Page 21 of Stricken

VLAD

On Friday night, against my better judgement, I step into the Palazzo, my heart racing beneath my tailored suit. The decadent bar sparkles like a trap set with diamonds. Crystal chandeliers cast a soft glow over patrons draped in designer labels. Every face, no matter how docile, is a potential enemy since the place is a known hang-out of the Italian mafia.

What the hell am I doing here?

My new Ferrari sits untouched in the garage, fifteen million dollars of speed and power delivered to my door yesterday. Normally, I would be testing the new ride, yet here I am, chasing a man instead of horsepower. I've lost my damn mind.

I slide onto a barstool, hyper-aware of eyes tracking my movement. "Whiskey. Neat," I tell the bartender, a cute blonde with a practiced smile.

"Of course, sir." She pours the drink into a crystal tumbler filled with ice. "Will you be having dinner? Would you like to reserve a spot on the patio tonight? The weather is quite nice."

I pause, weighing my options. "Inside is fine." Tonight, the walls are my friends. The fewer people recognize me, the better. Even Ivan wasn't fond of my coming here.

As I sip the whiskey to take the edge off, memories from that night in LA flood back. His hands on my skin, his lips trailing fire. The way he moved, confident and hungry. I shift uncomfortably, arousal warring with self-preservation.

This is madness. I'm surrounded by Morelli territory on all sides, by people who'd slit my throat given half a chance. A newcomer in this town where Nicola's family have been reigning since the beginning of this city. However, I can't make myself leave. The curiosity in me is like a potent mix. Curiosity and need to get him out of my system. Because if the race didn't help, then there's only one other way to go about it.

The whiskey burns, but not enough to drown out the echo of Nico's voice in my ear, husky with desire. I close my eyes, savoring the phantom touch of his fingers along my jaw.

"Another?" the bartender asks, eyeing my empty glass.

I nod, unable to push words past the tightness in my throat. As she refills my drink, I scan the room, searching for a familiar silhouette, a flash of those ruthless blue eyes.

What am I even hoping for?

I down half the fresh whiskey in one swallow. Sadly, it doesn't wash away the taste of insanity on my tongue.

I check my phone, minutes crawling by like hours. Fuck, I've only been here twenty minutes. It feels like an eternity. There's a text from Ivan in Russian—asking me if I'm done having a drink. He knows it's not just a drink I'm after though. He heard most of it at the action. Currently, he is outside, waiting for me.

My fingers hover over the bar, ready to signal for a third drink. One more, then I'm out. This was a bad idea from the start.

Just as I'm about to wave the bartender over, a familiar voice floats through the ambient chatter.

"He'll have whiskey. Neat."

My head snaps up, meeting Nicola's gaze. He slides onto the stool next to me, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

"Seems like that kind of night, isn't it, Hot Shot?" he says, voice low and teasing. "Whiskey night is what I mean."

I grunt something non-committal. My cock stirs at the sound of his voice as if it has a mind of his own.

I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing his ear. "You knew who I was when you approached me in LA."

Nico pulls back, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Pure coincidence."

"Bullshit," I growl, but there's no real heat behind it. My body's already betraying me, responding to his proximity, to his scent, his heat, his power.

He shifts his stool to sit closer and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and prickly. "Maybe I just have a type," he says. "Tall, dark, and dangerous."

I snort. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What can I say? I like to live on the edge." His hand brushes my thigh under the bar. "Speaking of which, how about we have a little... reunion?"

I laugh quietly, the sound strained. "You're insane."

"Is that a yes?" Nico's eyes are dark with desire as he holds my gaze.

My gut churns and my cock demands attention. "You know who I am and I know who you are, Nicola." I stress his name as if I need to persuade myself to leave.

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