Vincent's POV
*****
"So you're certain it's them? The Dragunovs?" I asked with a slight frown as I drove away from Alex's penthouse, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.
The person on the other end of the call was my younger sister, Bianca.
And the topic of our conversation right now is the shooting at the restaurant earlier today.
"Who else could shoot at you during broad daylight?" Bianca asked rhetorically. "Our family has a lot of enemies, sure... But the Dragunovs are the most likely suspects. Think about it. Their patriarch promised to wipe out any heir father produces, remember?"
I shook my head with a heavy sigh but my poker face remained. "The media is already making up so many crazy theories. This is turning into a PR disaster."
Bianca sniggered just then, causing my brows to furrow into a deep frown.
"PR disaster?" Bianca scoffed. "Please. You invited it the moment you chose that role. A queer rom-com? Really, Vince? You know how this family feels about appearances."
My jaw tightened at the almost mocking tone behind her voice. But she was right.
The Morettis prided themselves on their strong conservative views. Well, most of them anyway.
I could only imagine the look on my mother's face after she watched the Golden Globe Awards. She was the only one who showed any interest in my acting career.
Father couldn't care less.
"It's just an acting role. Nothing more." I remarked, parking my car in front of a flashy-looking club. "I have to go. One of my contacts said a Dragunov messenger is at this club downtown. Club Borealis."
Bianca was silent for a bit as I stepped out of the car, scanning my eyes around.
The smell of cigarettes from the men waiting outside and the bright neon lights shining from the sign at the top of the entrance really added to the vibe.
"Well, denial really is a river in Egypt." Bianca suddenly muttered. "Club Borealis is a gay club, brother. So the Dragunov messenger most definitely plays for the same team as your character."
I clicked my tongue, smiling sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm aware of that already. I did a background check and—"
"Ouu, does this mean you want to put your acting skills to good use and seduce the guy?"
My face flashed with embarrassment but I kept my composure, walking toward the entrance and trying to ignore the curious glances from the people outside.
"I have to go now, sister." I blurted, but before I could hit the hang-up button, she chimed.
"Don't cause a ruckus there! And please, be careful. You might be walking into the enemy's den alone and anything can happen."
With that, she hung up.
I pocketed my phone, drawing in a deep breath before walking into the club.
Once I got in, I navigated my way through the crowd of sweaty men dancing way too close for my comfort. My eyes trailed through all of them as I walked past.
A few were even making out under the electric pop music playing.
I kept my face hidden, lowering my head to avoid getting noticed.
"One shot of scotch," I called out to the bartender once I got to the bar, taking a seat.
The guy had his back facing me, his long black hair shaking behind him as he mixed a drink. When he finally turned around, however, my fingers tensed up.
That wasn't just some "bartender". It was—
"Vincent Moretti." The guy's lips curled into a smirk as he took slow steps forward, leaning on the counter. "Glad you could make it."
I squinted, drumming my fingers on the counter. "Roman Dragunov. Who would've thought that you could stoop low enough to work at an establishment like this?"
His eyes glinted with a mysterious light. "I don't work at this bar. I own it." His voice was smooth as silk.
He spread his arms on the counter, scrutinising me with curiosity. "I'm surprised you came alone. What? You're not scared that I'll kill you right here for my grandfather?"
My eyes flicked around the bar just then.
At a corner close to a pillar stood a bulky bodyguard donned in a black suit. His eyes were locked on me, not even trying to hide the animosity.
There was another guard at the east wall, his eyes covered by black sunglasses.
But I could tell he was staring at me as well.
I felt oddly cornered but I wasn't afraid. Not in the slightest.
"You and I know you wouldn't do that, Roman." I brought my eyes back to the smug Russian twink, folding my arms across my chest. "You stopped trying to get under your grand daddy's good graces ages ago. Just like me with my father."
Roman scoffed. "You trying to say we're similar?"
I shrugged, raising my hands in mock defeat. "You just did. Anyway, are you going to waste my time further or will you tell me why my contact told me to meet you here?"
He didn't say anything at first, instead grabbing a bottle of scotch. He poured a bit into a shot glass, his eyes going from the glass to me until he finally slid it to my waiting hand.
"You should know that not all of us Dragunovs are okay with my grandfather's desire to spill Moretti blood." Roman finally began, setting aside the scotch bottle. "This... War between our families has gone on for way too long."
I took down everything in the glass with one gulp, sighing satisfactorily before I spoke. "Yet one of your people shot at me earlier today. Make it make sense, Roman."
Roman smirked, unfazed. "Not my people. Don't lump me in with my grandfather's dogs. He may hold the leash, but some of us are tired of barking on command."
I raised a brow. "So what? You've gone rogue?"
His smirk deepened, and he leaned in across the counter, lowering his voice until only I could hear over the music. "Let's just say… Some of us think bloodshed is bad for business. And between you and me, Morettis and Dragunovs aren't so different. We could be… allies."
I let out a humourless laugh. "Allies? After your family tried to put a bullet through my skull today?"
"That wasn't me," Roman said smoothly, his eyes glinting like a predator's. "But maybe it was meant to scare you. Or maybe someone's trying to make it look like us. Ever think about that?"
I stilled. He wasn't wrong.
The Morettis had enemies beyond the Dragunovs, and a staged attack would throw everyone off balance.
I drummed my fingers on the glass again. "So what are you saying, Roman? Is your grandfather not pulling the trigger anymore?"
Roman leaned back, arms spread arrogantly across the bar. "I'm saying… your enemies are multiplying. And some of them wear familiar faces."
I frowned. "And you're just telling me this out of the goodness of your heart?"
He gave a low laugh, shaking his head. "No. I'm telling you because maybe, one day, I'll need you to return the favour. Until then, consider this a warning… Vincent Moretti."
His use of my full name sent a ripple of unease through me.
And just then, one of his guards shifted, murmuring something into his earpiece.
Roman didn't break eye contact as he added, "Looks like your presence here has been noticed. You should leave before my grandfather hears I let you walk out alive."
With that, he turned away from me, placing his attention on something else.
My lips pressed into a thin line as I sat still, letting myself drown in the music. I took a few more shots, lingering around for several minutes.
Soon enough, my phone buzzed in my pocket — Bianca again, no doubt ready with another lecture.
I ignored it, slipping off the stool. I'd barely made two steps before a voice cut through the music, sharp with anger:
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"
I froze.
Slowly, I turned my head toward the sound.
And there he was.
Alexander Cross.
"Well, well, well..."