Chapter 19 When the Devil Walked Down the Stairs [Flashback]

Chapter 19 When the Devil Walked Down the Stairs [Flashback]
I stood in front of the mirror, staring at a version of myself I barely recognized. Black mini dress. Tight fabric. Bare arms. And my chest? Yeah... let’s just say it wasn’t breathing, it was waving.

“I look like I’m shopping for a sugar daddy,” I muttered, tugging at the paper-thin straps that barely qualified as clothing.

Steccy appeared behind me, already fully dressed in red. Hair down, makeup sharp, and radiating an energy that screamed I’ve committed crimes and I’d do it again.

“You look like a girl who doesn’t want to be recognized,” she said.

“And you look like a girl who burned down her ex’s apartment,” I shot back, flat.

She grinned. “If it helps us disappear from Solenzara, I’ll burn it again.”

I grabbed my tiny clutch and checked the contents — fake ID, cash, and a cheap lipstick I didn’t remember packing.

“Your guy… can we trust him?” I asked as we stepped out of the apartment and hit the sidewalk, wet from the rain earlier.

Steccy shrugged. “He’s… connected. Name’s Vincent. Used to work the docks, now he’s like a—logistics guy, underground edition. He can get us out. Spain, Greece, or maybe another dimension.”

“Perfect. Because we’re not running from some loan shark. We’re running from a mafia that throws corpses in canals for sport.”

We climbed into an old cab that smelled like sin. The driver didn’t ask questions. Just gave a nod when Steccy said the name of the club: NOCTURNE.

The name sounded like a fever dream wrapped in classical music. Fitting for a night like this.

The club… wasn’t my kind of place. Two massive guys in suits stood at the door, built like twin refrigerators. Music thumped like a heartbeat chasing its own tail. Blue neon lit up a line of women with legs longer than my patience.

Steccy handed something to the bouncer. Maybe a name. Maybe a signal. The door opened. The world changed.

Smoke. Expensive perfume. Slick floors. Laughter. Screaming. And bass that rattled your bones.

I followed close behind her, walking slow. This dress crept higher with every step. And the stares? They felt like God installed surveillance cameras just to judge me.

“We’re sitting there,” Steccy said, pointing to a shadowy corner in the lounge. A man was already waiting.

Vincent.

Gray suit. Loose tie. Blunt jaw and messy hair that was way too intentional. His eyes weren’t just dark. They were empty. Like his head was filled with secret tunnels and sins that didn’t have names.

“Steccy,” he greeted. His voice was low and smooth, like poison poured into crystal.

“Vin.” They kissed each other’s cheeks. Quick. Formal.

Then his eyes landed on me. “This the little sister?”

I nodded but didn’t offer a hand. “If you’ve heard my name from her, your life probably sucks too.”

He laughed, soft. “I like her.”

“Fix your taste.”

Vincent snapped his fingers for a server and muttered something in Italian. Glasses appeared. Wine. Beer. I didn’t touch any of it. My hands stayed in my lap, fingers tight.

“Heard you’re looking for a way out,” he said, finally serious.

“Fast,” Steccy replied. “Before they find our new address.”

Vincent gave a slow nod. “There’s a boat leaving in three days. Small port down south. But it’s not free.”

I looked at him. “We have money.”

He looked right back. “I’m not talking about money.”

Something twisted in my gut.

Steccy straightened. “Vin…”

“I can set it up. But you need to play tonight. Meet someone. He has to know he can trust you. After that, you’re ghosts.”

“What kind of person?” I asked.

Vincent shrugged. “Someone who makes problems go away. Name’s Matteo.”

He leaned back, one hand toying with an unlit cigarette, the other raking through his thinning hair. “He owns a private dock near the southern coast. Has access to make you disappear without police or Solenzara sniffing around. But he’s…”

He looked at me. That crooked smile slid across his lips like he was about to toss me into a lion’s den. “He’s old school. Likes to see the product first.”

“Excuse me?” My brows pulled tight.

“Not like that,” Steccy cut in fast, shooting Vincent a glare. “He just means Matteo doesn’t trust easily. He has to see us, hear us. If he likes the vibe, he helps. If not… we move on.”

Fantastic. A mafia audition. Who could look least like a fugitive and most like a functioning adult?

I opened my mouth to respond—probably something between screw you and I’ll burn this place to the ground—but a deep voice cut through the air behind me.

“Vincent,” someone called out, thick Italian accent layered over gravel vocals. “You promised me something interesting tonight.”

I turned… and automatically took half a step back.

Matteo stood behind us. Bald head, belly the size of a mini fridge, broad chest stuffed into a linen shirt two sizes too small, and a gold chain around his neck thick enough to qualify as a pet snake. His face? Shiny. Not from skincare, but from grease and sins. Lips thin. Smile too wide. And his eyes… hollow. Like my wallet a week before payday.

“Matteo,” Vincent greeted with a flat tone. “This is Steccy. And the other one… her sister. Aubrey.”

I gave him a short nod. No smile. No words. Too busy fighting the urge to throw a chair.

Matteo looked me up and down like he was inspecting produce at a mafia farmer’s market. Open. Obvious. Rude.

I took a slow breath, arms folded tight across my chest just to keep them from doing something that would get us buried before midnight.

Steccy stepped forward, offered him a handshake like this was a royal tea party and not an actual circle of hell. “Matteo, mind if we talk for a second?”

He nodded, but his eyes never left me. Like I was a puzzle he couldn’t decide whether to solve or set on fire.

“Bree,” Steccy whispered, leaning close. Her voice was low but clear enough. “Head to the bar for a bit. I’ll come get you when it’s done.”

I stared at her. Hard. Long. “If I see him touch your shoulder, I’m throwing wine in his face.”

“Duly noted,” she murmured, then pulled Matteo toward the darker end of the lounge.

I turned and made my way down the crowded hallway toward the bar. My bare feet slipped slightly on the damp club floor. EDM thumped through my ribs. Strobe lights blinked like hell’s own disco. And everyone around me looked like they wouldn’t remember a damn thing in the morning.

Lucky bastards.

The bar was packed with men reeking of cologne and women wearing dresses two inches from being criminal charges. I slid between them and landed in the last seat at the end. The bartender leaned in.

“Vodka tonic,” I muttered. “And don’t get creative.”

He nodded and started mixing.

I grabbed a straw and twirled it between my fingers, scanning the room. Steccy was talking. Matteo was too close. Vincent hovered nearby, smoking and watching like some kind of handler in a predator cage.

I leaned forward and let my cheek rest on my arm. The bitterness in my mouth wasn’t from alcohol—not yet. It was from that feeling. That godawful stuck feeling.

What the hell was I doing here?

Why was I running?

Why was I wearing this skin-tight dress just to convince some sweaty dock lord I wasn’t a threat?

And why—why the hell—was my heartbeat going haywire for the man in black who just stepped off the spiral staircase above?

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t even look at me.

But his presence… the way he moved… the way the room shifted just from him breathing—

Shit.

I knew him.

Or maybe I didn’t. But my body reacted like he was something that would carve himself into my life and never leave.

Shit.

Don’t come over here.

Don’t look at me.

Don’t—

His eyes locked with mine.

One second. Two.

Three.

Suddenly, the air around me was too warm.

That was the first time I saw Zade Solenzara.

And honestly? I should’ve run that night.

Because the second he started walking toward the bar… my whole life whispered back:

You’re going to break for him.

And the worst part of me… agreed.