Page 215

Tonight, it’s black Tom Ford with a crisp white shirt and burgundy tie. His dark hair is recently trimmed, jaw freshly shaven, and he smells like…Mmmm, yeah.

He smells like I want to climb in his lap right now and bounce on his cock until I see God.

I groan.

Damiano’s brow lifts. “Hmm?”

“You’re distractingly hot.”

The corner of his mouth curls.

“Funny. I was about to tell you I may have difficulty concentrating tonight.”

I glance down at the black silk dress with the thin straps, open back, and very high slit paired with the most fuck-me heels ever created.

I glance at him and wink.

“Sounds like a you problem, Tucker.”

His dark brow furrows, and I giggle.

“What?” I beam. “Not ready for our big night out, Mr. Fannybottom?”

I love that he’s had to use that name again to make tonight happen.

Is it royally stupid? Absolutely. But it comes with a certain pedigree that the crowd we’re seeing tonight wants to see in their event guests.

After we murdered all those rapey wolf pack douchebags, Dame and I wiped the security tapes. We also took our names off the check-in list at the front door. Which means that although there’s a documented paper trail of Mr. Tucker Fannybottom emailing with the likes of Trip Carnegie, even if this particular crew tonight has heard about the wolves of Manhattan being put back on the endangered species list, there’s no record that “Tucker” was ever at that party.

I love a gag that keeps on giving.

The driver we hired for the rented SUV—appearances matter—pulls up to the curb outside the building where the meeting is being held tonight.

Viktor Varga is notoriously hard to get an audience with, apparently almost as tough as Sorel himself. But Damiano used some underworld connections to find out that Varga was making a special trip to New York tonight to meet with three prospective investors in his boss’s Pedos r Us empire.

And bachelor number three is none other than the very sexy Tucker Fannybottom sitting next to me.

I reach for the door handle but Damiano stops me with a hand on my arm.

Whatever happens upstairs, we stay in character.”

“Well…yeah?”

He fixes me with a look. “That includes not killing Varga, tempting though it might be.”

I scowl. “And you told me we’d have fun tonight.”

“Bella. I’m serious.”

“You? Really?”

He touches his forehead to mine, his palm sliding up to cup my cheek.

“You’ve just gone ahead and made fucking with me one of your core values, hmm?”

“You have no idea,” I grin, my eyes shining as they lock with his. “In all seriousness, though, yes, I understand. No murdering Varga.”

Which is such a fucking drag. Varga’s not just Sorel’s number two because they’re buddies. He earned that position. He’s probably one of the most fucking disgusting, child abusing pieces of shit on Earth.