“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” He turned back around, but I caught the smirk.
My legs felt heavier the higher we climbed. By the time we reached the top floor, my pulse was thudding in my ears.
Dimitri pushed open another door and stepped aside.
A red carpet stretched out before me, plush and deep as blood, leading to a set of double doors at the far end. Two guards flanked the entrance—massive guys in black suits, hands clasped in front of them, faces carved from stone. They didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just watched me with flat, assessing eyes.
My stomach clenched. My heart slammed against my ribs.
This was it.
Dimitri clapped me on the shoulder. “Try not to say anything stupid.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “Actually, scratch that. Say something stupid. I could use the entertainment.”
Before I could respond, one of the guards stepped forward and pulled open the double doors.
The room beyond was all dark wood and old money. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, the curtains drawn against the morning sun. Crystal decanters glinted on a side table. The air smelled like leather and cigars and something else—something ancient and powerful that made my skin prickle.
Angelo Santi sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his long black hair falling over the shoulders of a charcoal suit that probably cost more than a year of my rent at the Mardi Gras Hotel. He looked up as I entered, dark eyes locking onto mine, and lifted one eyebrow.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. The silence said enough.
In the corner, Enzo stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Angelo’s deadliest enforcer. The guy who made problems disappear. His gaze flickered over me—the stained uniform, the squeaky sneakers, the name tag that said Rocky—and something shifted in his expression. Too fast for me to read.
But I could imagine what he was thinking.
How the mighty have fallen.
Dimitri stepped next to me and gave Angelo a mock salute. “Brought him to you. One grease-scented prince, as requested.”
Angelo didn’t acknowledge him. His dark eyes stayed fixed on me. “Still working at Bernie’s?”
“I was.” I kept my voice flat, even though my pulse was hammering. “Now that I’ve been dragged over here, I’m pretty sure I lost that job.”
“Mm.” Angelo’s expression gave away nothing.
Enzo pushed off from the corner and crossed the room, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet. He stopped beside the velvet chair facing Angelo’s desk and gestured toward it. “Sit down.”
I eyed the chair like it might bite me. Velvet. Expensive. The kind of seat you offered a guest—or someone you wanted to keep in place while you delivered bad news.
But standing here wasn’t getting me answers.
I sat. The velvet was soft against my grease-stained uniform. I locked my gaze with Angelo and waited.
He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “I’ll get right to the point, Rocco. You know I have a daughter.”
The air in the room shifted. I caught Dimitri and Enzo exchanging a glance—quick, almost imperceptible. My shoulders tensed.
“Yeah.” I kept my voice steady. “Everyone knows that.”
“I need her protected.”
I waited for more. When it didn’t come, I asked, “From who?”
Angelo’s smile was thin and sharp, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s my business.”
“And?”
