Page 70 of King of Praise
Her smile widens fractionally, her perfectly white teeth on display. “Indeed it does, Micah. Indeed it does. If I were you, I’d reconsider your alliances. I can—”
A commotion near the entrance draws Francesca’s attention—raised voices and the distinctive sound of breaking glass cutting through the sophisticated murmur of conversation. Her head snaps toward the disturbance. Her composure cracks for just a moment, revealing annoyance.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she says, her smile now strained. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”
She glides away, her wine-colored dress a splash of dark elegance against the modern decor. The interruption couldn’t have come at a better time. Continuing that conversation would have only led to more dangerous territory.
I learned enough anyway. The pieces are falling into place, forming a picture I don’t like. First, that drunk Gallagher kid, Michael, knowing details about the attack on me at the club. Then Francesca’s timely interruption and pointed comments about Nicolo and the King family’s history.
Francesca is showing her cards. Her confidence in her position is a mistake. She has put too much trust in her alliance with Nicolo.
I set my barely-touched scotch on a passing waiter’s tray and make my way toward the exit, careful to maintain an unhurried pace. The security team barely glances at me as I leave. Their focus is drawn to whatever situation Francesca’s handling inside.
The night air hits my face like a splash of cold water, clearing away the stuffy atmosphere of wealth and hidden agendas. My truck’s exactly where I left it, a deliberate choice of vehicle that wouldn’t attract notice—not too cheap to raise eyebrows at a gathering like this, not flashy enough to be memorable.
As I slide behind the wheel, my first instinct is to call Naomi, tell her I’m on my way home. But I can’t. I still have business to deal with.
Zeke and the others are waiting for me at the club, and they aren’t going to like what I have to tell them.
The city lightsof Columbus blur past my window as I navigate back toward Club Velvet Petal, my mind racing to organize the intelligence gathered. Each piece forms part of a larger puzzle I need to present coherently to Zeke.
Fuck, I’m getting too old for this cloak-and-dagger shit.
The sustained vigilance required to maintain my calm demeanor at Francesca’s event has left me mentally drained. Only thoughts of returning to the cabin—to Naomi—keep me focused on completing this final task of the night.
Naomi. Just her name alone sends a surge of longing through my body. I adjust myself in my seat, forcing my attention back to the road and the business at hand. Personal indulgence must wait.
The club’s neon sign casts a purple glow across the nearly full back lot as I park in my usual spot. Music pulses from inside—the bass heavy and sensual. Another packed night from the looks of it. Good for business, but it means navigating a gauntlet of writhing bodies to reach Zeke’s office. Not ideal when I’m already fighting exhaustion.
Inside, the dance floor is stuffed with intertwined bodies, skin gleaming with sweat under strobe lights. The air is thick with perfume, alcohol, and desire. On any other night, I’d appreciate the primal energy of it all. Tonight, it only intensifies my desire to complete this debrief and get back to Hocking Hills.
What I wouldn’t do to already be balls-deep inside Naomi’s sweet, tight pussy.
A drunk woman stumbles into my path, her glazed eyes lighting up with interest as she takes in my size. Before she can speak, I step smoothly around her, maintaining my purposeful stride toward the back stairs.
Zeke’s office provides immediate relief from the chaos below. The sound-dampening system muffles the club’s pounding rhythm to a distant heartbeat. Eli and Seb are already present, their expressions expectant as I enter. Zeke himself stands behind his desk, every inch the commander awaiting field intelligence.
“Well?” Zeke’s asks.
I sit, gathering my thoughts. “Francesca’s more dangerous than we anticipated. She’s combining old-school brutality with modern business acumen. The guest list tonight included three state senators, multiple tech entrepreneurs, and what looked like most of Columbus’s legitimate business community.”
“Buying influence,” Seb interjects, his usual playful demeanor subdued.
“Successfully,” I confirm. “But that’s not our biggest immediate concern. Every family was there by invitation except us.”
“Fuck,” Zeke mumbles.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Remember that Gallagher lieutenant? Dark hair, late twenties, drinking like he’s trying to pickle himself?”
Eli’s eyes narrow. “Michael Sullivan?”
“That’s the one. Kid got drunk enough to start blabbing about the gambling night attack. Felt like he knew more than he should. Francesca interrupted before I could question him further. Her interruption felt deliberate.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. We’ve suspected a leak since the attack, but confirmation still stings. Betrayal always does.
“You’re certain?” Zeke’s voice remains steady, but I catch the dangerous undercurrent.
“He knew enough that it made me pause. And he saidwealmost had you.”
