Sonder was hot.
And not just a great club that was filled with patrons. No, hot.
Violet could barely breathe when the music turned up, and the people started moving faster around her. She had already tossed back a few drinks and danced with her friends until her feet hurt in her heels. She still wasn’t ready to leave. She shrugged off the leather bomber jacket she wore overtop of her cherry-red, bodycon dress. At the same time, she leaned forward and took a sip of the green-colored drink Nicole offered. The sour sharpness of the liquid burned the whole way down, but she barely even noticed.
“Good, right?” Nicole asked.
“So good.”
Violet looked around, trying to find where Amelia had disappeared to in the swarm of drunk, sweaty bodies. She quickly found her, right in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other people with drinks held high and grinding together.
“I think she forgot about Franco,” Violet mused.
Nicole snorted. “I guess so. Not like that’s a loss. Want another drink?”
Violet knew she should refuse the offer. As it were, she felt light on her feet and a little hazy in the head. But she hadn’t risked her father’s wrath and traveled all the way from Manhattan to Coney Island for nothing. She planned on having a damn good time, partying it up to celebrate her twenty-first birthday, and nothing more.
“Yeah, get me another,” Violet said.
Nicole spun on her heel and made a beeline for the bar again. Violet cut through the people toward where Amelia was still dancing in a group of strangers. The beat of the music pumping through the venue pulsated from the floorboards and into the soles of her heels.
Violet loved to dance.
Moving to the rhythm was as easy as breathing. One of the purest forms of pleasure for her. She had danced since she was young. Ballet, jazz, contemporary and whatever else her father could put her in to keep her out of trouble and add to her Gallucci profile. As an adult, she didn’t get to dance as much as she used to when she was a younger girl.
Focuses changed.
School became more important.
So when she did get the chance to let loose with her friends, especially in a club that seemed specially designed for people to have the best time they could, Violet didn’t take it for granted. There was the bar area that had a number of stools lined up along the front with three bartenders ready to take orders. A DJ’s booth was set up against one wall with the dance floor stretching out as far as the eye could see. Soft lights lined the floor, but not so much that it took away from the setting.
Violet joined her friend to dance as the song switched to a faster, smoother beat. She linked hands with her friend and ignored how the swell of people seemed to grow, getting even closer to her and Amelia. The strangers that Amelia had been dancing with before Violet joined in came back, one wrapping around her friend while the other tried to slide in behind her.
She wasn’t having too much of that, but she let the guy get close enough that she could move to the beat with him.
Before long, Nicole was back. She balanced two drinks in one hand while she sipped on her green concoction from the other. Violet took one of the two red drinks from Nicole’s outstretched hand, immediately tipping the drink back for a long pull of the tartly sweet mixture that reminded her of strawberries but with the harsh kick of rum.
“Slow down,” she heard Nicole say, laughing right after.
Violet paid her no mind. She was already taking a second drink. Amelia wasn’t far behind, grabbing the drink that Nicole had brought for her. The music kicked up again, lights flickered, and Violet was lost to the visceral sensation of the club’s atmosphere.
There was no mob boss’s daughter here.
No Italiano principessa.
She was just another face in the crowd.
No one could possibly understand how precious that was to her.
Violet leaned forward, away from the man she was dancing with when he tried once again to kiss the back of her neck. She didn’t mind dancing or flirting with him, but she wasn’t up to letting the guy think he was taking her out to his car, or wherever.
Unfortunately, the fool had a handful of her wavy blonde hair wrapped in his fist and he tugged her right back in place. A faint sting radiated over her scalp from his pull, but Violet’s senses—diluted with alcohol—was numbed to the pain.
“Back off,” she said, turning to push her hand against the man’s stomach.
His lips pulled into a smirk and he chuckled, but thankfully, let her go.
“A tease, then?” he asked.
Violet narrowed her gaze, refusing to dignify that with a response. Why did men automatically think because a woman rejected their advances, that woman was suddenly playing games?
“Go find someone else to feel up,” Violet told the guy. “I’ve had enough.”
He took a step toward her, and Violet forced herself to stay in place and not back up. She gave a little sigh in relief when he shrugged her off and walked on past into the rest of the dancing people.
It was only then that Violet realized she had lost her friends.
Shit.
She quickly scanned the patrons, searching for Nicole and Amelia. Between several more drinks, songs, and random strangers wanting to dance, the girls must have gotten separated. Pushing through the faceless strangers, Violet tried clearing her thoughts enough to resemble being sober.
Drunk and lost was not a good look on a woman.
Violet scanned the people at the bar, and didn’t recognize the backs of the people or the dresses she knew her friends were wearing. She was just about to turn and go back onto the dance floor, but a buzz coming from inside her small clutch stopped her.
She pulled out her phone, and sighed at the name lighting up the screen.
Nicole’s message scrolled across the touch screen: Near the entrance. Help.
Violet shoved her phone back into the clutch and changed directions toward the front of the club. She found Nicole and Amelia together, but one was looking a hell of a lot worse for wear than the other. Nicole was holding onto their friend, and pushing the hair out of Amelia’s eyes, trying to talk to her.
Amelia wasn’t responding all that well by the looks of it.
Violet knew they had all drank quite a bit, but not that much.
“What happened?” Violet asked, bending down to help straighten Amelia’s short dress.
Nicole huffed as she forced a slurring, confused Amelia to lean against her side. “I don’t know. One minute we were laughing, I danced with a guy and turned my back on her, and the next …”
“She was like this?”
“She was on the floor and some guy was laughing as he tried to pick her up,” Nicole said, scowling.
Violet shuddered at her friend’s implication. “She was fine before?”
“A little drunk. We all are.”
True enough.
“Did she take anything?” Violet asked.
It wouldn’t be such a shock if that’s what Amelia had done. They weren’t entirely innocent. Sometimes, they experimented with different things, but they were always careful about it and stayed together.
Nicole shook her head. “She would have said something. Someone might have dropped something on her. Can we just get her out of here before something else happens?”
That sounded like a good idea.
Violet moved forward, grabbing Amelia’s arm and helping Nicole to move their friend away from the wall. It wasn’t easy, considering Amelia seemed to have the balance of a baby that couldn’t walk.
“You girls need some help?” came a voice from behind them.
Violet glanced back at the person who had asked the question. It was the same fool from earlier, who had tried kissing her neck after she’d told him not to. He had “bad” written all over him—and not in a good kind of way.
“No, we’re—”
Violet’s words cut off when someone slammed into Nicole from the other side of their three-person chain. She went sprawling to the floor, along with her friends. Above the music, people, and someone’s apologies, she heard what sounded like the crunch of glass.
“Shit,” Violet muttered, reaching for Amelia.
Nicole was doing the same, but a thick streak of red dripped down her arm, and she had tears in her eyes. “Someone dropped a glass,” her friend said in explanation.
It looked pretty bad—deep.
Chances were, Nicole needed to get that checked out.
Great.
Like Nicole could read her mind, she said, “Let’s just worry about getting Amelia out of here, okay?”
Violet nodded, and the two got Amelia back on her feet and moving toward the door again.
Unfortunately, a bull of a man stepped in front of them, stopping the girls entirely. His thick, tall build forced Violet to look up at gray eyes and a scowling face. He pointed at Amelia.
“What’s wrong with that one?” he asked.
Violet’s mouth clamped shut.
Nicole spoke instead. “Nothing, she’s drunk.”
“She would have been escorted out already,” the man said.
The hint of an accent colored up the man’s tone, making his words sharp and quick. She didn’t recognize it right away, not with his first question. But with his second, his r’s sort of rolled off his tongue, and that was when Violet knew exactly what accent the man sported.
She had only heard it a couple of times in her life, and never firsthand.
Russian.
“She’s on something, yes?” the man asked.
“No,” Violet argued. “And we’re leaving.”
“You’re not leaving yet. I won’t have the cops showing up here because some girl got mixed up and found herself in the hospital after being at my club.”
Violet straightened, panic swelling in her throat. “We’re taking her—”
He pointed at Nicole. “She is bleeding.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Violet really just wanted to get the hell out of there.
“Can we just go?” Nicole asked, her voice betraying her panic, too.
“Yes,” the man said.
Violet let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Shortly,” he added with a cold smile.
Wonderful.
The man jerked his head to the side and said, “Take them to my office, and we’ll go from there.”
Violet didn’t get the chance to ask what he meant before someone was grabbing her arm from behind and separating her from her friends. She chose not to fight against the bull-like man wearing all black as he pulled her along through the curious crowd that had suddenly quieted and was watching the show.
At least they were getting their money’s worth for the entrance fee.
After a short walk through a back hallway, Violet and her friends were shuffled into an office that was far bigger than what she was expecting, considering how it looked from the outside. There was a couch along the back wall, two stuffed armchairs, and a large mahogany desk that dominated the space. Bookshelves were built into the walls with rows of books and tombs on various subjects lining them. Though the decor was understated, there was definitely a masculine feel to it.
The man who had stopped them earlier waved at his counterparts, and the three men who had escorted the girls into the space disappeared before the office door shut. Amelia had been placed on a couch, and Nicole moved to sit beside her.
Violet figured her friend had Amelia handled, so she faced the man who wouldn’t let them leave.
“I—”
“Quiet,” he uttered. “What did she take?”
Violet clenched her teeth. “I don’t know. That’s why we were leaving.”
“Does she need a hospital?”
“She needs a bed and water,” Nicole interjected.
“You need stitches,” he said, glancing down at Nicole’s arm. “You’re bleeding all over my couch.”
Nicole just glared.
Violet held back her grin, knowing it wasn’t the time.
“We’re really sorry,” Violet said, hoping to appease the guy so he would let them go without any more trouble. “We just wanted a good time—this club is supposed to be the hottest thing on Coney right now, and someone must have spiked our friend’s drink. We don’t want problems. We really don’t want the cops involved, so if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be.”
The man’s lips drew into a thin, grim line as he looked the girls over. “I will make sure you all get home safe and sound.”
Violet didn’t like that idea at all. She could still hear her father in the back of her head, repeating his warnings. Keep out of Coney Island, don’t go too deep into Brooklyn, and stay the hell away from Russians.
It was more likely that whoever this guy was didn’t have anything to do with the kinds of Russians her father demanded she stay away from, but Violet knew where the lines were drawn with Alberto Gallucci. She often tested them, occasionally even jumping over them when her father wasn’t looking.
Russians were not one of them.
“We can take a cab,” Violet said. “We took one here.”
The man didn’t look all too impressed with that idea. He opened his mouth to speak, but the office door opened from behind Violet, stopping whatever he was going to say.
“Everything good, brat?”
Violet turned fast on her heel at the new voice.
And froze.
He was tall—over six feet—and built like he ran a ten-K every day. The black suit he wore hugged his frame, but the jacket was left unbuttoned, showcasing a white silk dress shirt that was pulled taut across his chest.
The man was cut.
Violet swallowed hard and met the man’s stare.
Gray eyes, like the other man’s but more intense, looked her up and down with a slow, predatory fashion. His face was framed by a strong jaw dotted with a couple days’ worth of scruff and sharp cheekbones. His lips, full enough to draw in her attention, curled up at the edges into a grin of sorts.
She thought it looked more like a smirk.
He raised a hand and ran it through his short, dark hair that was tapered at the sides but a little longer down the middle.
But it wasn’t so much the action that caught her attention, but the black ink marked on his hand. An upturned spider that looked to be crawling up under the sleeve of his suit jacket rested upon a web.
Her gaze cut back to his when he dropped his hand back to his side.
He looked familiar. She was sure that she should know him, but in her semi-drunken state, she was coming up with nothing.
The man’s smirk quickly faded into a mask of cool, calm nothingness. He looked past her to the man behind her and said one word that chilled her entirely.
“Gallucci.”
“Someone’s on the wrong side of the bridge,” Kaz said casually, almost smiling at the way her mouth twisted. Turning his attention to his brother, he switched to Russian, ensuring that the Gallucci girl and her friends wouldn’t understand. “What’s the damage?”
“Fuck the damage,” Ruslan returned in the same tongue. “She needs to leave. Now. I have enough problems without having to worry about who else is going to show up at my door looking for her.”
He had a valid point. There was a reason for the lines that divided their two organizations, and Kaz didn’t doubt that she knew where those boundaries lay—she was the only daughter of Alberto Gallucci after all. There was no doubt that the Italian boss wouldn’t look too kindly on his daughter and Kaz being in the same room together.
Glancing over at her, he had to wonder if that was what she’d wanted by coming here tonight. There was always the chance that she hadn’t known who this club belonged to, but what were the odds of that?
And if she did … well that made her a little more intriguing to him. It made him wonder what other lines she was willing to cross.
“Don’t worry, brother.” Clearing his throat, Kaz switched back to English. “Nathaniel is going to take you …” He gestured to the girl with the bleeding arm who was actively scowling at him.
“Nicole,” Violet supplied quietly.
“Right. Nathaniel is taking you to the hospital.”
Before Kaz could go on, Violet interrupted him. “We don’t—”
He silenced her with a look and whatever she’d thought to say, she swallowed it back. “Ruslan, get the other one home.”
The one needing the stitches—Nicole—looked to Violet then, an emotion in her eyes that Kaz couldn’t read, but he didn’t expect an answer from her, he waited for the Gallucci girl to explain.
“That’s unnecessary. Like I said, we can catch a cab.”
Now it was Kaz’s turn to scowl. “That’s not how we work. Take a look,” he said pointing to her friend. “She can barely hold her head up. Do you really want her out in a cab where she can’t protect herself? My brother wouldn’t touch her.”
He waited for another argument, or at least another excuse, but when she remained quiet, he went on. “Address.”
Hesitantly, as though it was being forced out of her, Violet rattled it off. Kaz nodded to Ruslan, giving him the go ahead. He didn’t argue, but he did send Kaz a look before he helped the girl to her feet and called Nathaniel for Nicole.
When it was just Kaz and Violet left in the office, he studied her, admiring the way she kept her chin tilted up, as though she was looking down her nose at him though he was a good few inches taller.
She was a pretty girl, beautiful really, with wide expressive eyes a shade of green that lightened toward the pupils. With a dainty nose, and pouty lips that were currently turned down at the corners, she was perfectly fine with letting her irritation show. Blonde hair that looked soft to the touch tumbled down around her shoulders in waves, and if not for the fact that he knew the legacy she came from, he might have thought her benign.
But looks were deceiving. He knew that better than anyone. Kaz hadn’t been sure, not at first. He hadn’t anticipated anything more than to find three drunken girls way over their heads waiting in his brother’s office. The last thing he had expected, or even wanted, was Violet Gallucci standing there staring him down.
“And me?” she asked breaking the silence stretching between them.
Pulling his keys from his pocket, he held them up for her to see. “Looks like we’re taking a ride to Manhattan.”