“Some of you also drop to your knees for a twenty-dollar bill,” I retorted, as I pushed past her and opened the door.

Being careful not to get my strappy white heels stuck in the steel staircase, I didn’t notice the large meeting currently taking place in the middle of the room until I stepped off the last stair.

I looked up and froze.

Twenty male pairs of eyes pinned me to the spot. All of them filled with the darkness of the Cosa Nostra.

I swallowed.

Meetings were always in the conference room.

Why weren’t they in the conference room?

Nico sat at the front of the room next to his uncle and Luca. Jimmy looked like he was trying to hold back a low chuckle, but the other two, not so much. Ace’s expression said he would strangle me if I was in reach.

Black suits, testosterone, and a thick tension eating away at any oxygen filled the area. Nothing but Abellis seemed to be sitting or leaning against the card tables on one side of the room, including their don, Salvatore, while Russos sat on the other. And smack dab in the middle of them sat a special agent who used his badge to threaten law-abiding citizens for catching feelings for the wrong woman.

His eyes were on me, simmering with an anger that told me I was in deep shit if he caught me alone after this. I was suddenly more worried about his reaction than having to face Ace.

Christian’s fury cooled and burned my skin as his gaze skimmed down my body.

And then I remembered my dress. My very white, very wet dress.

My cheeks grew warm, but I refused to show my embarrassment by pulling Vincent’s jacket closed.

The words were filled with arrogance and amusement. “A hundred bucks says I could make her that wet.”

It was a stupid bet and an even stupider joke, but the fact it came from an Abelli mouth only amplified the tension. Something shifted in the air. The slight lift of a murderer’s lips after a kill. A starving dog catching the scent of blood.

“Watch your goddamn mouth,” Luca snapped. “That’s the wife of a capo you’re talking about.”

The Abelli who sat toward the middle of the room, his ankle resting on his knee, scoffed. “A capo on his deathbed. She’s practically fair game now.”

I shifted on my heels, waiting for the smallest cue to get the hell out of here.

“Touch one of our women against her will and see how fairly we’ll treat you,” Ricardo growled.

“Against her will?” The Abelli laughed. “I could have her begging for my cock in no time.”

Hardly.

Salvatore Abelli appeared almost amused at the exchange, and Ace only sat there, leaning back in his chair, not in any hurry to stop the words from being hurtled back and forth. His eyes expressed how ridiculous he thought this was, but he seemed resigned to let it play out. And I knew why: I was the perfect experiment to see how the families would react to the other’s taunts.

“Keep laughing,” said someone else. “Everyone knows you have to pay for any of the pussy you get.”

A few laughs broke out.

The Abelli’s face reddened. “I’d get more than that. I’ll tell you how her ass feels, Rus—”

Without a look in the Abelli’s direction, Allister pulled a pistol from his jacket.

Pop.

The gunshot reverberated off the walls and rang in my ears. Everything but my heart went still. I stared, watched the Abelli slump from his chair to the floor.

It was so quiet I could hear each drop of water falling from my dress to the concrete floor. Drip . . . drip . . . drip.

A chill passed through me as Christian put the pistol away without a flicker of emotion.

Tony Abelli wiped blood splatter from his face. Luca shook his head. Ace looked at his watch.

“What the fuck, Allister?” growled Salvatore.

The fed’s response was as dry as his eyes were cold. “He was annoying me.”

Strained silence reigned for a moment, and then Jimmy’s booming laughter filled the room, parting the tension like the Red Sea.

My God, this was madness.

I stepped back when everyone’s gazes suddenly came to me. “Um . . . I’m just gonna . . . yeah.” I took the stairs two at a time and disappeared out the door.

I practically ran through the club, my racing heart pushing me outside and back into the rain. It fell on my overheated skin like a cool caress.

The sky was dark and the streets were quiet. Not seeing a single cab, I crossed my arms and headed down the sidewalk to the next block over.

The club door slammed shut behind me. I halted where I stood, feeling his presence before he’d even said a word.

His cold and brutal slaying still played in my mind, sending a shiver of alarm down my spine. Christian Allister didn’t think twice about taking someone’s life. I suddenly feared the day he’d decide mine was too great of an inconvenience.

I turned around, thinking that here, on the street, was the best place to face him rather than anywhere else.

The rain blurred the broad span of his shoulders, the blue hue of his suit, the handsome lines of his face, but the anger in his eyes shone through like a flash of lightning in the distance.

The longer he stared at me, the further the tension stretched, wrapping around my lungs and tightening. His gaze descended over my dress. The look burned, from my breasts, to the wet material sticking to my midsection, to my smooth, bare thighs. It was as real as a rough hand sliding down my body; as tangible as the cool drops of rain on my skin.

He broke the silence. “I’ll take you home.”

It could have been a generous offer, but the displeased edge in his voice, as if he’d rather be doing anything else, ruined it.

Shaking my head, I opened my mouth to refuse—

“I’m not asking you, Gianna.”

I bit my tongue. If I argued with him, I had no doubt he’d carry me kicking and screaming to his car. And I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore.

We walked side-by-side into the parking garage. My skin lit like a beacon to each move he made. My pulse played in tune with his steps. My breath faltered with every minuscule touch of his arm against mine. The tension that lay between us grew tauter with every second that passed. Pulling and pulling, until it threatened to snap.

“What are you wearing?” He said it calmly and slowly, but the anger was laced too finely to be masked.

“Dolce and Gabbana.”

“The jacket?”

I sawed my bottom lip.

“Let me guess, it’s from the Vincent Monroe Collection.”

I didn’t deny it.

He shook his head, letting out a sardonic breath between his teeth.

Uncertainty slid down my back. He was mad at me for interrupting his stupid meeting no doubt, yet I couldn’t seem to hold onto any frustration in return. Not with this pressure in my chest that seemed to expand from a single look from him.

He twisted his watch on his wrist, once, twice, three times. “As much as everyone enjoyed that little show back there—A-plus on the entrance, by the way—I’m still trying to figure out if you’re an attention-seeker, or just an idiot.”

I flinched, knowing it hadn’t been my finest moment.

“My guess is the former. Trying to reel in a crowd for your next husband audition?”

Anger finally lit in my stomach, but I quelled it before it could escape. He was trying to goad me. He wanted me to respond, and I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. This rivalry with him didn’t make me feel good. It often left a regretful and restless feeling in my chest for days after our exchanges. It couldn’t be healthy. I was dropping Christian Allister, just like blow.