Of course she was.
Hadn’t fucking listened to a word I’d said.
The little lamb was going to get herself devoured. She was strong-willed. Stubborn. Trouble in a twenty-year-old body built for sin.
I shut the screen off, stood, and grabbed my bag. Time to deal with bigger problems.
Club Xyst sat like a rare jewel in the heart of the Meatpacking District. From the outside, it didn’t project anything more than exclusivity—columned promenade, understated lighting, tinted windows. The front doors were still locked for the day. No sign of Slade yet. I keyed in the access code and stepped into silence.
Inside, a long bar ran almost the entire length of the left wall, mirrored and lit to showcase the club’s top-shelf collection. A central dance floor gleamed under a giant chandelier. Booths lined the right-side wall, and a low stage at the back waited for whatever performer or DJ was booked for the night.
To the left, behind a velvet rope and a biometric scanner, was the guarded staircase that led down into the real moneymaker—an underground speakeasy with leather-wrapped poker tables, a place that provided the utmost privacy for those who had a membership.
Above the main floor, two wraparound balconies with private tables looked down at the dance floor below. And at the verytop—accessible only by elevator—was the real power center: the office with one-way glass and access to the roof.
Normally, at this time of day, the guys would be hovering.
Lucian, with his sleeves rolled up and sweating as he ensured every detail was perfect for our exclusive patrons. Lachlan checking the lighting, sound, and security. Gabriel flirting with the bartenders and waitstaff, doing what he could to make the place run smoothly. Julian in the background, watching everything without saying a word.
Today? Empty.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
There was one guy on a ladder behind the bar, restocking the shelves, sliding bottles into place. But no music. No noise. No familiar voices.
I stepped into the private elevator and palmed the scanner.
The doors opened at the top floor. As I stepped out, Aria glanced up from the desk with that cool, classy composure she wore like lipstick.
“Mr. Volkov,” she said. “Good afternoon.”
“How are you doing, sweetheart?”
She grimaced. “I’d be better if Mr. Genovese weren’t here. With Vinny.”
I swore under my breath.
“Didn’t know he’d be visiting today,” I said.
“Neither did we. He’s in the office with the guys. Whatever meeting they’re having doesn’t look friendly. And if this goes anything like last time, I’d brace myself.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I told her. “Time to show Luca and his lapdog the door.”
She straightened her spine and went back to her work.
I rounded the receptionist desk, exited the lobby, and walked toward the office.
It pissed me off that Luca thought this place was his now.
Mere months ago, Xyst had been Ana’s.
Her pet project. Her sanctuary. Her illusion that made her believe she could live in the shadows without getting seen.
She’d never wanted the other guys pulled into our world. She’d lied to them about who she really was, thinking it would keep them safe. God, she was naïve as hell.
I’d tried to keep her from learning the truth, too, for a long time. Worked damn hard to keep her sweet and sheltered throughout her college years. But eventually, Ana had gotten bored.
