Chapter 31
Shane
I park the blue Ranger a few blocks from the Velvet Mirage and walk the rest. It's my third rental this week—Mike's unmarked tails know the others by now, and I know all of his cars, too. Our friendship, if you can still call it that, has turned into a game of cat and mouse. He's warned me to stay away from the club and even threatened to arrest me a few times, but his threats are as empty as his promises to find Nicole. Business at the Velvet is booming, and I'm a tax-paying citizen. If Mike really wanted to, he could've hauled me in on some trumped-up charge by now, but he hasn't. Part of me thinks he's protecting himself—he's trusted me with the details of a planned high-profile assassination attempt on a local mob boss. If that got out, he'd be done. Another part of me thinks he's counting on me. If Nicole reaches out to anyone, it'll be me, and I'm his best chance of figuring out what Raffaele has planned.
As I approach the Velvet, the bass-heavy music pulsing through the club's walls thuds in my chest. The place is unmistakably mafia-run. You can tell by the men stationed around the entrance—rough-cut guys with straight faces, sacred and hardened. They wear dark clothing, their eyes scanning every passerby with casual menace. They linger in the shadows, close enough to be noticed but far enough to make you wonder what's going on behind the scenes. Inside, it's more of the same. Some of these guys are clearly muscle, tattoos creeping out from under their collars. They don't smile, barely talk, just stand there, watching.
I've grown out my beard and mustache over the past few weeks, trying to blend in and not be noticed. I keep my head down as I make my way through the entrance, the beat of the music practically rattling my teeth. The club's neon lights cast red and blue shadows across the room, adding to the illicit feel of the place. The air smells like expensive cologne, sweat, and alcohol—a mix that hits me when I walk in. No one pays me any attention; to them, I'm just another guy in a nice suit spending too much money. That's all anyone here cares about.
The VIP lounge at the Velvet has become my home away from home these past few weeks. Despite all the effort and all the money I've poured into occupying the space daily, Nicole was nowhere to be seen. I look down over the dance floor. The tinted windows of the sky lounge allow me to observe everything without being noticed. It's early—only 6 p.m.—so the crowd is still thin, but I know it'll pick up soon enough.
I glance at my phone at a picture Jaime sent me that morning. I'd booked him, Marie, and Allison a flight to Toronto, hoping to keep them safe. In the photo, Jaime's at an aquarium, walking through a tunnel-shaped glass hallway submerged in water, where sharks swim just inches away. The irony makes me laugh, but only for a moment. I feel like I'm in the tank now, swimming with predators.
A text comes in from Mike. He's called three times today, but I haven't answered. "Where are you?" the message reads. Before I can put the phone down, another one pings through. "Please tell me you're not at the club," it says.
I turn off the screen, shove the phone into my pocket, and take a long swig of Don Pérignon, courtesy of the skybox. The bubbles fizzle on my tongue, but they do nothing to ease the tension in my chest. A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
I open it to see a massive security guard, his face expressionless. "Shane?" he growls.
My stomach tightens. "Yeah," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
He hands me a phone. "It's for you."
My heart skips a beat. Could it be her?
But when I press the phone to my ear, Mike's raspy voice greets me instead. "What the hell are you doing there, Shane?"
I sigh heavily. "Enjoying my night out, which I have every right to do."
"Listen to me, Shane," Mike says, his tone sharper than usual. "We think shit's about to go down. I need you to stay in that box no matter what. Do not move."
"Wait, is Nicole here?" I ask, my voice barely steady.
"No, and if she shows up, Shane, stay away. We've got plainclothes officers on the way. We don't need you getting in the mix if bullets start flying. Do you understand me?" Mike's voice is firm, almost pleading.
"Yeah," I submit, but the lie sits heavy on my tongue. I've been waiting for something like this for weeks. My heart pounds in my chest, and despite the adrenaline coursing through me, I force myself to stay calm. "I'll stay out of the way." I have no intention of doing so. The moment I see a chance to grab Nicole and get her out of this mess, I'll take it.
"Shane, buddy, promise me." Mike's voice is softer now, almost desperate.
I click off the phone and hand it back to the stone-faced security guard. He gives a curt nod and walks away, his footsteps swallowed by the pulsing bass of the club. I return to the window of the skybox, scanning the faces below, searching for her—or Raffaele. I've only seen his face once in a photo, but I don't think I'll ever forget it. Cold, calculating. A man who enjoys control.
The dance floor is packed now, flashing lights bouncing off a sea of bodies moving to the heavy rhythm of the music. Waiters glide through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks. Nothing changes over the next hour; people dance as if their world isn't about to fall apart. I start to wonder if this is all a false flag, something to throw us off.
And then I see her.
It's only a glimpse, but I know it's Nicole. Her dark hair, her walk—it's her. She's with two men, avoiding the center of the dance floor as they slip into a darkened corner just below the skybox, disappearing from view. My pulse races.
She's right below me , I think. If I move casually, I can get closer. Figure out a way to get her away from them without being seen. I leave the skybox, walking down the spiral stairs as calmly as I can. My heart pounds with every step. The bar below the skybox shelters a few booths tucked away, perfect for keeping out of sight.
As soon as I hit the bottom step, before I can even turn the corner where I'm sure Nicole is, a man grabs me from behind and slams me against the wall, pressing me into the shadows of the club.
"What are you doing, Shane?" His voice is a harsh whisper, his breath hot against my ear.
I turn, confused. "Who are you?"
The man quickly flashes a badge—just long enough for me to see, and then it's gone.
"Mike said you might try to do something stupid," the man says, his tone sharp. "Now listen, I'm only gonna say this once. We're trying to prevent any bullets from flying. You go around that corner and Raffaele recognizes you, that's exactly what's gonna happen. Now get your ass back to the skybox, and don't move until you're told."
Before I can respond, a shout rings out from around the corner, followed by a gunshot and a blood-curdling scream. The club erupts into chaos.
"Shit," the cop mutters. He pushes me down, forcing me to crouch against the wall. "Stay low!" he barks as people start rushing toward the exits, knocking into each other and pushing to escape. The beat of the music is still thumping, a disorienting soundtrack to the madness unfolding around us.
I spot a woman near the dance floor, falling to the ground, clutching her side. I can't tell if she's been shot or if she's just caught in the chaos. The cop rushes toward her, disappearing into the crowd, leaving me alone.
A small voice in the back of my mind tells me to leave. To run while I still can. But that's not happening. I've come too far. With the cop gone, I edge around the corner, pushing against the tide of people surging past me. Faces blur together—panicked, shouting, shoving. I search for Nicole in the chaos, but seeing through the mass of bodies is impossible.
"He shot him!" I hear a woman scream as she pushes through the crowd, her arm locked with another woman's, both of them frantic to get out.
Had Raffaele done it? Is this how it ends? I round the corner, and just as I'm about to lose hope, I crash into a tall figure dressed in black. Our eyes meet, locking for a split second. It's Raffaele.
And just behind him, her arm trapped in his grip, is Nicole.
"Shane," Raffaele spits, his face twisting in confusion and anger. "You did this?"
Before I can react, his hand reaches for the gun tucked under his jacket. I lunge forward, desperate to put myself between him and Nicole. I don't care about anything else now. All I want is to get her out of his grasp. I shove her away and try to push him back, but Raffaele is fast. Too fast.
He swings his fist hard, a punch that lands squarely on my jaw. Pain explodes through my head, and I stagger backward, my vision blurring. I hit the floor hard, the cold concrete knocking the wind out of me. My ears ring, and I can't focus on anything but the throbbing pain in my skull.
I feel hands pulling at me, lifting me up. Nicole's voice breaks through the chaos, urgent and panicked.
"Get up, Shane!" she screams, her hands gripping my arms, trying to pull me to my feet.
I push myself up, groaning in pain, and as I regain my balance, I see Raffaele standing in front of me, his gun drawn. He raises it, pointing it straight at my head.
This is it.