"Oh shit," Lorenzo breathes from the backseat.
I recognize the place now. My blood turns to ice.
It's owned by the Irish. A legitimate business on the surface, but everyone in our world knows it's a Costello front. They launder money through the bar. Hold meetings in the private rooms upstairs. Use the basement for things that would make a normal person lose sleep.
Elena just walked into the lion's den. Alone.
"Yeah, oh shit is right," I mutter, checking my weapon before stepping out of the SUV. "Stay here. Be ready to move if this goes south."
The doorman recognizes me immediately—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his hand drifts toward his jacket. But he doesn't stop me. Smart man. Starting a fight on the sidewalk would draw too much attention.
Inside, the club is exactly what I expected. Low lighting. Expensive whiskey. Beautiful people who are probably armed to the teeth. An undercurrent of violence permeates every conversation. I can feel eyes tracking me as I move through the space.
They know who I am. They know I shouldn't be here.
Good. Let them worry.
I scan the room methodically, looking for Elena while projecting the kind of casual menace that keeps people from asking questions. My hand stays close to my weapon. Every sense is heightened. Alert.
I find her in a back corner booth, talking to a middle-aged man who keeps glancing around nervously. He's sweating despite the air conditioning. His hands shake slightly as he gestures. When he looks over Elena's shoulder in my direction, recognition hits me like a punch to the gut.
Elio.
The bastard actually showed up.
White-hot rage floods through me. Part of me wants to march over there and put a bullet in his head for dragging Elena into this mess. For abandoning her. For making her clean up his debt while he hides like a coward.
But I force myself to stay back. To observe and gather information.
Their conversation grows more animated. Elio is pointing his finger at Elena, his face flushed with what looks like anger or desperation. Elena's body language tells me she's upset—her shoulders are tense, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She looks small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the fierce woman who fights with me every day.
That's when I notice them. Two men moving through the crowd toward Elena's table. I recognize them immediately. Costello soldiers. They move with the predatory grace of men who've killed before and will kill again.
My pulse spikes. Every muscle in my body tenses.
Elio's back is to them so he doesn't see them coming. They're almost at the table when I realize I have to act. Now.
I move quickly but carefully through the crowd, projecting calm authority even though my heart is pounding. Elio spots me first and the look of pure terror that crosses his face would be comical if the situation weren't so deadly. Without even checking to see who's behind him, the coward bolts toward the back exit.
He doesn't look back. Doesn't check if Elena is safe. Just runs.
Abandoning his daughter to face the consequences of his debts alone.
He probably lured her here on purpose to sell her out. Fucking pussy.
Elena is so focused on the approaching Irishmen that she doesn't even notice her father's hasty retreat. The fear in her eyes makes something primal and protective surge through my chest. She knows exactly who these men are and what they're capable of.
I reach the table just as they do. Without thinking, I drape my arm over Elena's shoulders and pull her against my side. Shestartles at the contact, her body going rigid with shock. But she recovers quickly when she sees it's me.
The relief that flashes across her face does something to me. Makes my grip on her tighten possessively.
"Everything alright, sweetheart?" I ask, making sure my voice carries enough intimacy to be heard by our unwelcome visitors.
Elena nods and leans into me. Her arm slides around my waist. The contact sends heat racing through my bloodstream. She fits against me perfectly. Like she was made to be there.
Mine. The thought hits me with startling clarity. She's mine to protect.
