Page 62 of Satin Empire

“I like dancing.” I lean back against the wall and stare up at the windows. The sky is a light blue and only a few wispy clouds blow past. “I guess he just convinced me, okay? It’s not like I hate the idea, it’s more that I don’t have anything else to do.”

“You’re free now, Lana. You can do whatever the hell you want. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Noah’s still not looking at me and a deep sadness falls over me when I notice how hard he’s gripping the railing and how tense his shoulders are. He’s a gay kid living in a world that doesn’t want gay kids, where masculinity is measured in violence, power, and sexual prowess. He’d give anything to get away from the family, even if that meant marrying a stranger, because for him there’s no way he’ll ever make sense as a Capo or a soldier in the Milano Famiglia. But that’s his destiny, whether he likes it or not.

Which is why I brought him here, because while this isn’t my dream, maybe it could be something good for him. Carlo’s going to need help, and Noah’s right, I’m pretty useless when it comes to design and all that—but he’s not. My cousin’s got the best eye of anyone I’ve ever met, and I think he could really build something amazing here if he threw himself into it.

“I was serious down there,” I say quietly and he only tenses more. “You should work for Carlo and help him design this place.”

“There’s no way your husband wants some random-ass guy’s help. I mean, he can hire some seriously high-powered interior designers or whatever to make this place cool as hell. Why would he want me instead?”

“Because I’ll ask him to.”

Noah turns around slowly, still holding onto the railing. His face suggests he is very, deeply skeptical, but there’s a glimmer of excitement in his eyes that he can’t quite hide.

“Why?” he asks. “It’d be your place too. You want it to work, right?”

“I want you, Noah, because you’re one of the smartest people I know, and your talents are being wasted at home.”

He gives me a flippant little smile. “I have a very popular design Tumblr. That’s not a waste.”

“Come on, I’m being serious. I know putting together some random nightclub isn’t exactly your dream, but it’s the first step, right?”

“I would be really good at it,” he concedes. “But what about you? Would I be taking your job?”

“Yes, and maybe that’s a good thing. Carlo got me into this with his enthusiasm, but I don’t actually care about it, you know? I don’t actually know what I care about at all, and I’m pretty sure if I just follow along with whatever he’s doing, I’ll never figure that out. You’d be doing me a big favor.”

Noah nods and I can tell he’s already considering his next move, dreaming up how he’ll turn this barren wasteland of a warehouse space into something cool and exciting. And a sense of melancholy washes over me, because I wish I were more into this whole club project, but it just doesn’t capture me, and I don’t know what does.

That’s the whole thing about being with Carlo—I want to figure myself out, and I don’t know how to tell him that.

Car doors slam nearby. The sound is sharp in the otherwise silent area. Noah perks up and cocks his head.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asks, leaning over the railing and trying to look down toward the door we left open.

“No, but it could be Carlo.” Voices echo from outside. They’re men talking to each other, but the distance and the reverb from the metal walls make it sound garbled and strange.

“Come on, let’s go say hello and tell him the great news. He’s about to have the most popular destination in the whole freaking city once I’m done with it.”

I grin at him and we move toward the door, but I stop suddenly. I hear another voice, this one louder and closer, and I’m suddenly very sure why I couldn’t understand it before.

They’re speaking Russian.

“Noah,” I hiss, grabbing his arm before he can go outside. “Listen.”

“What?” he asks and I have to slap his shoulder to make him whisper. “What’s going on?”

Another voice, this one from inside. Footsteps follow, several different pairs, and the men are speaking quietly but insistently, as if someone’s giving orders.

Noah’s face goes pale. “Are they speaking what I think they’re speaking?” he whispers, gripping my arm. He might not be an important member of the Famiglia, but everyone knows about the conflict with the Russians.

I nod sharply and feel like I might be sick. “Come on, we have to hide.” I already have my phone out. I find Carlo’s number as I drag Noah into the office, moving as quietly as I can, pausing at the junction into the short hall. There’s not much on the second floor, but I hurry toward a door at the far end and slip into a pitch-black bathroom. I flip the lock shut and drag Noah into the corner as he turns his phone’s flashlight on, illuminating the grimy space.

“Come on,” I hiss as Carlo’s line rings and rings. It goes to voicemail. “You fucking asshole, come on.” I call again and let it ring, heart pounding into my throat. If he doesn’t answer and the Russians find us up here, they’ll take us captive—and that’s if we’re unlucky. Becoming Russian captives means we’re staring down real torture, the kind that mentally and physically breaks people and only leads to a horrible, slow death. If we’re lucky, they might just kill us on sight.

“Alana?” Carlo’s voice appears. I can tell he’s not home—there’s noise in the background. “You okay?”

“I’m in the warehouse. We’re hiding in the bathroom upstairs. They haven’t found us yet but they’re coming and I’m so scared.” I feel like I’m going to be sick. My heart’s racing into my mouth and my stomach’s an ugly, twisting wreck, and my hands and feet are both tingling with numbness and terror.

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