“Yeah. These things take time.”
I didn’t know much about the legal side.
“Has your dad called?” she asked, twisting open a water bottle. “Told you another one of his stories?”
“Of course. He never calls without half a legend.”
“What was it this time? Lupo, the snake, and the raven?”
“No details. But it sounded like a dark fairy tale—some deal gone wrong, a gun, one of his men shot.”
Jenn went dreamy for a second. “That’s so cool.”
I raised an eyebrow. She blinked, shaking it off. “I meant—shit, that’s really bad.”
Grinning, I pulled a blanket over us and settled back. “I’d love to meet those guys someday.”
“You don’t get the glamour,” she said. “Your father sounds like the Don in a movie. And you, the daughter who fought her way out.”
“The daughter who watched men come to dinner in bloodstained shirts,” I said quietly.
She went silent, then lifted her glass. “Okay, maybe uncool. But I’d still take the money he always offers.”
Jenn raised her glass. “To us.”
“To us,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Later, the club pulsed around us. Neon, bodies, a roar of music that swallowed the rest of the world. We danced until our legs felt like jelly, laughed until our throats ached. For once, I was only Daisy—no Miller, no vaults, no stretching weight of history on my shoulders.
“This is exactly what we needed!” Jenn shouted, grabbing my hand. “Let’s hit the Blue-Villian next.”
“Did you plan this, or just know every club name?” I asked.
“Googled it on the train,” she winked. “Gotta find the best places.”
“Then let’s go. But first—another round of tequila.”
She disappeared into the crowd with a grin.
I swayed to the beat, the lights and noise pulling me loose. For a few hours, I wasn’t the woman standing under his gaze. I was just another body moving with the music, and it felt dangerously, deliciously easy.
We wandered deeper into the night. Neon blinked from every corner. Across the street, Jenn pointed. “That’s the NYX. Only the elite get in. I’d kill to see inside.”
Two bodyguards stood like statues at the entrance, arms crossed, scanning the crowd with unblinking intensity. No line. No rowdy mass waiting outside. Only a few carefully chosen people lingered near the door. A man leaned against the wall, phone pressed to his ear, while two women in elegant dresses whispered to each other, eyes darting toward the entrance.
A familiar face.
“Ference?”
“Who are you talking about?” Jenn asked, frowning.
“The bodyguard. He works for Mr. Miller,” I said, pulling her closer.
As we approached, Ference’s eyes locked on us. He gave a small nod, recognition flickering across his face.
“Miss Elfhorn. Good evening. A surprise to see you here.”
I smiled, uncertain. “Hello, Ference. What are you doing here?”
