“Lucien, did you invite the Romeros?” The question is out before I’m three feet from him.
Lucien hands me a glass of bourbon and takes a sip of his drink. “Yes, I thought it would look less obvious I offed their cousin if they were invited. Not to mention they do have money, maybe not as much as they used to, but it would have looked strange, I thought, if I hadn’t extended the invitation.”
“It would have looked perfectly fine. There isn’t any love lost between our families, hasn’t been for many years, even before Briar.”
“She knows they’re here and is well guarded and will stay clear of them, but she knows what she has to do to keep what we have safe. So if she can play that role this evening, so can you.” My brother pats my chest before giving my face a light slap. “Okay, brother?”
“I’d prefer to off them myself than have to see them here.”
“We’ll try not to, but I hear they’ve hired a new law firm. Redwood & Tully from all accounts. Matteo’s cousins have inherited his assets, and they want the law firm to look into their whereabouts and whether they can do anything with them. I hear Matteo had more real estate than I realized. We may be able to do a deal with these two goons; they don’t appear as bright as Matteo, not that he was ever overly intelligent either.”
I scoff and see our head of security and cousin Anthony walking around the room with Briar as she speaks to guests. My attention moves over those who are already in the dining room. My heart slams into my chest at the sight of Dallen, with her delightful mother at her side, and I’m assuming the tall, middle-aged gentleman behind them to be her father.
“Ah, yes, the Chief of Police is here. I put him at your table. I thought you’d find the night more interesting with him as a table guest.”
Lucien’s laugh grates on my nerves, and I seriously consider for a moment popping him one on the jaw. “Yeah, sure.” I narrow my eyes on the three of them. “Is that their daughter?” Dallen can’t be the Chief of Police’s daughter.
“Yes, Dallen Byrne…” Lucien claps me on the shoulder, and I still. “Hey, isn’t that the redhead from the club the other night? The one you left with?”
I nod, downing the last of my bourbon. “Yeah. Same one.” Shit.
“Well, your night just got even more enjoyable. Behave yourself,” Lucien says, before sauntering off.
I don’t move, unable to shift my weight forward.
The room's noise dulls to a distant hum. It is like I've been pushed underwater. All I can see is her. Dallen. Silver dress skimming her curves. Red, luscious hair twisted up to show off that soft throat I've kissed. Her hand looped through her mother's arm. Her smile tight, brittle. The man behind them—tall, graying, built like he used to be a linebacker—watches the room with a cop's discernment.
Chief of fucking Police.
Of course he is. She’s a damn lawyer; why wouldn’t he also be in law enforcement?
Heat creeps up the back of my neck, a charred flavor settles on my tongue that tastes a hell of a lot like insult. I drag in a breath, rolling my shoulders back, setting my face into that calm, bored expression that gets me through board meetings and murder cleanups alike.
She didn’t tell me he’s the Chief of Police.
I’m a Moretti.
That won’t suit, no matter how you try to force them to. It would be like two magnets flipped over, forever moving around each other but never coming together.
I let the thoughts settle, line themselves up. It doesn’t change what happened in the car. It doesn’t change how her nails dug into my shoulders, or the way she whispered my name like a prayer and a curse combined when she climaxed on my cock. It doesn’t change that, when I wake up, she’s the first thing I think of.
I take one step, then another, crossing the room.
A few heads turn. They always do. People see my face, they see the tux, the watch that costs more than most cars, and they decide I’m important or dangerous or both. And they’re right.
Dallen looks up at that moment, like she can feel me coming. Her eyes go wide. The color drains from her cheeks so fast I almost think she’s going to faint. Her gaze flicks from me to Lucien across the room, to the huge Moretti crest on the sponsor backdrop near the stage, and back to me.
There it is. Recognition. Not Stephen-who-made-her-come-in-the-backseat-of-his-car. Stephen Moretti. At least I know she’s now Googled me. Maybe I won’t have to explain myself or my family’s past after all. As a lawyer, I think she knows more about me than I do.
My stomach knots as her features harden the closer I move toward her. Dallen’s fingers tighten on her mother’s arm before she, too, follows her daughter’s line of sight, and her lips thin when she sees me. She’s already met me once, with a less-than-favorable response, like I smell wrong.
Rotten maybe.
Now her eyes are ice.
Obviously, I won’t be winning Dallen’s mother over.
I don’t slow down because I need to face this directly. I’m not the one who hides; if there’s fallout, I want to deal with ithead-on. They came into my world, not the other way around. “Dallen,” I say when I’m close enough. Her name fits in my mouth too easily. It shouldn’t.
