Because, again, my idea of sexiness is rooted in black and white movies from the 1940's and the first “femme fatale” name I could think of was Vivian Leigh.
I really do deserve all the good-natured ribbing my friends give me.
“Exactly,” I smile at him, watching the way he sways on his feet, his gaze unfocused. “So why don’t you find a seat at the bar, baby, and I’ll be right back to rock your world.”
Rock your world.
I mean, shoot me.
But again, he’s so drunk he probably thinks there’s two or even three of me. So he just smiles a messy grin at me before weaving his way over to the bar.
I exhale slowly as my stomach knots.
Step one was to get inside. Now comes the hard part: finding the devil and seeing exactly what part of my soul he wants in exchange for granting me the favor I need.
I take a slow breath as I turn to survey the X-rated scene in front of me. My face heats as I then lookpastthe orgy, toward a hallway leading to what I hope are the private rooms and lounges.
That’s where the devil is waiting for me.
I edge around the perimeter of the room, making my way to the dimly lit hallway with the blood-red wallpaper and brass sconces.
Technically, the devil isn’twaitingfor me. In fact, he’s not expecting me at all. I’m hoping that gives me an advantage.
I’m not usually intimidated by power. I was raised in one of the most powerful bratva families in the country. My father sat at the Iron Table along with the heads of several of the most powerful families in the Russian mafia before my brother, Roman, took over at the helm of the Nikitin Bratva.
But Vaughn Bancroft is a whole other level of power. Of darkness. Of danger.
Honestly? He scares me, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Because that’s not being a wuss, that’s survival instinct. You wouldn’t apologize for being afraid of a great white shark you came across while swimming in the ocean, or a snarling, hungry wolf you found yourself face to face with in a dark cave.
But again, you do what you have to when it comes to family. Even the family you know deep down is poisonous to you.
And the smoke and mirrors with the wig, the mask and the phony name? It's not just so I’m not recognized by anyone here at Club Venom, or because Vaughn scares me.
It’s because Vaughnknowsme.
And he knows me as Evelina the perpetually-in-pink, always smiling, innocent bratva princess, because his younger brother Val is one of my best friends. Val dances professionally in the Zakharova Ballet with me. He also happens to be dating my brother, Roman.
Evelina the Pink Princess isnotwho can meet with the head of the Obsidian Syndicate tonight. It’s one of the most powerful, shadowy, and secretive criminal organizations on the planet.ThatEvelina would be laughed out of the room.
The very energy of the club thickens as I walk down the sultry red hallway. A door to a private room opens as I pass, and I gasp when a couple tumbles out of it: her carrying her heels, one of her dress straps slipping off her shoulder, him with his tie and several buttons of his shirt undone. I glance back at them and immediately feel my whole body stiffen when I see him press herto the wall and bury his face in her neck, making her whimper as she grabs his ass.
I don’t belong here.
The two huge men in black suits standing outside a nondescript door would be enough of a giveaway that this is room I’m looking for. But I also know that the inner circle of the Syndicate is meeting in private lounge thirteen tonight because Istolethat information.
Two weeks ago, Val left his phone unlocked on the edge of the stage after rehearsal. Me, being in full recon mode for my plan, took the opportunity to snoop for anything that might be useful. That’s when I found the text from Vaughn to his younger brother, inviting him to this party tonight here at Venom.
Val’s response: lol fuck no, not my scene anymore.
It’s not my scene, either, by a freakingmile. But one of usistaking Vaughn up on his kind invitation tonight.
The two guards in matte black masks barely acknowledge me when I come to a stop in front of the black door with the brass number thirteen on it, along with a blood-red emblem of a viper—the sigil for Club Venom. I take a shaky breath, feeling like I’m growing smaller as I dig my nails into my palms.
“Arcana sub silentio.”
Secrets under silence.
It’s the code word for entrance to the party, courtesy of more snooping in Val’s phone. The two guards barely make a move. One of them simply dips his chin, reaches his arm out sideways, and twists the knob of the door before pushing it open.
