which allows me to cover my disgust with the chug of the rest of my glass to exchange it for the new one.
Tamayo leans into my ear. “Slow down, princess.”
“Bite me, gangster,” I whisper back through a gritted smile.
Her hand tightens on my waist.
“It’s much nicer than I expected.” Logan sips his scotch, staring at the platforms suspended over the dance floor with blown pupils. Each one hangs at a different height, holding a dancer dressed in leather—harnesses, bikinis, bodysuits, thongs—their bodies thrumming to the beat of the music. The Saint Andrews cross is pulled out tonight, a professional dominatrix offering a demonstration and, for one lucky submissive, domination. The dance floor isn’t as full as the night I proposed to Tamayo, but it’s definitely not empty.
Logan’s gaze flicks between one specific dancer—they’re topless with scars below their nipples, leather pants hugging their hips, long hair pulled up in a messy knot—and the domme at the cross wielding a long plastic wand that produces small sparks of electricity whenever it meets skin.
Logan clears his throat and shifts to face us again. “Do you host nights like this often?”
Tamayo’s nails dig into my side like she can see the smile twitching on my lips. “A couple times a week. We like to give our community a safe space to explore. ”
“I see.”
“Are you interested?” she asks.
“Oh—no! No. Not at all.” But he answers too quickly, with an almost panicked glance to the cross and back to Tamayo. “No, thank you.”
“You’re welcome any time, Logan.” Tamayo’s hand doesn’t leave my waist as she angles herself between me and him, like she wants to be as clear as possible that the club is open to him, but I am not. I bite my bottom lip as she nudges him with her elbow like an old friend. “We have private rooms so you can enjoy in peace, without…prying eyes.”
“Oh?” He doesn’t bother averting his gaze from the dominatrix ghosting her electric wand along the inner thigh of the person hanging on her cross.
Tamayo grips his shoulder, speaking low like she’s weaving a spell. “I’ve prepared one for you this evening. As a token of gratitude.”
“Ah, that’s not necessary.” He sounds wholly unconvincing.
“I insist.” She massages his shoulder, and I can’t help marveling at how easily she manipulates him without using her sexuality. It makes something in me flicker and burn.
Tamayo keeps her voice in that low register. “You work hard, Logan. You deserve to relax.”
“It has been a long week…” he trails off.
“Please, make use of our services.” She glances to the stairwell, where Darius is climbing up to us, and turns back with a theatrical smile. “We’ve even prepared something special for you.”
Logan finally breaks his gaze away from the cross below to frown at Tamayo. “Special?”
“Of course.” She claps him on the back. “We’ve prepared one of our second-floor rooms for you.”
“A second-floor room…” He studies the club again like he mi ssed the balcony walkway surrounding the dance floor with doors evenly spaced along it.
Tamayo finally releases me to rest her hands on both his shoulders and steer him around. “It’s quite private, with access to the club, bottle service, and a couple of my most trusted entertainers.”
“Tamayo, this is too much!” He feigns protest. “I wasn’t expecting all this?—”
She waves him off. “Is there such thing as too much among friends?”
“Ah.” He tries to groan convincingly, but he’s already emptying his glass and setting it on the side table as Tamayo guides him toward the door. “You make a good argument. I don’t want to inconvenience you, but it’d be rude of me to reject your kindness. It seems I must accept.”
Tamayo chuckles. “Darius will personally escort you to the room. Feel free to take your time, walk the floor, enjoy all the club has to offer.” She pauses with her hand on the door. “I must ask that you treat my people with the utmost respect. Though, I think Mistress Davina will hold you to task.”
“Mistress…” Logan puts two and two together. He somehow both gulps and laughs at the same time, the sound coming out more choked than anything. “I’m not—I don’t?—”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Tamayo opens the door with a flourish and hands him off to Darius waiting on the other side. “Please enjoy yourself, Logan. You’ve worked hard.”
He coughs. “Yes, it’s been a stressful campaign.”
“Let off some steam.” Tamayo winks, shaking his hand.
“Uh, yes, thank you.” He barely returns the handshake, neck half-craning toward the dance floor and the occupied cross. I struggle to hold back a snort.
Darius sweeps his hand out for Logan to follow him. “This way, please.”
Logan practically trips down the stairs in his haste. I shove my fist in my mouth to soften the burst of giggles clogging my throat.
Tamayo holds her ingratiatory expression until the door clicks shut, and then her face falls into a stormy frown while I finally bend over in a fit of laughter. She shakes her head at me, striding to grab her half-full glass and drain the rest of it in a few gulps. She sets it on the bar a bit too harshly. “I fucking hate that man.”
I slip onto my earlier stool, my own drink almost empty again. “Who is Mistress Davina?”
Tamayo signals the bartender for another vodka Collins. I wonder if she ever drinks anything else. “A dominatrix.”
“And Logan wants to be dominated, not do the dominating?” I frown, recalling his gaze on the Saint Andrews cross, on the dominatrix caressing her submissive.
“Naturally.”
“I would have thought him too…toxic to be dominated.” I pluck the dragon fruit off the rim and bite into it. Juice trickles over my chin.
Tamayo watches the trail, fingers gripping the edge of the bar.
I catch the liquid on my thumb and suck it off, pointedly ignoring her gaze. “How’d you find out?”
“I have wiles,” she says. The bartender delivers her drink, and she thanks them, carrying it over to the seating area. She sinks down onto her throne-like chair, legs spread wide and shoulders sagging.
“Are you filming the room?” I pop the rest of the fruit in my mouth.
She tilts her head, studying me for a long moment. “You’re conniving, aren’t you?”
“Duh.” I drain the rest of my drink. The alcohol is warm in my belly, tingling over my tongue. I know that when I stand, the feeling will spread over my limbs and buzz pleasantly in my fingertips. Just the right amount of buzzed with all the loosened inhibitions, but without the nausea. I stretch my hands over my head to feel how they float. “Are we done, then? We can leave?”
Tamayo doesn’t answer, instead massaging her temples like she’s annoyed and burdened by my presence. I glower at that. I didn’t drag myself here against my will, she did.
I cross my arms. “Let me rephrase that—I’m done. I want to leave.”
“Patience, princess,” she says with a long-suffering sigh.
“For what?” I snap. She told me why we’re here on the way over—to reward Logan Anderson for arresting Dan the Snake. And she’s done that. What else is there? “All I’ve gotten out of this field trip is borderline sexual harassment and a buzz.”
Her hand falls to the arm rest. “Another reason I fucking hate that man.”
I snort, derisive and pissed off. At least I was doing something productive at the house, in my room, away from her, before she knocked on my door. I try not to think about it, but every day, time ticks further. We’re almost a month into this haphazard Band-Aid of a fake engagement, and all I am is closer to failure. Failing to save myself and the Gallo Family. Not my parents, but all our people. The soldiers, the capos, their families. Our friends. Tamayo calls me princess all the time, but what use am I as a veritable royal if I can’t save us from extinction?
And with all that weight on my shoulders, here I am, wasting my time playing arm candy for my fake fiancée and a shitbag attorney. I shake my head, lip curling. “When are you gonna stop letting them piss all over you, your people, your things, and start demanding respect, Tamayo? You want to be a don? Fucking act like one.”
She shoots me a confused look. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
My face heats with anger, at her, at myself, at everyone who has ever used me for their own gain. “You dragged me here to be a fucking worm wriggling on a hook in order to lure the district attorney in and keep him on the line.”
“I brought you here to present a united fucking front and keep up appearances,” she snaps back.
“Plenty of dons do business without their wives.”
She scoffs. “Would you prefer me to conduct myself like other dons? Would you like it if I kept you at home with a credit card and the kids and fucked you when I wanted without a thought to you?”
“I’d rather you be honest with me and yourself about what you’re using me to achieve and how!”
“And what are you using me to achieve, princess?” Her voice is quiet, reminding me of a dog growling in its throat before it snaps off a finger. “You’ve been locked away in your tower for days. I know you’re doing more than watching TV and planning an engagement party you wanted to avoid.”
“How do you know what I was or wasn’t doing?” I challenge. Because she wouldn’t know a damn thing if she didn’t have spyware installed on the computer she gifted me.
She scrunches her nose and sits back, cornered.
I lower my voice to match hers, smoke-like venom coating my throat. “At least my secrets don’t involve being paraded in front of predatory men who would just as likely assault me as they would compliment me.”
Tamayo holds my fiery gaze with one of her own, both of our blazes stoked higher with each word. I refuse to douse mine. This night is on her. She brought me here for more than she’s saying, and she knows it. She fucking knows it.
Something relents in her, and she deflates, scraping a hand over her face. “You’re right.”
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear you,” I say, because I’m petty.
She throws me a deadpan look but doesn’t comment. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I won’t use you like this without your consent again.”
“Great.” I’m still too mad and riled up to be gracious. “Can we leave now?”
She sags back in her chair. “Not until he does.”
“Fine.” I slip out of my chair and readjust my skirt to sit just right. “I’ll be downstairs.”
Tamayo levels a hard glare that pins me in place with the force of it. “Absolutely not.”
“I don’t recall asking.” I take one, singular step.
She cocks a brow at the movement. “Neither do I.”
We glare at each other for so long, I think minutes have passed. Tamayo sits too relaxed, legs wide and shoulders loose, as if she is confident in her ability to control me with twenty feet between us. And I might believe that picture if I couldn’t see her fingers on the arms of her throne, white with the force of her grip. Like she’s holding herself back from pushing out of her seat and keeping me here by force. I think about testing the theory, about whether I can make it to the door before she grabs my wrist and pulls me back, about how much energy it would take to evade her and slip down the stairs to the dance floor.
And the thought itself exhausts me.
I release a breath, and with it, my fight falls out of me. It’s more than Tamayo’s stubborn ass weighing my limbs too heavy to keep going. It’s my lack of progress. Even if I were to leave right now and sit in front of my computer into the early hours of the morning, I’d find as much in my parents’ ledger as I have over the last few days—nothing.
I sink into my seat at the bar again, and the bartender offers a sympathetic frown, saying enough without a single word. I rest my chin on the heel of my palm and chew over all the times I’ve been in this exact situation—a pawn in someone else’s game and unable to further my own. How often have my parents asked me to flirt my way into a man’s good graces, to wear a specific type of dress in order to play distraction to a man’s ego. Almost every gala, party, or business dinner, I’ve been trotted out like the most delectable morsel of meat that no one can have. Always allowed to sit at the table, but never allowed to be anything more than a set of curves drawn just right.
And the one time I have the chance to make my own moves in a game of my making—one that will not only keep me free, but my family, too—I’m failing.
Tamayo’s elbow rests on the bar beside me, her body inches from mine. I ignore her, tracing the rim of my empty glass and grinding my teeth. She waves off the bartender in the middle of mixing my drink, and they immediately set everything down and stride out of the room through the back door. I watch them leave, lip curling in annoyance.
“We have a couple hours to kill, princess.” Her fingers inch toward my wrist out of the corner of my eye. I flinch away. Tamayo is just another distraction from my ultimate goal. As much as I want her, she’s my pawn. I can’t become hers.
She sighs. “Would you prefer to spend it sulking?”
“I tried to spend it dancing, but you’re a stubborn ass.” I watch her in the mirror behind the bar. Her eyes are on me, trailing over my hair where it falls down my back, over the profile of my face, pausing on my lips turned down with irritation. At me, not her. Because I can feel her gaze traveling over my skin like a physical touch, and fuck, do I want to melt into her.
She sidles closer without touching me. The inches between us crackle with tension. Her face is so close to my ear that each breathy word brushes over my scalp with a shiver. “Dancing with someone else, their hands all over you.”
“That’s the point.” I try to sound unaffected, but my voice cracks.
I can see her smirk in the mirror as she inches her fingers closer. “To lose yourself in the music? ”
“In the crowd,” I add.
She slips an arm over the back of my chair. My spine tingles with awareness. The whole left side of my body, so close yet so far from her, heats up as she cages me in. I can’t stop staring at us in the mirror, at her annoying smirk and the sharp edge of her jaw and the heady focus of her gaze on me. She lowers her lips closer to my ear. “You can lose yourself up here, princess.”
I clench my hands into fists on the bar to keep from closing the distance between us, from grabbing hold of her. If I do, I’m failing again. Right? I can’t get caught up in her, in the pleasure she can give me. I can’t .
“What would you do if I said no?” I ask. “Gone downstairs anyway?”
This time, when her fingers inch toward me, I don’t move away. This time, I hold still as prey sensing danger while she skims her nails from my wrist, up my arm, and into my hair, where she brushes it over my ear and curls her fist around it. I suck in a breath, heart beating loud in my ears. I should say stop. I should push away from her. But instead, I wait as my blood simmers in my veins. Pinned without a fight, unable to move my head, and imagining Tamayo leveraging her grip to make me wait, make me beg, make me kneel .
Her lips are still at my ear. “Downstairs doesn’t have what you want, hm? What you need.”
Pat curses behind us, and then the sounds of the club crash into the room for a moment—the door opening as they step out—and then muffle again. Despite watching the mirror, I don’t see them go. I only see Tamayo, her arm flexed across my body, the back of her neck long and graceful. I don’t know why, but the line of it makes something inside me itch with a need to touch, to be touched.
She tilts my head and drags her nose along the length of my jaw, back up to my ear. “Stay with me. Let me lose myself in you. ”
“I should leave you hanging like you did me.” I should leave, period. This is different than before. I’m not coping with Marcus’s putrid touch. I’m not distracting Tamayo from the fact I met the Birdwatcher. There’s no ulterior motive between us this time except plain desire .
She smiles, her lips brushing my lobe. “You don’t want to leave.”
“How do you figure?” I arch a brow, as if that’s not the exact struggle within me. Give in or get out?
Her teeth nip my neck, making a shudder sizzle down my back and shaking my resolve loose. “Hmm, it’s the way your legs keep pressing together, princess. The way goose bumps pop up wherever I touch you.”
I ball my hands into fists on the bartop in an attempt to steel myself. If I push away now, I could walk out. I could do it. “What do you want, Tamayo?”
Her hand resting on the back of my chair slinks over the distance between us to my spine, down to the waistband of my leather skirt, and plays with the seam. “I want a lot of things. I want to watch your skin pinken under my hands, want to taste you, want to give something for that pretty mouth to do other than argue.”
I sit in the chair, surrounded by her body, the smell of vodka and citrus heavy on her breath. And all I want is to be swallowed completely. Devoured until there’s nothing left of me except what she deems necessary. The black, greedy abyss inside of me sated, because she would deem it so and that would be enough. I would be enough. Just me.
Her forehead rests against my temple. “Will you let me?”
“You made me wait for days.” My voice is barely audible. My hands are loosening, and as they do, my convincing logic as to why I should leave jumbles into discordant need.
“Why wait longer?” She turns my head until our noses brush, our lips millimeters apart. I gasp, small and quiet. We haven’t kissed yet, not once, despite my coming on her fingers. Despite her pinning me against the bathroom vanity. This will be the first time, and I want it more than I want her hands on me.
She must know, because her smirk widens the moment I try to lean forward. The movement pulls my hair in her fist, her hand not moving, and the slightest pain tingles over my scalp. Giving in won’t affect our deal or my goal. I can take what I need from her and still do what must be done. Just like my parents, like the Accardis, like Tamayo herself. She might be a gangster, but I’m a mafia princess. My nails are claws and my curves alluring bait, lethal and unassuming.
“Tamayo,” I huff, wanting more, more, more.
“Hm?”
“Kiss me.”
And she does.