Something flickers in his expression. Too fast to read. "I know them."
"Uh-huh." I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of how much skin this dress exposes. "Well, too bad for you. If you tell anyone I was up here with you, you'll end up a missing person."
His mouth curves. Not a smile, exactly. More like amusement he's trying to suppress.
"I have no doubt."
The response throws me. Most men would bristle at a threat like that. Get defensive. Puff up their chests and remind me they'redangeroustoo.
This one just... accepts it. Like he's already factored my family's reach into whatever equation is running behind those eyes.
Who the hell are you?
The question burns on my tongue, but I swallow it. Because asking means staying. Staying means conversation. Conversation means those eyes on me for longer, and I'm not sure my resolve can handle much more of that particular assault.
My brothers would know him. The thought surfaces unbidden. He's got the same energy. Mafia. Has to be. But which family?
I haven't dug into the new operations in a while. Been too busy with our own systems. Too busy avoiding grief by drowning in code.
Doesn't matter. Go home.
"Yes, Daddy," I mutter, already turning toward the door.
His sharp intake of breath behind me is deeply satisfying.
I don't look back.
Amanda's platinum hair is easy to spot in VIP, her head thrown back mid-laugh at something Elio said. He's standing closer than professional distance requires, and normally I'd file that away for later teasing, but right now I just needout.
"Tori!" Amanda's face lights up when she sees me. "Where did you—oh my God, your lipstick is wrecked."
"Elio." I ignore Amanda's rapid-fire questions. "I need to go home. Now."
His posture shifts immediately. Guard mode engaged. "Everything okay?"
"Fine. Just..." I press my fingers to my temples. The room spins slightly. Too much champagne. Too muchhim. "I'm done for tonight."
Amanda's excitement dims into concern. "Babe, we just got here. Are you feeling sick?"
"Tired." The lie slides out smooth. "Long week. I shouldn't have come out."
Elio's already scanning the room, calculating exit routes. "Car's in the back lot. I'll bring it around."
The Porsche glides to a stop inside the compound gates, and Elio kills the engine. For a long moment, neither of us moves.
"I'm sorry." His voice is rough, heavy with something that sounds a lot like fear. "I shouldn't have left you alone. That was?—"
"Elio." I turn to face him, and in the glow of the security lights, I can see the tension carved into his jaw. "You've been watching my back since I was nineteen years old. You've driven me to a thousand places, kept a thousand secrets, and never once made me feel like a burden. You don't owe me an apology."
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "If Dmitri Baganov tells Pietro I left you unguarded, I'm dead either way."
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water.
"What did you just say?"
Elio's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. "Baganov. The man in the club. That was Dmitri Baganov."
I squeeze my eyes shut so hard I see stars.
