The club pulsed the moment we stepped inside.
Bass rolling through the floor and up my spine, heavy and hypnotic, spilling out into the open night where the sea stretched black and endless beyond the glass walls. This wasn't one of the tourist traps scattered across Sicily.
This place belonged to us.
Perched high above the coastline, the club overlooked the ocean like a throne, music bleeding into the night sky as bodies moved beneath the low lights and the drifting smoke. The air was thick with salt, sweat and money. Real money, passed in murmurs and glances rather than hands.
We cut through the crowd as if the floor parted for us, our guards moving ahead just enough to clear a path through the bodies swaying beneath the lights. Heat and music pressing in from all sides until we reached the staircase, rising above the chaos and into our usual VIP booth overlooking the entire club.
It was quieter up here. More controlled.
We used to do this all the time, back when we were younger, during our training days. Before titles carried weight, before blood had consequences that followed us into every room.
Camilla's attention drifted to Sergio, stationed at the far end of our booth in a tailored suit, an earpiece tucked discreetly against his neck. Alert. Still a little stiff. New.
I leaned back against the seat, letting my gaze roam the VIP level instead. Searching for faces, shadows, exits. But mostly for a familiar dark-haired man with piercing green eyes.
"Anything you'd like to order, signorine?" the waiter asked in Italian, stopping just inside the perimeter formed by our guards.
"Whiskey on the rocks," I said without hesitation. I needed something stronger than wine.
"Same," Camilla added.
He nodded and slipped away, weaving past security with practiced ease.
Camilla then turned to me, one brow lifting. "Are you expecting someone?"
I shrugged, eyes still scanning the room. "Just assessing the place. I can't remember the last time I was here."
"Well, that's because you were drunk out of your mind," she said, just as the waiters dropped off our drinks on our table.
"That was a different time," I muttered into my drink, relishing on the burn of the whiskey down my throat.
God, where is he?
"So when are you planning on heading back to New York?" she asked, swirling the amber liquid in her glass.
"In a few days," I said. "If nothing changes."
The truth was, Sicily had never been part of the plan. The sensible move, the only move, really, would've been to return to New York and formally claim my place as underboss. But I had to play my role here, first. Pretend my memories were still fractured. Pretend that I was still fully loyal to the last remaining blood I have.
Alex, my husband, he was true to his word. He made sure my grandfather was still alive, tethered to this world just enough to suffer, but not enough to interfere. Alex had kept him that way just so that he wouldn't have the power to hunt me down before he could make me his.
Oddly enough, I couldn't even be mad at him for that. I would've done the same.
"Okay, that's it," Camilla said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
She finished the rest of her whiskey in one smooth motion and set the glass down with a decisive thud. "I don't know when you turned boring, but you really need to get that stick out of your ass."
"I do not have a stick up my ass," I protested weakly as she rose to her feet.
She was annoyingly, effortlessly gorgeous. With her brown hair spilling down her back in loose curls, her blonde streaks catching the low light and accentuating her sun-kissed skin. The black dress clung to her just right, thin spaghetti straps framing her shoulders. Her heels drawing the eye to her long, elegant legs.
She extended her hand toward me, already grinning. "Come," she said. "Dance with me."
I sighed. "Fine."
I downed the rest of my drink, met my bartender's gaze and tipped my chin in a silent request for another before slipping my hand to Camilla's.
The bass thickened as we descended the stairs, each step pulling us deeper into the heat and shadow. The air was heavy with perfume, salt from the sea, drifting in through the open terrace doors, and the slow burn of alcohol settling pleasantly beneath my skin. By the time we reached the edge of the dance floor, the music had already worked its way into my bones.
Camilla didn't hesitate. She turned into me as we moved, her body swaying with the rhythm, familiar and unapologetic. I let myself follow, the crowd closing in around us, lights cutting through darkness in fractured pulses.
I was vaguely aware of Sergio a step behind us, silent and watchful, doing exactly what he had been told. Camilla, however, was very aware of him.
As she danced, her movements became more deliberate, languid. She glanced over my shoulders, her eyes lingering on Sergio before sliding back to mine, her mouth curving with mischief. Her hands found my hips, gripping them hard, drawing me closer.
My hands held onto her shoulders, her cheek brushing my ear as the music dipped.
"Do you remember," she murmured, her voice smooth and intimate, "how we used to have fun?"
I huffed a quiet laugh, though my pulse had picked up. "Camilla—"
Her lips barely touched my ear as she continued, her gaze still flicking toward Sergio. "Because I was thinking," she said softly, "it's been a long time since the old days."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, brows lifting in innocent suggestion that could've fooled no one. The music surged again, bodies pressing in around us and somewhere behind me, I could feel Sergio's attention sharpen.
That was when I felt it.
Not a touch. Not a sound. Just the unmistakably familiar pull of being watched.
My gaze lifted over Camilla's shoulder, scanning instinctively, and there he was. At the edge of the dance floor, half-shadowed, impossibly still amid the movement. Dark hair, sharp profile, those green eyes fixed on my with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs. He raised his glass slowly, deliberately.
Whiskey on the rocks.
Of course.
Without breaking his intense gaze, I leaned into Camilla, my breath warm against her ear. "You know," I whispered, my voice slick with suggestion, "we could always relive it. Just for one night."
My hands slid upward, fingers tangling possessively at the nape of her neck.
"And here I thought," she breathed, glancing toward Sergio, "you've turned boring."
The music throbbed through us, the crowd pressing tighter and I swore, I could feel Sergio's presence sharpen like a blade behind us. Alert, watchful.
My pulse spiked.
Did he sense Alex's presence, as well?
I tore my eyes from my husband, looking back onto Camilla as her body pressed seductively against mine. Yet, I could still feel Alex's gaze, unwavering and dangerous, burning into me. Prefect. Because something reckless snapped loose inside my chest.
I didn't even hesitate. I tightened my hold at her neck, pulling her fiercely into me, claiming her mouth with a hunger that left no room for doubt. Her breath hitched, a startled, breathless laugh trembling against my lips.
"I knew you still had that fire," she murmured, her voice low and dripping with challenge.
"Oh shut up," I breathed, grinning, before claiming her mouth again. More fiercely this time, hungry and demanding.
While their eyes burned into the back of our heads, heavy with heat and hunger.