Chapter 15
I wrinkled my nose as I stared around the roped-off section of Revolver.
"We need a stricter dress code," I muttered as someone in plastic slippers walked past.
My former crew didn't reply. Johnny sniffed and wiped his nose. Luka forced a laugh at my comment, but it didn't sound genuine. The tinny glow of a phone illuminated Brent's face.
The server dropped another bucket of chilled vodka on the table and leaned over so I could see her chest.
"Do you need anything else?"
Most people watching would assume I enjoyed the view. But there was only one girl I wanted bent over for my pleasure. I'd sent an apology to Lara and reiterated the need for space. All she'd replied with was a thumbs-up.
I'd smashed my phone and had to get a new one.
"Thanks, honey. We'll let you know if we need more." Johnny answered when my lips remained sullenly pressed together.
She smothered a disappointed look and hurried away.
The swing she put in her hips did nothing for me.
But my former friends all watched with unabashed interest. My stomach twisted with hot irritation.
I'd come out tonight to get away from thoughts of Lara.
I used to get fucked up all the time. Didn't it feel better than this?
I kicked my legs out and stretched. The bass from the music made the soft leather booth vibrate underneath me.
"Revolver not fancy enough for you, Ray?" Luka poured himself a generous glass of my vodka.
I waved my hand toward the crowd. Grasping vipers who would take my place the minute I exited my velvet-roped cage. The hunger in their gazes made my skin crawl. The weight of their judgment, deciding my worth, made my bones heavy.
"Not really my scene," I lamented and poured another shot of vodka. "You want one?" I asked Brent, still scrolling through his phone. He lifted a shoulder. Fine, more for me. I tossed it back with a sneer and poured another one.
"Really? We used to come here every weekend for a while." Johnny slung his arm across the back of the couch. "Your call surprised me. Thought you were too good to hang out with us, dating the Orazio princess."
Brent's beady eyes flicked up before he stared down at his screen again.
I peered over his shoulder as he sifted through the messages.
It was a text stream with none other than Harold Donato.
Brent was sending him updates on every word that came out of my mouth.
He flicked out quickly, but it was too late.
I downed the chilled vodka, intent on making bad decisions tonight.
The liquid should have burned, but I was numb.
Like everything in my body. Brent's surveillance was the reason I stopped hanging out with these guys.
Even though I considered them friends. Friends didn't keep tabs on you for your papa.
They didn't sleep with your mom on the down-low and laugh about it.
They also didn't sell you out to the police and shred your reputation.
Adelaide had taken her rehabilitation of me seriously. Vetting which of my close friends were snitches. She encouraged me to cut them off. But tonight, I wanted to tear down this club and get into trouble. I excelled at ruining things.
"What can I say? I'm moving up in the world." It was a lame attempt to hurt the guys who had pretended to be my friends for years.
They were just like everyone else, enamored by my name and what they gained from being in my proximity.
I didn't miss the flare of panic that crossed Brent's and Luka's faces.
The latter filled my shot glass and hurried to move the conversation to safer topics.
But Johnny, ever oblivious, drew it back.
"What's she like? Word is she's insatiable, if her situation with her three exes is anything to go by." Johnny laughed as Brent kicked his leg.
Adelaide Orazio. The girl I was supposed to be dating, the one I fawned over and took on public dates. There were enough photographs of us together to stitch a story of a whirlwind romance. I might be a complete and utter mess. A coward like Jonah accused me, but I could act in love.
She wasn't the woman I wanted.
The music almost drowned out my soft growl of annoyance. Brent flapped a hand in my direction. His gaze didn't waver like the others, and he hadn't joined them in the bathroom earlier for any "extras" either. Brent was here for one thing. To make sure I didn't fuck everything up for the Donatos.
I wanted to laugh in his face, to tell him it was inevitable when he said. "Maybe you should go home to her. Being here is bound to end one way, with your track record."
I leaned my elbows on my knees and stared at the snake in a black suit. They were all on the Donato payroll, and I'd conflated that with friendship. I shouldn't have extended my welcome to them again. Even Jonah, in his twisted affection for Lara, cared more about me than these guys.
"What record is that?"
Brent shrugged. He was trying to grow a mustache, but it was as successful as a sixteen-year-old boy. The harsh scent of vodka burned my nostrils.
"You aren't known for keeping it in your pants."
Johnny aimed the toe of his shoe at Brent's calf, recognizing the precariousness of their welcome. I'd come here to forget my troubles, not to have them flung in my face. I knew how lacking I was. Jonah took great pleasure in pointing it out to me. At least he had skills to back up his opinion.
"Ray," Luka tried, with another fake laugh.
I wanted to commit to one girl, but it wasn't Adelaide. It was Lara, her beautiful, unattainable best friend, who looked right through the bullshit and saw me for who I was. The one my papa would eviscerate if he thought I was getting too close.
"It's Raimondo Ricambio Donato to you."
They scrambled with apologies, the loudest coming from Johnny, who saw his easy, stupid "free ride" slipping through his fingers. He needed my money and name, even if it didn't hold as much weight as Orazio.
"Your middle name means spare?" An incredulous laugh spluttered out, and I jerked my head to its owner.
Beck Goldman.
"Chief, to what do I owe the pleasure?" I sneered.
He clutched a whiskey and tilted his head to stare at my companions. They bristled under his perusal, except for Brent, who typed furiously away on his phone.
"I might work for the city, but I still enjoy a night off."
Something darker radiated off the police chief tonight, and it wasn't just his attire.
I was used to seeing him in ill-fitting, drab suits.
His unkempt dark hair fell about his face.
Tonight, he wore a black, silk, long-sleeved shirt.
Paired with black, form-fitting slacks that sculpted muscular thighs and dark loafers.
My eyebrows rose. Since when was Beck Goldman handsome?
His eyes rolled around the room, and he rocked back on his heels with manic energy.
"You enjoy trawling the VIP area? Who let you in, by the way?"
"Am I a robot, Raimondo Spare Donato? I didn't know I wasn't allowed to enjoy public spaces."
I waved my hand at my companions, done with the charade of pretending I had real friends who had my back and enjoyed my company. "Leave us."
"Raimondo," Johnny wheedled, and I swallowed a sigh, but didn't punch him in the face like I wanted to.
That was growth. I didn't care what people said, I was truly maturing.
"Take the vodka. I'm done." I waited until the three men slid out of the booth before I invited Beck to sit.
The move would make its way to my papa, but I was willing to face his wrath. Johnny snatched the vodka bottle and trailed icy water on the floor as he left.
"Having a good night, Spare?" Beck's black eyes glinted wildly.
There was a reason my middle name meant spare, and it had everything to do with my asshole papa.
From the moment I was born, he'd treated me like a disappointment, and even though the middle name hurt my mother more than me, it still burned.
Our situation was precarious, especially after our pointed talk.
I wasn't used to having his attention on me, and a small part of me scrambled to keep it.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I was making him proud.
Hell, he was making noises about marriage, which was insane.
No dallying with her best friend.
In my papa's eyes, I could fix the mistake I made six years ago when I rejected the engagement with Adelaide.
That day still haunted me. I'd arrived straight from a two-day bender.
Liquor controlled my tongue. If I'd known how my father would punish me, I would have chosen my actions more strategically.
My body still held the scars of that mistake.
I always felt second best, even when I was number one.
"Sometimes I think he wants me dead." Alcohol loosened my tongue.
"You're drunk. I'll leave you to it." Beck took a step away, but I cleared my throat.
His posture was tense. No slouching in those broad shoulders. He drummed his free fingers on his thigh as his gaze darted to the Den and back to me.
"You can spare me a moment, I'm sure." The joke poisoned my tongue.
Beck's lips twitched, and he relented, folding into the chair opposite with more grace than I expected. He drained his drink, hissing as he set it on the table.
"How old are you?" I blurted out the first thing on my mind.
Gray threaded through his dark hair. Before tonight, I would have said he was in his late thirties to early forties.
But his work clothes aged him dramatically.
Right now, with his hair brushed off his face, he looked totally different.
I saw a scar across the top of his forehead.
A small divot. His features were strong and elegant in a way.
I almost felt threatened. It wasn't often someone was better looking in the room than I was.
"Old enough not to wallow in clubs anymore," he muttered under his breath, looking at his watch.
"What's the rush?" A stab cut through my stomach.