Page 118 of Tainted Ties

Too quick for me to enjoy his touch.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he whispered against my mouth.

I swallowed the doubts that resurfaced and gave him another fleeting kiss.

“Gather around, everyone.”

In seconds, we were surrounded by our crew and the night breeze that chilled my bones.

“Inside, we split up,” Roman asserted. “Enzo, Aurora, and I will take one corner. Luca, Ricardo, and Nico will take another. The rest of you spread out and wait for destruction. Any questions?”

“Can we celebrate afterward?”

Leaning forward, I saw pale-blonde hair and chocolate-brown eyes.

“Nico,” Roman irately groaned, rubbing his temple. “Be serious for once, kid.”

“I am!” His hands flew up in the air.

“I should’ve left you at the house.”

Nicolai scoffed, sheathing his knife inside his shirt sleeve.

It seemed that the MafiaDonhad a soft spot for someone other than his wife.

No one else had the advantage of pushing Roman’s buttons except for the young man muttering profanities under his breath.

It was then that Stefano appeared, eyes sharp and determined.

It was time.

Aside from our men disguised as security, entering the nightclub was easier than I thought with how packed it was.

The space was dark, lights strewn out on the ceiling to cast a light glow against the crowd.

The deep echoes of music blasted through the chattering of people.

The mix of body odors and alcohol were strong as Enzo, Roman, and I made our way through the crowd.

As instructed, we stood in one area, assessing our environment.

The corner we occupied was secluded enough for us to be hidden from anyone who might recognize us, which was unlikely, especially with the itchy blonde wig I wore.

“I don’t see him,” Enzo pointed out, lighting the cigarette in his mouth.

“When did you start smoking again?”

His only answer was the exhale of a puff of smoke.

“Over there,” Roman interrupted, saving my brother from a lecture.

We turned in unison to catch his line of sight.

Angelo Bianchi stood with two men at the far side of the lounge space, laughing at something one said.

He had on a black suit, his salt and pepper hair sleeked back to perfection, and a conniving smile that made me want to hurl.

“Motherfucker,” Enzo cursed, taking another drag of his cigarette.

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