“Zara,” he says. “The girl from the club. The one who has you moving men like chess pieces and calling herMadrina. I was with you that night in Detroit. I thought you moved on after you couldn’t find her two years ago.”
I glance down at my plate, but I’m not seeing the food anymore. The fork feels heavy in my hand, the memory sinking deeper than I meant to let it.
“She was dancing at Sparks that night in Detroit,” I say quietly. “You probably didn’t notice her. She ignored my request to join us.” Lars laughs at that. “Sure she’s gorgeous, but Christ, Lars...there’s something about her. The way she carries herself. The way she never seemed to fear me, like she could see right through me. Fire, stubbornness, the kind of defiance that brands itself into your skin.”
I set the fork down, my hand curling into a fist beside it. “She wasn’t just another dancer. I knew it then, even before I knew her name. She burned herself into me that night, Lars, and I haven’t been free of her since.”
I pause, letting the edges of that night come back with clarity.
“When we went back to the hotel and I went to the bar, she walked in. Black dress. Eyes like a challenge. It was her birthday. We drank, I ordered cake for her like an idiot, and then...she came back to my room.”
Lars grins, shaking his head. “Cake?”
I shoot him a look, leaning back in my chair. “It was her birthday. It felt like the least I could do.”
He laughs under his breath, propping his arm on the counter. “You gonna tell me what happened after that?”
“No,” I say, voice flat. “You don’t need the details.”
He grins. “So it was one night, Enzo. I’ve had plenty of one-night stands and I wasn’t ready to burn down half of Chicago to get them back.”
“Lars, when it comes down to it, she did what no other woman has ever done. She made me forget who I was for a night,”I say, my voice rough around the edges. “I wasn’t the Don. I wasn’t a Marchetti. I was just…a man. No expectations. No power games. She didn’t want a damn thing from me. Didn’t try to charm me or win anything. She justwas.And for the first time in a long time, I wanted to be lost in the moment. Lost with her.”
I drag a hand down my face, fingers pressing hard against the pressure building behind my eyes. “Then she walks into my club, like the universe decided to throw her in my path again just to see what I’d do with a second chance.”
Lars huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Shit, Enzo…you believe in that shit now?”
I scoff, though the sound carries no real bite. “When it comes to her? I might even believe in God.”
He leans back, shaking his head. “You’re fucked. You know that, right?”
I lift my glass in a mock toast, the liquor catching the city lights. “Fully aware.”
“Just one question, what happens if she doesn’t want to be found?”
“I need her to tell me that herself,” I say. “Knowing she could be out there, locked in with the very people who’d use her, who’d hurt her...” My jaw tightens as I shake my head. “I can’t let that stand. I won’t be able to rest until I know she’s okay.”
Lars studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “Then we find her.”
I glance up, searching his eyes, and find no hesitation there.
“So you’re with me?” I ask.
He drains the last of his drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “I’m with you. Whatever it takes, wherever she is, whoever we have to go through—we’ll find her.”
For a moment, the words hang between us, heavy with everything unspoken. Then Lars leans back, nodding toward my plate. “Now finish your food. I didn’t cook for it to go cold while you brood about some woman.”
I huff out a laugh and pick up my fork again. Loyalty and brotherhood don’t always sound like vows or speeches. Sometimes, it’s just a man making sure you eat while you plot the next war.
The knockat the door is sharp. Two raps. No more. I don’t speak. Don’t move.
It opens anyway.
A guard I don’t recognize—tall, silent, and dressed like he was stitched out of shadows—nods once. “He’s ready for you.”
I stand, smoothing the wrinkle out of the pale linen skirt I’ve been given to wear. My legs ache from inactivity. I follow him down a corridor, my bare feet silent against the chilled marble floors.
The study doors loom like sentries. When they open, it feels like stepping into the lion’s mouth.
