1. SPARK
ONE
spark
Enzo
Ihate this side of town—too clean, too smug—but if you want to make real money in DC, you drink with the politicians who sell their souls by the glass.
And if you want to control and launder all the illegal money that gets funneled to their pockets, you own the bar where those politicians like to let loose.
I step out from the back room of The Vault, the bar my family has owned for generations, just two blocks from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I lock eyes with Niko, my head of security, and give him a nod to let him know I’m ready. He’ll radio my driver, Luca.
I navigate the polished chaos of the main room with purpose, weaving between booths, clinking crystal, and whispered conversations.
I stride past women and men who pretend not to notice me, but the low light on the dark mahogany tables doesn’t hide the eyes that follow as I pass.
At six feet and three inches tall, I’m hard to miss.
I catch sight of bright red hair and stop in my tracks.
All the senses on my body ignite. I turn slowly to face the stunning redhead sitting at the bar.
Who is she? I’ve never seen her here. She certainly looks like a DC type. She’s wearing a jade green jumpsuit that looks like it belongs on a red carpet, not a bar stool. Even from here, I can see that her outfit makes her eyes pop. She exudes power, confidence, and sex appeal.
Is that Speaker Max McCarter she’s sitting with? That piques my interest.
I’ve clearly been staring too long, because her head turns, and she makes eye contact with me. It lasts only a moment before she turns back to McCarter.
Well, that won’t do. I need her eyes back on me. I need to know her name. I need…more.
I should not walk over there. McCarter would not like it known that we know each other, but I seem to be walking over there against my will.
McCarter turns to see what or who caught his guest’s eye—his expression easy, eyes bright with mischief—until they land on me. His eyes widen, the mask faltering for the briefest moment.
“Good evening. Speaker Max McCarter, right?” I ask, pretending we don’t know each other. I surprise even myself. I wish I could explain it. I can’t. I just know I need to find out who this woman is.
“Yes, hi.” McCarter’s confusion is apparent as he shakes my hand.
“I’m Enzo Luciano. My family and I own this fine establishment.”
They both look at me like I have three heads.
It’s official, I’ve lost my damn mind. The Luciano family owning The Vault is one of those horribly kept secrets.
Everyone knows, but no one talks about it.
We can’t have Washington elites frequenting a mafia-owned bar “knowingly.” Even if it is where they all come to get money laundered, unregistered weapons, extra protection, and various other illegal needs met.
Standing next to her, every part of my body feels chaotic and out of control. It feels like a spike of adrenaline has caused my pulse to race and my nerves to light on fire. I’ve never had a physical reaction like this to another person.
“I wanted to introduce myself and ensure you are both being taken care of.” I motion to the bartender to get them another round. It’s clear I’m grasping at straws.
The redhead barely acknowledges my existence.
I turn to shake her hand next, fooling no one as I ask, “And who is this lovely woman joining you tonight?”
She doesn’t extend her hand to shake mine; she tilts her head in challenge. “And why would you want to know that, Mr. Luciano?” Her raspy voice is intoxicating.
I offer a slow, charming grin. “Enzo. Please, call me Enzo. Mr. Luciano was my father.” I wait for the softening—the smile that usually comes when I try to endear people with this line.
It doesn’t come. She remains unaffected.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at my bar, and I make a point of knowing our VIPs. I assume if you’re here with the Speaker, I need to ensure my staff knows to take care of you.”
I’m just taking care of a VIP in my bar, that makes sense.
I tell myself this isn’t simply about attraction—something is off.
My instincts are screaming, and they’ve never been wrong.
I need to know who she is and what she’s doing here with McCarter.
Yes, that’s it. It has nothing to do with the fact that my pulse hasn’t slowed since I saw her from across the room.
She finally smiles and extends her hand. “Well, I am certainly not the VIP that the Speaker is, just a lowly overworked and underpaid Washington staffer.” She pretends to defer to McCarter, but anyone who knows anything sees exactly who is in charge in their dynamic. And it’s not him.
At her touch, my skin sparks. Every neuron in my body wants more contact in more places. But too soon, she pulls her hand away.
“Yes, we are here on business.” McCarter interrupts, with a very clear undertone that it’s time for me to leave. Normally, I’d take his lead and be on my way, but I can’t leave yet. I don’t have her name.
“Of course. Have the two of you eaten? Can I send out any food?” I ask as the bartender delivers their next round. “Caleb, send me the bill for the Speaker and his guest, please.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Luciano—” McCarter says with a curt politeness.
“Enzo. Call me Enzo, I insist.”
He continues, “Of course. No need for food, though, Miss Saint James and I are almost done here. We’ll finish this round and get out of your hair.”
Miss Saint James. Her name floats like poetry in my mind as I commit it to memory. And it tells me several things I need to know right now. He said “Miss,” not “Mrs.” Very important. And Saint James is not likely to be a common name on the Hill, so she will be easily identified by my team.
Lastly, the name is charming, regal, graceful, even.
Which makes it a lie. No one this composed—this precise and calculating—is just a demure staffer in DC.
No. She’s not just anything. She’s strategy in stilettos.
I know danger when I see it. And Miss Saint James is the epitome of danger.
“Take your time,” I respond. “It was a pleasure. Caleb will see to you.” I step back, mask back in place.
The way she returns to McCarter without another glance my way tells me we are both wearing masks tonight.
I dial my sister as I step outside.
Niko follows me out the door, where Luca is waiting by the car.
Eva picks up on the third ring, as I settle inside the backseat. “Hey bro, heading home?”
“Yeah, I finished up with the governor and I’m heading home now. I need you to do your magic and get me a file on someone.”
“Of course. What’s the name?” she asks.
“Last name Saint James. She was here tonight with Speaker McCarter. She said she was a DC staffer.”
The clicking of Eva typing at a keyboard filters through the other end of the line. “Have anything else for me to go on?”
“I don’t know if she works in the Speaker’s office, or somewhere else. She’s either late twenties or early thirties. Tall, bright red hair, green eyes.”
“Wait… Is this for work? Or is this some woman you’re trying to pick up?” Eva teases.
“Oh, come on. When have I ever had to do such a thing?”
Eva laughs. ”Oh right, I forgot, women just throw themselves at you.”
My sister likes to tease me about how little I date. I try to play it off like I’m just a typical thirty-something billionaire, not looking for anything serious. The truth is a little more complicated than that.
Eva is right that women do throw themselves at me.
And I have taken some to bed, but in the decade since my parents died, I’ve carried an anvil-sized weight on my chest that rarely goes away.
The anxiety and stress make it hard for me to let go and sex has never been the release I need it to be.
It has never been as pleasurable for me as everyone else claims. The truth is, after a few years of trying to feel “normal,” it stopped being worth the hassle. I have too much to do anyway.
Maybe if women made my body spark like Miss Saint James just did, I’d feel differently. Is this what attraction feels like? Is it lust? No doubt about that. She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in real life.
“No, this isn’t for personal reasons, E. Let’s just call it a hunch. Think you can find out who she is?”
“Don’t insult me. I’ll see you when you get home.” Eva hangs up.
I immediately call Hudson. My best friend answers on the first ring. “Hey. I just left The Vault. I’m heading home. I’m calling because I may need FBI eyes on someone I asked Eva to track.”
“Big fish?” he asks.
“Hard to tell. Could be nothing, but seems like something.”
“Sounds vague and illegal. I like it. Have E send me what she finds.”
“Of course. Thanks. What are you up to tonight?”
Hudson and I catch up on my drive home. He plans to go to one of my underground casinos. I accuse him of only going there in hopes of running into this woman he’s been hooking up with, a “smoke show” he’s been talking about for the better part of a year now. He admits I’m right.
He’s always asking me to join him, but it’s not my idea of a good time. I’m in the casino business for the money, and it’s my house that always wins.
Hudson and I have been best friends since we were kids. He’s more like a brother to Eva and me than a friend. He had a single mom who wasn’t around a lot. My parents took him under their wing when it became clear he and I were attached at the hip. He fit into our family seamlessly.
It was my dad’s idea for him to go into the FBI. Hudson wanted to work for our family’s business, but Dad decided that he wanted a man inside the Bureau. Hudson was honored my dad wanted it to be him, and that was that.
Dad wasn’t wrong—having an inside man with family loyalty has kept us out of a lot of trouble.
It just means Hudson has to live a double life and I’m constantly worried about his safety.
It also means Hudson and I can never be seen together in public.
That didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but it sucks that a simple invite to meet him out gambling is never a real offer; just an ongoing inside joke in a life that isn’t really all that funny.
When Hudson and I end our call, my mind immediately returns to the redhead.
The beauty at my bar was correct: She’s not a DC VIP.
If she were, I’d already have a file on her.
Knowing the major players in this town is my business.
But sitting at my bar with the Speaker of the House? That’s not a nobody.
The true power players in DC don’t make headlines. No, they make deals in the shadows. And something tells me she’s playing chess while everyone else is stuck on checkers.