NADINE
This might be the hardest job I've ever taken.
I thought all I needed to do was dress up as a "pretty boy," as was required from the folder description of the kind of individual the underboss, Michele DiAngelo, was into. I thought just appearing before him would make him take a liking to me.
But all my efforts to make him even notice me had proved abortive. I had even tripped myself five times, nearly breaking my ankles in the process.
I rested my hand under my chin, giving a nod to acknowledge the bartender as he set the dirty martini I ordered on the counter.
"Thank you," I muttered.
I clasped the glass in my hand, staring at the liquid while my thoughts drifted to two days ago and everything that had happened.
For a detective with my skill, I'd say it was pretty embarrassing for me—failing not just one or two attempts, but multiple—and even until now, I still couldn't get it.
Still, I was here.
But not in disguise anymore. I was just in my normal appearance, Nadine Bennett. Born and raised in Queens, according to my new papers. Another city girl working the midnight shifts at La Notte. I wanted to see what I was missing. Maybe if I could understand who the man really was, I'd be able to get closer.
I took a sip of my drink, glancing from the corner of my eyes at the VIP lounge where security men in tailored suits flanked the entrance, eyes flicking over every newcomer with clinical disinterest.
I couldn't see the formidable man inside clearly, as it was obscured by a velvet drape, and only a small part of it was open.
Still, I could feel that heavy gaze, the one I had looked into and nearly gotten myself lost in.
The eyes that looked like they could peer into your soul and strip you of every will you had, leaving you bare and weak. And aching.
Describing his eyes isn't a part of your job, Nadine.
I said to myself, shaking off the memory. My phone vibrated and I pulled it out of my clutch, staring at the message that flashed on the screen from my handler, Captain Riley.
"We got your access to the VIP lounge. Enjoy."
I fought the urge to scoff. There was nothing enjoyable about stepping into the lounge. Maybe in another situation, it might be, but right now, I was walking into the devil's lair, standing in close proximity to him in my normal appearance. The thought unnerved me.
But I couldn't back down now.
I downed the drink in one gulp, sliding off the stool. I took a deep breath, making my way toward the lounge, passing by the piano half-hidden behind the bar, playing lazy jazz.
One of the security guards stopped me.
"Your name."
"Nadine Bennett," I murmured.
He briefly glanced at his tablet, brows furrowing, before turning back to me. "What do you have on you?"
"Nothing," I said, looking down at myself. Other than the red clutch in my hand and my phone, I had nothing else.
But he didn't seem to believe me.
"Hand it over," he grunted.
I sighed, giving him my phone, which he checked thoroughly. Then the bastard went ahead to grope me. It was ridiculous that he thought I could be hiding something in a dress fitted tightly to my body.
I mean, if I had a gun or knife on me, it was bound to stick out. So he had absolutely no reason to doubt me.
Regardless, I allowed him to do as he pleased without creating a scene, until he shoved his hand into my dress neckline.
I clutched his hand tight, twisting until I heard his wrist snap.
"Back off," I hissed, shoving him hard enough to make him stagger backward.
My stomach twisted as he growled back at me and began to approach, his gaze menacing. I stood my ground, baring my teeth at him.
He stopped halfway, eyes narrowing as he adjusted the earpiece in his ear. It only lasted a second before his lips twisted down in disgust.
"You're lucky, whore."
I walked in as he stepped aside, stopping directly in front of him.
"No, you are lucky," I replied. On a normal day, I would've broken more than just his wrist.
I pushed past him, scanning the room. I stood in the middle, staring around for a vacant spot, one not occupied by a couple fucking each other or someone snorting coke.
The air was heavy with expensive cologne and the sweet, smoky burn of aged whiskey. I took a deep breath, my legs nearly giving way beneath me. It wasn't entirely the whiskey's fault.
Those eyes.
I could feel them again.
Heat burned low in my stomach, and a strange ache settled between my thighs.
I shoved the thought away, attributing it to me still thinking about Julian.
That jerk.
I sat near a couple making out—begrudgingly. Everywhere seemed to be taken by someone, and they were at least the most decent in the bunch.
I pretended not to notice what was happening, even though I was staring at the man seated at a back table, framed in golden light, deep in conversation with two men.
As if he knew I was watching, he raised his head, and before I could look away, his eyes met mine, unreadable and sharp.
I gulped, my body tensing up. My cheeks flamed, and I tried to look away, but those Vantablack eyes held me captive, daring me to break connection if I could.
The lounge suddenly felt smaller, hotter, and far more dangerous than it should. I shivered, goosebumps rippling across my skin. From fear? Excitement? I couldn't even tell.
Then I did something stupid.
I stood and began to walk toward him on legs I wasn't controlling.
No. This had never happened before. And yes, I was always rational. That was why Captain Riley believed I was the best for this job.
Yet, I was doing everything but that.
As I got closer to Michele, the men guarding him moved to stop me, until he lifted his hand in a dismissive, effortless manner. They stepped back.
"Hi," I grinned, staring at the wine displayed on the table before finally looking at him.
God. He was even more handsome up close. His features were still obscured by the room's dimness, but I could make out sharp, angular lines. A strong aquiline nose and jawline, high cheekbones, full sinful lips that would definitely do a lot more than talking…something unimaginable…something ungodly.
"I'm Nadine." I stated, but again, all I received was silence and his intense stare.
Damn it.
My nerves buzzed, my insides felt jittery, and a sudden electrifying fear I had never experienced before seemed to clamp down on my heart as he continued to stare like he was trying to draw something out of me. Something that didn't feel right.
I swallowed, frantically wanting to escape the awkwardness I had caused. I snatched the opened bottle of liquor on the desk and tipped it straight into my mouth without thinking about what it was.
"Wait…!" Michele spoke.
But it was too late.
The liquid burned down my throat, bitter and hot.
The bottle slipped from my hand. I gasped, clutching at my throat.
"Damn it, woman." Michele snarled in…French.
French?
I opened my mouth to respond to him, but all I managed to do was slur my words. "What did you do to me?"
That was the last thing I managed before the world went dark and I collapsed into his arms.