Page 157 of Dark Romeo

He turned his head towards the group of men in black jackets in the roped-off VIP area that I’d been eyeing since we arrived. Merc snapped his face towards me, his eyes wide with realization. “This is one of the Veronesis’ clubs.”

Indeed. We were deep in enemy territory. I’d told Mercutio not to come out with me tonight, but lately he seemed to have become like my second shadow. Anyone would think that he was…worried I’d do something stupid.

“It’s a free country.” I slammed down another shot, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. There was only one Veronesi brother in here tonight, surrounded by his wanna-be goons, all dressed like him in black leather jackets and jeans, all with slicked-back hair. Just one would work.

Mercutio elbowed me to get my attention. “You don’t think I see what you’re trying to do,” he hissed.

I knocked his arm away. “What am I trying to do, Einstein?”

“You’ve been a suicidal prick since you broke things off with her.”

“Jules, don’t embarrass yourself any further. It’s over.”

“I’m going to marry Rosaline.”

“You thought that I loved you?”

I hissed under my breath as the heartless things I said to her echoed back in my head. Every cruel word was a knife I would have gladly taken myself. But they were doubled-ended blades, making twin wounds in both of us. The way her face had crumpled, the tears threatening to spill over, the way she had trembled; these memories were a whip that I punished myself with over and over again. I was an asshole and I hated myself for it. I deserved every foul, wretched thing coming to me.

“This is not about her,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, really?”

After I’d left Jules, I found myself at Mercutio’s place, punching the gym bag he kept in his garage. It took only seconds for him to come out and casually ask me what was up. I had spilled my pathetic guts to him, a moment of pure weakness. Something I was regretting now.

Her, her, her. Why did everything have to come back to her? Why couldn’t she leave me the hell alone for one goddamn minute. The only peace I seemed to get was when I was throwing punches. I did not want to be throwing punches at my best friend. The Veronesis, on the other hand…

“I just wanted to try out a new place,” I lied. “I guess it was just fate that we ended up here.”

“Fate?” Merc gave me an incredulous look. “You’re kicking fate in its teeth.”

“So what if I am? It’s my life.”

“It’s your life?” Mercutio grabbed the front of my jacket. “You selfish prick?—”

“Well, well, well.” A cold, gruff voice cut through us like butter. “What do we have here?”

Mercutio let go of me and spun. Standing before us was Dante Veronesi, built like an Italian soccer player with lean, muscular limbs, the peek of a tattoo showing on his forearm from his jacket pushed up to his elbows, green eyes under heavy dark brows, a permanent scowl on his face. Of all the Veronesi sons, Dante was the dangerous one, the ruthless one, the reckless one, the one you’d never turn your back on. He was the one I had hoped to run into tonight.

He had a man flanked on either side of him, both shorter and stockier, but less scary-looking than Dante, the bulges under their jackets a sign that they were both armed to the teeth. Merc and I were outnumbered. Instead of being scared, a shot of adrenaline rushed through my veins like I’d taken a hit of cocaine.

Merc, the idiot, stepped in between us. “We don’t want any trouble. We were just leaving. We didn’t realize this was your club. No disrespect intended.”

“I don’t know, Merc,” I said, pushing him aside and glaring defiantly at Dante. “I knew this shithole was Veronesi territory as soon as I smelled the inside of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mercutio muttered.

Dante’s lips curled, his entire face contorting with anger. “You have some nerve coming in here and running your mouth. I think someone needs to teach you some manners.”

I plucked a pink umbrella from a cocktail that a passing woman was carrying. “Who?” I waved the umbrella at Dante. “You and your entire boy band?” I flicked the cocktail adornment at him. It bounced right off his nose.

“You son of a bitch.” Dante lunged at me.

Before I could get off a punch, several strong arms grabbed me from behind. More of Dante’s men must have come up behind us. If I hadn’t been so stupid, so blinded by my self-destructive urges, I’d have realized he might have arranged that.

I readied myself for Dante’s hit, but it never came. For some strange reason, Dante’s men were holding him back too. “Dante,” one of his men hissed with a warning. “Not now.”

My eyes followed their line of sight. There was a slightly older man, dressed too formally for a club, walking around slowly, his eyes sharp and peeled, looking at everything except the girls gyrating on the dance floor. An undercover cop.

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