Chapter 122

“So you’re a witch doctor now,” I grumble. “Please don’t—”

“It’s not my place to tell Carlo. But you will have to, sooner or later.”

“I am. Tonight.” I reach up and start taking out the clips. “Sorry, Alda, but I want to wear it down tonight.” The hurt look on her face makes me feel guilty. “Maybe we could curl it or something?”

She beams as she dances across the room to get the curling iron. “What a wonderful idea.”

So when I’m finally walking out to the car to join Carlo, I know it’s more urgent than ever that I tell him about the baby tonight. I don’t trust Alda to be able to keep it from him for long. If Emily’s stories are anything to go by, Alda can be a bit of a gossip.

Carlo is leaning against the car, looking me up and down as I approach in the glittering dress Alda wrapped me in. I lift the hem of it just a little to expose a sliver of thigh, giving him a tantalizing look.

He shakes his head. “You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

“Oh, and what’s the cause of death?” I ask as he opens the door for me.

“Blood loss.” He climbs in after me. “Definitely blood loss.”

Our hands are all over each other during the ride over, but I grab his wrists and tug them away when he strays under my dress. His whole body trembles like he’s ready to explode. I would be lying if I said teasing him isn’t becoming one of my favorite hobbies.

I take his arm as we walk under the red façade of Sole Nero, feeling slightly guilty about the line that snakes around the corner, the jealous women giving me looks. But then again, fuck them. They’re not Carlo De Maggio’s woman. I think about what Alda said. Queen. Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad.

An army of staff descends on us at once, falling all over themselves to help us. They take our coats and shepherd us towards a private area with couches and buckets of vodka and champagne on ice. A pair of identical suited men stand in front of the entrance to the lounge, earpieces in, with a look of deadly business in their eyes. It would be comically stereotypical if they weren’t so damn serious.

Carlo’s eyes and hands haven’t left me since the moment we left the house. He’s drinking me in with his gaze, again and again and again, like he’s a dying man in the desert and I’m the last drink of water he’s ever going to have. Once upon a time, it might’ve made me uncomfortable. I suppose it still makes me uncomfortable, at least a little bit—I’ve never met anyone who could hold a candle to Carlo’s intensity, and being on the receiving end of his full attention feels a bit like getting lit up on stage with a gigawatt spotlight.

But that squirmy little voice in my head is much quieter than it used to be. Now, I bask in Carlo’s gaze, do backflips in it. It feels good to be so wanted. It feels really freaking good.

I settle onto the couch as a bottle girl in a skimpy dress hands me a vodka cranberry. I feel that silly little jealous-bitch alarm in my head go off as I look at her. I mean, she’s objectively gorgeous, with a body to die for and those alluring lips that draw men in towards their impending doom. But when I glance at Carlo to see if he’s noticed, it’s as if there is no one in the entire club but him and me.

I shudder. He is an alien in so many ways. But he is mine. All mine. There is no need to be jealous of this girl, or of any other. Carlo truly has eyes for me and me alone.

I look down at the drink she handed me and another shiver races down my spine as I realize that I can’t drink it. For a brief moment there, I’d forgotten about the baby and about the fact that I absolutely must tell Carlo tonight.

Just when I’m tumbling in my thoughts, I feel him slide onto the couch next to me.

As always, it takes only the tiniest touch from him to light my whole body up like a Christmas tree. I feel flushed, despite the cool air, as his fingertips graze my thigh and his lips brush up against my ear.

“I’d fuck you here and now,” he growls. “With everybody in the damn club watching.”

“Watch it,” I warn him, trying not to let the sudden blast of heat through my core be too much of a distraction. I lay a hand on his chest to playfully push him away, but I can’t even bring myself to make the joke. Instead, I curl my fingertips around the edge of his shirt and pull him a little closer to me.

I can hear him chuckle beneath the steady thrum of bass in the air. “Watch you is more like it,” he retorts. I know he’s grinning without even having to look. That arrogant, irresistible grin he’s worn since the second I met him. “I can’t stop watching. I—”

“Excuse me, sir,” comes a voice from above us.

Carlo looks up to see one of his men standing there looking a little concerned. “Yes?”

“I am very sorry to interrupt, sir, but I need to borrow you for just a moment, if that is all right. A question of club business.”

Carlo snarls in irritation, but excuses himself as he extricates himself from me and stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he says to me.

I nod and watch as he steps a few yards away to whisper fervently in the man’s ear. My eyes wander to the crowd, pumping and waving like a sea of people on the other side of the railing. Standing, I walk over to it, subtly setting my drink aside and hoping that Carlo doesn’t notice. I’m still working up the courage to drop the mother of all bombshells on him. Liquid courage is the one thing I need most and the one thing I can’t have, oh irony of ironies.

The people out on the dance floor are sweaty, heaving, and lost in bliss. I settle against the railing and let the music wash me away. My foot taps, my head bops, my lips move to the lyrics flowing from the massive speakers.

“Enjoying yourself?” Carlo whispers in my ear a moment later. His body is pressed against mine from the back. I can feel the insistent throb of his manhood against my thigh. Again, I shudder. How can one touch do so much to me? It should be illegal to think the things I’m thinking of doing to him right now.

I spin around to face him. “It’s not half-bad,” I say with a wry smile. “But all this separation, this sitting-on-the-throne business up here, it gets a little isolating, don’t you think? Why don’t you take me to dance?”

He grins. “As the lady wishes.”

Wrapping his hand around mine, he guides me past the hulking guards and towards the crowd.

We’re halfway across the dance floor when everything happens at once.

A drunk couple comes stumbling off the edge of the dance area and crashes through our clasped hands. I feel Carlo’s fingers desperate to cling to mine, but we slip apart anyway. Two more partiers careen through the gap, dancing wildly, and suddenly there is a gulf of a yard or two between us.

It’s like being out at sea and having waves toss us apart as the crowd pulls Carlo and me in different directions. I can still see him through the heads and shoulders of the dancers, but I’m struggling against the tide to get back to him.

Then—boom.

All the lights go out and the music shuts off. For two or three seconds there is silence, but wait—it’s actually not silence.

There’s somebody screaming from deep within the building.

And with a growing horror, I realize one thing: It is a scream I recognize.

A scream I could pick out from miles away.

I know it so well it’s seared into my memory.

He sounds like he’s in trouble. He sounds like he’s in pain.