Chapter 29 SAINTS DON’T DANCE
A shiver moves through me as I step out of the car into a cutting night breeze. Multicolor lights blink in the distance. Christmas songs blast from the radio.
I think about home. My family is preparing for the annual Christmas Ball at The Orchid. Levi has probably made a list of toys he wants from Santa. I breathe through the ache behind my sternum. My family will be there once all of this is over.
When I’m free.
The Nocturne Rose, a refurbished meatpacking warehouse turned nightclub in the Fulton Market District, looms ahead. John, my bodyguard for the night, since Ren is still away, shadows me.
I guess I should be thankful Elias still lets me out of the house after my outing with the fed.
If anything, the asshole seems amused and nonchalant about it all, like he’s gotten some answers he’s been seeking.
“I’m not worried at all,” Elias says in the car after my meeting with Agent Clarke. “Both you and the feds have nothing on me.”
“You’re too sure of yourself.”
He leans down and trails a glove-clad finger across my cheek. I curse myself for the goosebumps erupting over my arms.
Elias’s eyes darken. His gaze drops to my parted lips.
“You won’t betray me. You don’t have it in you.”
He probably thinks I’ll be a useless spy, the damn bastard.
Aria and Scarlett from the café are already inside. Sickly sweet perfume chokes me the moment I step through the doors. Sultry hip-hop beats vibrate the walls, and soon, I find my mood lifting as I search for the girls.
The club has two floors, all dark concrete and unfinished metal. It’s expensive but unrefined, unlike the clubs my family owns.
But the people packed like sardines on the ground floor obviously don’t care. Open balconies and cage-like alcoves on the second floor wrap around the dance floor for the elite to watch the crowd.
“Lana!”
Aria squeals and wraps me in a hug. A tall blond man with kind eyes hovers behind her. That must be Blake, the surgeon fiancé.
Her eyes, rimmed with gold glitter, widen. “Dude, you look amazing! I could never pull off that dress.”
“You’re a petite dynamite.” I laugh.
“But lacking in the chest department.” She eyes my cleavage revealed by the deep V-neckline of my black mini dress.
Whack!
“Ow!” Aria sticks her tongue out and bats Scarlett’s hand away from where she playfully smacked her arm.
“You’re right. This works for everything.” Scarlett grins at me, then turns to her friend. “Quit ogling other people’s tits.”
My lips quirk, and I throw my arms around them. “You’ll be thankful in twenty years when mine sag and yours are still cute and perky.”
Blake laughs and extends his hand. “Blake Amscot, cardiologist slash chaos victim.”
“Hey!” Aria grumbles. “I’m excitement. Not chaos.”
He kisses her forehead, affection warming his eyes. His phone rings, and a frown crosses his face. “It’s the hospital. Emergency surgery. Sorry, have to run, honey.”
Aria sighs and stares after her man. “The life of a medical professional.”
“So honorable though,” I say.
Glass shatters in the background, and people holler. I flinch, but the girls drag me to the bar before I can look.
Two shot glasses slide in front of me.
“Here’s to new friendships and kick-ass lives,” Aria says, cheeks flushed under the neon lights.
She frowns, then pouts in my direction. “Ugh. And parents who don’t think you’re trash.”
I blink. “Shit. That bad?”
Scarlett leans over and whispers, “Blake’s parents are snobs. They want him to marry a doctor.”
I shudder. I know that type.
Aria groans. “And I’m stuck dealing with them for the rest of my life.” Aria bangs her head against the bar top.
The sound jolts through my chest, then morphs into something else entirely.
The walls rattle as the front door slams shut.
“You can’t be with her, Kian. She’s an Anderson.”
“Mom, stop it. She’s here. She can hear you.” Kian’s voice spikes with agitation.
I curl into a ball, not understanding why Mrs. Leste hates me. Am I not good enough for him?
The question still echoes, but I won’t ever know the answer.
“How many did you have? You’re bright red.” Scarlett pokes Aria. “You’re getting a detox tea tomorrow.”
“Screw tomorrow! I’m forgetting my troubles tonight. Cheers, girls!” Aria sits back up, nodding to the music.
I raise my glass and down the shot of vodka, pretending the burn isn’t from a memory I should’ve long forgotten.
Then we down one more shot. My body is pleasantly warm, my mind feathering at the edges. I reach for another drink.
“Easy there. I got you something else.” Scarlett slides over a shot glass with amber liquid.
I sip it. Sweet, refreshing. Non-alcoholic. A calming warmth floats through my veins. “You’re a magician.”
She winks. “Herbalist.”
“So, Lana. Why do you always have someone shadowing you?” Scarlett asks, eyeing John, who’s nursing a water at the far side of the bar. “Are you a celebrity or something?”
Some lady holds up her phone, and I cringe. I’ve been made. It’s a miracle the girls haven’t figured out I’m from the Anderson family yet.
Aria tosses a napkin onto her camera. “Dude. Privacy, please.”
She squeezes between us and blocks her view.
“It’s complicated,” I reply, finishing the rest of my drink. “I’m from a big family. Bodyguards come standard.”
Scarlett squints. “Hold on. Your last name’s Anderson. Bodyguards. Big family. Shit.” She elbows Aria, who’s bopping to the beat of the music. “Lana’s the Anderson princess!”
“Huh?” Aria stops. Her mouth drops open. “That’s why you look familiar! Oh my God, didn’t you marry some mobster?”
I sigh. But friendships should be based on honesty.
“Complicated,” I grumble.
“I’ll say,” Aria hooks her arm through mine. Scarlett takes the other. “Doesn’t matter, you’re still awesome. Let’s dance our troubles away!”
She drags us toward the dance floor. Scarlett tugs my arm, slowing my steps.
“Hey,” she whispers, her eyes kind, “we’re here for you. Whatever’s going on. No judgment. And if your ‘complicated situation’ needs to be uncomplicated…I might have some deadly belladonna.”
I snort and squeeze her hand.
Five songs later, my feet ache and my voice is hoarse from laughing.
I’ve learned that Aria can’t handle her alcohol, which she blames on the Asian glow, as she’s a quarter Korean.
She also has a penchant for bad boys, but Blake is her exception.
Scarlett has a big family like me. She may be whimsical, but her mind is sharp.
I’ve found my gang.
We invent a ritual. A good book, a perfect drink, and a dare whenever we feel down.
The bass drops, and the crowd surges. For the first time since the wedding, I feel light as a bird.
Until pressure builds in my bladder.
“Going to the restroom. Be right back!” I holler at the girls.
“Want company?” Scarlett asks.
“No, I’m fine. Stay here; have fun.”
John moves to follow, but I shake my head and point to the restroom, which is well within his sightlines.
He nods and goes back to drinking his water.
I make my way to the back, passing by a spiral staircase cordoned off by a velvet rope. Two towering men with hard eyes and dark suits stand in front of it, their hands resting near their holsters.
Something’s happening on the second floor.
I duck into the restroom and complete my business in the stall when voices drift in.
“They won’t let us go up there.” Two girls walk in.
“VIPs?”
“I think so. The two single Berisha brothers are with their crowd.”
“Ooh! Ilir and Dritan? Billionaires. Worth the risk.”
“Tell me about it.” The faucet turns on. “The guards said no. A private meeting, apparently.”
The Berishas.
The haze in my mind vanishes. My pulse spikes.
More noises reach my ears—the towel dispenser, heels clacking on the concrete floor. Then the door swings open, and silence returns.
I step out and wash my hands, catching my reflection—flushed cheeks and wild hair.
From the crude diagram of The Association in Elias’s office, the Berishas are up there in the org chart.
And they need something from me, which means, in a twisted way, I’m safe right now.
Tristan’s words at the café hammer into my mind. I can’t get out of this alone. My brothers, as rich and powerful as they are, can only do so much.
John is out front, the girls still partying it up.
I can go back and play it safe.
Or I can take a risk and find out what the Berishas are meeting about.
I scan the bathroom, noticing a small service door, the same design our family clubs use for staff exits.
Decision made, I slip out the small exit, then loop around to the dance floor.
The girls spot me, and I pull them aside.
“Need your help. And no questions. You in?”
Aria blinks. Scarlett nods. “I meant what I said. We’re here for you, Lana.”
“Let’s uncomplicate my complicated situation.”
Heat flares in my chest. I gather them closer and tell them my plan.
Minutes later, the three of us walk toward the guarded staircase.
Aria giggles, her flushed face and glazed eyes totally selling her drunk act as she sways into Scarlett, who looks like she’s having a hard time managing the five-foot tall bombshell.
The guards frown, their gazes fixed on the duo. I slip to the perimeter, keeping to the shadows.
“Handsome, you look like you’re very good with a gun,” Aria purrs, walking her fingers up the first guard’s chest. “I love men with big guns. Do you have a big gun?”
I bite my lip to keep from snorting.
She sways, and a dramatic drop follows.
Scarlett, equally bad—or good—at acting, gasps. “Oh, shit.”
Her drink tumbles out of her grip and splashes over the second guard’s suit.
Curses fly. The men step back and pull the girls aside.
There’s my window.
I dart to the staircase, catching Aria’s wink as I dash upstairs, my heart pounding.
Holy shit. It worked.
It’s quieter up here, the music and crowds a faded backdrop.
Deep voices and glasses clinking reach my ears as I slow my climb. My smile disappears, fear tightening my lungs.
“You can’t trust him. Something’s off.”
“He’s the dealer of secrets. Of course you can’t trust him.”
My mouth dries. They’re talking about Elias. Quickly, I take out my phone and start a recording.
“Ilir, you’re quiet. What do you think?” the first voice asks.
A click, followed by the smoky scent of a cigar. I press myself against the wall as I reach the landing. They’re just around the corner in one of those alcoves I spotted earlier.
“He has my father convinced. They’re inviting him to the Benefaction.” A low drawl—cultured, but with an accent. “But I don’t think the rest of The Six trust him yet.”
The Six. I saw that on the diagram.
I frown and press closer.
“Shit. We can’t let him win over the Carusos. They’ll be there this year.”
The Carusos. Elusive financiers. Their name was on the diagram too.
“Rumor has it Gabriel Caruso is making a play to take over The Association,” Ilir says. “We can’t let him align with Kent. What if he turns on us?”
“Gabriel? Daddy’s yes-man? Like The Scheduler would let that happen.”
“You think there’ll be a coup?” another unfamiliar voice asks.
“Definitely. If not now, then later. The Carusos are weakening ever since you know…what happened with their heir,” Ilir responds.
Heir? Gabriel? The Scheduler? This all sounds Greek to me.
My pulse quickens, and I tiptoe closer.
The stench hits first—cloying mint layered over expensive cologne and cigarettes.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand.
A large hand clamps around my waist. A wet exhale brushes my ear. I jerk, a strangled sound catching in my throat.
“Looks like you’re lost, darling.”