Page 45 of Revenge & Ruin

Every look, every flirtation at the poker table.

You’re hesitating again.

Each memory is a piece of evidence that I pin to an imaginary corkboard in my mind.

The most damning memory of all sits front and center, glaring at me mockingly.

Teo Vitale pushed a man down the stairs because he had touched me.

I turn it over and over in my mind.

Why?

The answer is obvious. At least, it would be for any other man. He’s possessive, and a jealous rage isn’t exactly something unique to Teo Vitale.

But why go to such lengths for someone you claim you would kill?

Unless…he couldn’t.

Unless he’s entirely bluffing. Unless I am actually completely safe around him.

It would be the most ideal scenario. The best, even. I could break him that way, force him to acknowledge that he wouldn’t be able to do it, and consequently give up on the Prince’s Hand entirely.

Because I’d die before he got the information he sought.

And he can’t kill me.

I worry my lip as I think this through.

It’s more of a working theory than anything concrete. I just need to put it to the test somehow.

I click my tongue as I check my clock. It’s midnight already.

But this is New York City, and the night is oh so very young.

It takes no time at all to change out of my red dress and into something more…well, comfortable isn’t exactly the word I’d use. The Louboutins may feel soft and familiar, but they’re still staggeringly tall, and I have to be careful when walking over things like grates.

After a moment to consider my short black dress, I impulsively put on a weathered denim jacket. It’s far too large and clashes with the rest of my aesthetic, but in the mirror, it looks like it belongs to someone else.

And there’s that very small possibility that it might just make Teo mad.

Satisfied, I call a cab. It takes less than twenty minutes to find myself in a bar in the East Village. It’s packed with people, clearly undeterred by the late hour, with ample space outside for patrons to smoke and look across the East River.

For a moment, I do, too. Brooklyn’s lights sparkle across the bay, as if beckoning me to cross the territory line.

But a chill wind blows by, and I head back inside to fend off the cold.

It’s the perfect deterrent for cold, really. With that many bodies pressed together, the walls are practically sweating along with us. Music blares through the speakers, causing conversations to take place an inch away from people’s ears.

By the time I make it to the bar, I’m already thrumming with energy. If it’s excitement, anticipation, or nervousness, I’m not entirely sure.

Most likely a combination of all three.

“What can I get you?” the barkeep all but shouts when I finally get his attention.

“Martini!” I shout back.

I bob my head to the music as I wait, covertly looking around the room as I do.

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