Page 21 of Bastard Prince
She was fuckin’ amazing.
The two women launched into an animated discussion, listing all the things they loved about Las Vegas, with Jacqueline dropping several mentions of her own boutique jewelry stores that dotted the Strip. When they started talking best shopping spots—even though I knew it was killing Francesca to carry on that conversation—I excused myself, placing a kiss to my wife’s temple and finding our seats.
I was halfway through my first drink when Francesca joined me again, giving me a playful glare as he approached our table. I stood, pulling her chair out for her, then sat again and offered her the glass of whiskey I’d ordered on her behalf.
“Figured you’d need this.”
“Holy shit, yes,” she said, taking a long sip and letting out a moan I felt in my goddamn gut. “Thank you. You owe me more than a drink for that, though.” She shot me some side-eye and let out a dark chuckle. “That woman is...intense.”
“That woman is a fuckin’ legend around here.”
“I thought the New York women were a lot to handle, but Jacqueline is in a category all unto herself.”
“She has a seat on the city council, her husband’s the mayor, and his family owns some of the most exclusive jewelry stores in the country. She has every right to be as extra as she wants. The woman has come a long way from her humble roots, and I honestly admire her.”
Francesca pursed her lips. “The mayor and his wife are both on the council? Isn’t that interesting. Sounds like a risky venture.”
“That’s the thing about Vegas, babe; everything is high stakes.”
We settled in as our dinner arrived and I pointed out some of the more notable people around the room, Francesca taking it all in over our soup course. The room had been set up with round tables of eight, and we had a couple on either side of us, but the two chairs across from our seats remained empty.
By the time the salad course was served, I realized I was having a good time, which shocked the shit out of me. Usually, I hated any kind of stuffy event, but sitting here next to my wife, enjoying some decent food and even better tequila, I realized that maybe the event hadn’t been the problem before.
Maybe it had been the company.
But, like anything in my life, I shouldn’t have thought I was getting off that easy.
I could tell the moment they stepped into the room. I didn’t know exactly what I was feeling, but there was a shift in the air, a sense that danger was approaching. Years of living off my instincts had taught me not to ignore my gut, and I wasn’t gonna start now.
I scanned the room, my eyes darting around the busy tables full of chatting people, not seeing the cause of my unease, but I knew it was there all the same. Francesca looked at me, a frown wrinkling her brow, but then she picked up on my mood almost immediately, her own keen eyes searching for danger as well.
Finding nothing, I was beginning to doubt my own mind, when a voice I had hoped to never hear again shattered the quiet of our table.
“Oh, look, baby. These are our seats.”
Of fucking course she was here. She knew it was where I was going to be tonight, having been my date to his very event for the last two years, and she probably just couldn’t help herself.
Looking up from my plate, I glared at Amber as she smirked down at me, the look on her face telling me she thought she had won this round. And maybe she had, but the fight was far from over.
Schooling my face, I leaned back, one arm going around the back of Francesca’s chair, the other reaching for my drink, not letting my anger show on my face. I slid my gaze from her and took stock of the man beside her, doing my best to hide my shock when I finally realized who she was here with.
Gregor Belikov, second in command in the Belikov Bratva and number three on my current shit list, behind his uncle Anton and whoever had a hit out on my wife.
Gregor smiled, his smarmy face showing the exact moment he saw my recognition, and he extended his hand over the table.
“Nice to see you again, Enzo,” he drawled, and I was forced to stand and take his hand, so I didn’t look like a petulant child. “And your lovely wife as well. Francesca, was it?”
Francesca smiled but said nothing.
“I’m sure you both remember Amber,” Gregor went on, gesturing to the bitch in question. She was wearing a bright red dress that had no straps and was definitely more trashy than sexy, her boobs squished inside the too small top and lookin’ like they were about to spill out all over the fuckin’ table.
What had I ever seen in that woman?
“Sorry we’re late,” Amber simpered, batting her eyelashes at Gregor as they took the empty chairs across from us. “We were,” she bit her lip suggestively, “busy.”
If she was expecting me to care, she was gonna be fuckin’ disappointed.
Francesca gave a condescending snort, but otherwise remained silent.
