Chapter 23: Wild Night

By the time we reached Rosetta’s place, I could feel the night thickening around us — heavy with the promise of trouble.

Good trouble.

The kind of trouble that made your pulse race and your father’s blood pressure spike.

Rosetta’s apartment was exactly what you’d expect from her — a chaotic shrine to bad decisions and expensive taste. Velvet curtains in deep crimson. Black leather couches. Crystal ashtrays overflowing with lipstick-stained cigarette butts. And the faint, intoxicating scent of her favorite perfume that always made me think of fast cars, whiskey, and violence.

She disappeared into her bedroom the second we stepped inside.

“I’m showering,” she called, her voice muffled by the door. “Five minutes.”

Camilla snorted. “Rosetta’s ‘five minutes’ is like… twenty-five.”

I rolled my eyes and flopped onto the couch, kicking off my boots. My adrenaline was still buzzing from the escape, but now it was mixing with anticipation for what came next. Freedom was addictive, and I’d just gotten my first hit of the night.

Julia was already at Rosetta’s vanity, touching up her eyeliner like we were walking into war.

“We’re going full black, right?” she asked, meeting my gaze in the mirror.

“Full black,” I confirmed. “We’re not just going to the club. We’re making an entrance.”

When Rosetta finally emerged, she looked like sin dipped in midnight. The black dress clung to her curves like it had been sewn on, and her long dark hair tumbled down her back in glossy waves.

“Well?” she said, spinning slowly. “Do I look like I could ruin a man’s life?”

“You look like you already have,” I said, grinning.

She winked. “Several.”

I hit the shower next — quick, efficient — letting the hot water burn the lingering scent of my father’s house off my skin. By the time I stepped out, my mind was already in the club. I slid into my own black dress — short enough to be scandalous, fitted enough to be dangerous. The fabric hugged every inch of me like it was made for my body. My hair fell in sleek, dark sheets around my shoulders. The makeup was sharp. Lethal.

When we finally stepped out of Rosetta’s apartment together, we looked like a unit.

Like royalty.

Like the kind of women who didn’t just enter a room — they conquered it.

Camilla tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”

I caught them midair. “Gladly.”

The drive to Club Dagger was a blur of city lights and bass-heavy music spilling from the speakers. The streets were alive, the night air thick with the scent of gasoline, fried food, and danger. We passed blocks of neon signs, shadowed alleys, and men who turned their heads just to watch us speed by.

Club Dagger was new — the kind of place whispered about in circles where power and money overlapped. The building itself looked like something out of a fever dream: black glass walls, blood-red lights tracing the edges, and a line of luxury cars parked outside. Bouncers in tailored black suits guarded the door like sentinels.

I parked the car, killed the engine, and stepped out, letting my heels hit the pavement with the kind of click that made men turn their heads.

The girls followed, perfectly in sync.

The bouncer at the door gave us a once-over and smiled. “Ladies.”

I didn’t even have to speak. He opened the rope and let us in without question.

The inside of Club Dagger was a sensory overload. Dark, pulsing lights swept over the crowd. The bass thumped so hard I could feel it in my bones. The air was thick with the smell of perfume, sweat, and alcohol. Bodies moved like shadows on the dance floor, and the bar gleamed under low red light.

We headed straight for the VIP section, because obviously, that’s where we belonged. The moment we sat down, a waitress appeared, all doe eyes and glossy lips, taking our drink orders.

“I want the bottle,” Rosetta said. “Something expensive enough to make my father cry.”

I leaned back, taking it all in. This was our world tonight — not my father’s estate, not Alessandro’s silent judgment. This was chaos wrapped in velvet and gold. And I was hungry for it.

When the drinks came, we didn’t sip them. We drank like we were trying to drown the rules we’d been born into. Camilla downed her glass and immediately dragged us to the dance floor.

The music swallowed us whole.

It was hot and loud, the beat thrumming through my chest. My dress clung to me, my hair stuck to the back of my neck, but I didn’t care. I moved with the music, laughing with the girls, tossing back my head as the crowd surged around us.

At one point, a stripper climbed onto the small stage in front of us. She was stunning — glitter clinging to her skin, long legs catching the light with every move. Rosetta screamed and pulled a wad of cash from her clutch, tossing bills like rain.

Julia joined in, cackling. Camilla and I followed, spraying money and hollering like lunatics. The dancer laughed, flipping her hair, and kept moving, her body a perfect rhythm.

In that moment, nothing existed outside of this room. Not my father. Not Alessandro. Not the consequences waiting for me tomorrow. Just music, money, and the electric high of being untouchable.

It wasn’t until I felt my bladder protesting that I remembered I was still human.

“I’ll be right back,” I told the girls, leaning in close so they could hear me.

They barely nodded, lost in the music.

The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway, past a cluster of booths tucked into the shadows. That’s when I saw them — a group of men, all in black. Not the slick, fashionable black of the club crowd, but the utilitarian black of men who didn’t come to dance. Their heads were close together, voices low. One of them glanced up as I passed.

Cold eyes. Measuring.

My instincts prickled, but I ignored them. Clubs like this attracted all kinds. And tonight, I was off duty from caring.

The restroom was crowded, the air thick with perfume and the sharp tang of cheap hairspray. I handled my business quickly, washed my hands, and checked my lipstick in the mirror. Still perfect.

When I came out, the men were gone.

Good.

I slipped back into the VIP section, weaving through the crowd until I found the girls exactly where I’d left them. Rosetta spotted me first.

“Where’d you disappear to?” she shouted over the music.

“Bathroom,” I said, grabbing my drink from the table.

Julia shoved hers toward me. “Here, finish this.”

I took a long sip, letting the burn slide down my throat. The bass thumped, the lights strobed, and the world spun in the best way.

We danced again, losing ourselves in the music. Laughing. Spilling drinks. Living like the night would never end.

But then—

The air changed.

It was subtle at first — a shift in the crowd’s energy. The way people stopped moving all at once, like the music had faltered even though it hadn’t. Heads turned toward the entrance.

I felt it before I understood it. That tightening in the gut. That whisper of danger threading through the air.

The first scream sliced through the bass.

Then another.

Chaos rippled outward like a wave, shoving into us before I could react. People were moving fast, too fast, their faces twisted in panic. Glass shattered somewhere behind me.

And then —

The first gunshot cracked through the music.