76. Lars
The drive to Monarch doesn’t clear my head.
It only gives me time alone to think. To run his words over and over in my mind, making it worse.
The city stretches out in front of me in blurred streaks of light, reflections sliding across the windshield in a way that should be distracting, but nothing pulls me out of the loop running through my head. His voice keeps cutting through it, unrelenting.
I was working for Veleno.
“Of course you were,” I mutter to myself, tightening my grip on the wheel. “Of course that’s what this is.”
Trust someone. Let them in. Watch it fall apart.
The pattern doesn’t even surprise me anymore.
I pull into Monarch’s parking lot harder than I need to, the tires catching just enough to remind me I’m pushing too far, too fast. The valet moves toward me out of instinct, but one look at my face has him stopping short, his posture becoming cautious.
“I’ve got it, Mr. Marchetti,” he says quickly, taking my keys and stepping back.
The air of the club hits me the moment I step inside, bass vibrating through the floor, the scent of liquor and perfume clinging to the air. Monarch has always been predictable in its chaos, something I can walk into and know the outcome.
I stop at the bar and tell one of the waitresses to bring me a bottle of scotch to room six.
I move through the crowd without stopping, ignoring the way people straighten, the way heads turn when they recognize me.
None of it matters. I don’t slow down until I reach the private corridor and push open the door to VIP room six.
The same room.
The same place everything started.
I pause just inside the door, taking it in. The low light. The ghost of that first night layered over everything like an evil cloak.
The waitress comes in a few moments later with the bottle.
“I brought a few glasses if you’re expecting company, Mr. Marchetti.”
I take one, open the bottle, and begin pouring.
“Just me tonight, Lulu. You can remove the others.”
She nods and takes the glasses.
“Let me know if you need anything else, sir.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
She leaves and I pick up the glass, downing the contents. I welcome the burn. It cuts through the noise in my head for a moment, just long enough to breathe before everything rushes back in.
I fill the glass again and set the bottle down.
Slouching back on the couch, I stare at the ceiling trying to think through our interactions with Gabriel.
How I might have stopped the betrayal, attempting to find a defining moment I missed.
A clue, anything that should have set off the alarms in my head.
But I can’t find one.
I let someone in—really in, past the edges I keep locked down, past the version of myself I show the rest of the world. And it turns out he was never supposed to be there in the first place.
I was a target.
The anger continues to grow as I remember his voice saying I love you. The tears that fell from his eyes. The way this will crush Neomi. My skin feels too tight, my emotions taking up too much space inside me.
“Fuck!”
I jolt upright and throw the glass against the wall. My chest is heaving as I run a hand down my face.
The door opens behind me. I don’t turn to see who it is, already reaching for the bottle again and bringing it to my lips, glass be damned.
“Boss?” Niko asks, his voice careful, like he’s testing the waters before stepping further into the room. “You alright?”
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Yeah,” I say, taking another drink. “I’m doing great. Fantastic, actually. Just celebrating.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“I already have what I need.”
There’s another pause, longer this time. Then, more cautiously, “Enzo’s on his way.”
That gets my attention.
I turn, just enough to glance at him over my shoulder. “I don’t need a babysitter,” I say, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
Nico nods once and backs out of the room, closing the door behind him. I take another drink. Then another.
By the time Enzo walks in, the room has started to blur, the alcohol doing little to stamp down the anger and hurt inside me. Now it’s just a dull ache.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him, his presence filling the room. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me—the bottle in my hand, the broken glass on the floor.
“Did you pick this room to punish yourself?” he asks.
I huff out a breath, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah,” I reply. “Guess I’m sentimental like that.”
His gaze drifts briefly around the room. “This is the room you were in the first night with him.”
I nod once, lifting the bottle again. “The first time I saw him, I thought he was trouble. Too bad I mistook it for the good kind.”
Enzo’s mouth twitches. “You were close.”
“Yeah,” I say, the word dragging now, heavier with the alcohol. “Maybe I’m just a horrible judge of character.”
He steps further into the room, stopping a few feet away, close enough to be present without crowding me.
“You do realize you have a wife at home, right?”
I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “I had to leave, Enzo. I couldn’t be there when he left.”
“We put a tracker in him and let him leave. I figured I should leave any decision of punishment to you.”
“That’s very kind of you, brother.” I turn to look at him. “Was Neomi okay?”
“Violette and Zara are with her.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Any word on who placed the bomb?”
“That’s why I came looking for you. Falco sent a message. It was his bomb.”
“Goddamn it, Enzo. We have to get our shit together and fucking take him out. He’s run rampant through this city and it’s time for him to meet his fate.”
Enzo nods. “I completely agree.”
Enzo studies me for a long moment before speaking again. “He told the truth about Veleno,” he says. “Dante confirmed it. Sera’s involved. That part checks out.”
I exhale slowly, the anger changing to sadness and regret.
“At least we know he was telling the truth,” Enzo continues. “Now we wait to see if Sera pulls the trigger on the notifications. If we see it across the networks in the next two days, we know he told the truth about abandoning the mission.”
He steps closer then, his hand coming down on my shoulder, firm and grounding.
“You’re allowed to be angry,” he says. “And you’re allowed to be hurt.”
“I don’t hate him,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Enzo’s brow pinches in confusion.
“That’s the problem,” I add, my voice rough. “Fuck, Enzo, how can I still feel love for a man that put us in danger?”
He exhales, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Lars,” he mutters.
“I leave my beautiful, pregnant wife at home to come check on my brother, and this is what I walk into? You drunk, and spiraling over a man who just admitted he walked into our lives with a lie. I understand you three got close, but Lars, he could’ve destroyed everything.
“Get your shit together,” Enzo continues, his voice firm now, the Don bleeding into the brother. “You have a wife at home who just survived a bomb meant to take her life. She needs you there, not hiding in the bottom of a bottle.”
“Yeah.” I exhale. “I know.”
“Then move,” he says, stepping back toward the door. “I’m taking you home.”
I grab the bottle one more time, then set it down harder than necessary before pushing off the couch.
“Bossy,” I mutter under my breath as I follow him.
Enzo snorts. “Don’t call me bossy when you’ll have to face Ma in the morning.”
I cringe, following him down the stairs. “Fuck, she’s going to kill me.”