Aria busied herself at the bar as Primo and Malcolm made themselves comfortable at one of the tables in the sunken portion of the club reserved for their best customers. Everyone had been ordered to come in late, although Primo had installed Vinnie and two other men in one of the VIP rooms in the back. Aria didn’t know much about the impending meeting with Damian Cavallo, but she’d overheard Malcolm insist they hedge their bets with the added security in spite of the agreement they’d made with Cavallo that called only for the presence of underbosses.

It was nearly seven p.m., and the club was empty without the employees who usually arrived early to set up for the night. Aria hadn’t planned to be there, but Primo had insisted for reasons she couldn’t understand. She wasn’t part of their business. Not in any way that mattered. She didn’t know the details behind the meeting with Cavallo, didn’t know anything about the man himself except what she’d overheard between Primo and Malcolm — that Damian Cavallo had commandeered an impressive portion of the city’s criminal enterprise, that he was a rich kid who’d decided to dabble in crime when he got bored playing with his family’s old money.

He sounded like an asshole.

She’d never tried to defend Primo’s business. It was illegal, much of it unseemly. She knew that. But they’d come to it out of necessity. Primo had dropped out of school after the first year, had never been able to hold down a job for long thanks to his mental illness. He’d been ill-suited to take charge of her upbringing. The business he’d built had saved them in more ways than one.

Only time would tell if it would also destroy them.

“Ari, bring us a bottle of that good vodka we got in today,” Primo said from across the room.

She traveled the length of the bar, stopped at the box she was unloading from one of their suppliers. Then she stacked a tray with four glasses and carried it over to the table.

Primo was nervous. She could tell from his rigid posture, the way he tapped his fingers on the tabletop. It stood in contrast to Malcolm who was slouched on the sofa that sat along one side of the table, his legs stretched out like it was just another day in the VIP room with Primo.

She set the vodka and glasses down on the table and rested an arm on Primo’s shoulder. “Anything else?”

He patted her hand. “No, thank you.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to leave?” She tried to keep the hope out of her voice. She wanted to support him, but she had no desire to be sucked into the business. It was easier to pretend their income was generated legally through Platinum.

She knew it made her a coward, but it was the only coping mechanism she had until she figured out a way to get Primo out from under Malcolm’s thumb.

He squeezed her hand hard enough to be painful, but his face betrayed nothing. “Stay.”

She nodded, made her way back to the bar, her stomach fluttering with nerves. The meeting was supposed to be a simple discussion, but she knew better than anyone that nothing was assured with Primo. A wrong word or sudden movement could lead to an outburst — and an outburst with Primo and Malcolm and the three men hidden in the back room was sure to end badly even without taking into consideration the fact that Damian Cavallo was a criminal in his own right.

She’d broken down the first box of liquor and was cutting the tape on another when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She stood, trying to look busy as the first man emerged from the narrow stairwell.

He was tall and muscular, his blond hair cut surprisingly short and highlighting a slightly crooked nose and striking blue eyes. The whole effect was one of classical beauty — the kind of face sculptors had molded from clay for centuries.

She was still reeling from her first impression of Damian Cavallo — a perfect kind of beauty she recognized that left her cold — when the second man followed him into the club.

And there was nothing cold about this man.

He was a few inches taller than the man who’d entered the club before him, and where the first man was blond and impassive, this one was dark and brooding, his hair as black as the feathers of a raven, long and falling over eyes like chips of onyx.

His shoulders were broad, pulling at the midnight blue button-down that fit his upper body like it had been poured on him, hanging loosely over black jeans that did nothing to hide a significant bulge between his legs.

He met her eyes across the bar, and she noticed with embarrassment the tidal wave moving through her body— the quickening pulse, the warmth of her cheeks, the heat between her legs.

She turned away quickly, reorganizing the glasses at the bar just to escape the homing beacon of his gaze.

The men made introductions behind her, their voices only confirming what she’d realized the moment the dark haired man stepped into the club.

He was Damian Cavallo.

She’d known as soon as she laid eyes on him that this wasn’t a man who took orders from anyone. He carried himself like a king, one who was certain of his place in the world. He’d prowled into the room like a predator — unhurried, sure of his eventual victory.

She was suddenly worried about Primo.

Her hands shook as she unloaded the bottles from the box, set them on the shelves behind the bar, her eyes on the mirror that reflected the room behind her. The men waited quietly as Primo poured vodka into the glasses, followed by the clink of a wordless toast.

She didn’t turn around until she heard Primo’s voice.

“You asked for the meeting,” he said. “Here we are.”

Damian Cavallo nodded, held out a hand to the blond man she now knew was Cole Grant, his underboss.

Cole handed a folder to Damian. He opened it, pulled out a stack of papers, and gave them to Primo. Then he leaned back in the banquette, his affect somehow even easier than Malcolm’s in spite of the fact that he was in enemy territory.

Aria had gotten used to the posturing of men. Had gotten used to the mannerisms and ticks that spoke to insecurity and fear.

She knew Damian Cavallo felt none of those things, and she was suddenly sure that even if Primo’s hidden men came out with guns blazing, Damian would end them in a heartbeat and walk out without a speck of blood on his perfectly tailored slacks.

The knowledge sent a rush of heat to her sex, and she rested her hands on the bar, then poured herself a shot of bourbon to calm her nerves.

She glanced at Malcolm, recognized the tightness of his features, the narrowed eyes as he took in Damian Cavallo’s relaxed demeanor. Fear was the highest compliment you could pay Malcolm. Anything else was an insult.

Primo flipped through the papers, threw them onto the table that sat between him and Damian.

“You should have had your man tell us when he set up the meeting,” Primo said. “I could have saved you the trip.”

“It’s a good offer,” Damian said.

“Maybe if I were accepting offers,” Primo said. “But I’m not.”

A ghost of a smile touched Damian’s lips, and Aria was immediately afraid. Not for him. He seemed impenetrable, a fortress unto himself.

But few things set Primo off like being mocked. Cavallo was holding a lit match near an oil drum. Once it caught fire, Primo would be on a collision course with a man who wouldn’t let him leave the room breathing, and she had a feeling even Malcolm wouldn’t be able to save her brother then.

“Do you find this funny?” Primo’s voice had gone up an octave the way it did when he was losing control, when he was dangerously close to the precipice of reason.

Aria grabbed another bottle of vodka and rounded the bar, hurrying toward the table, hoping to distract Primo long enough for the danger to pass. She was almost to the table when a hand clamped down on her wrist.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Malcolm said.

“Just keeping you in the liquid courage.” Aria stared him down, daring him to make a scene in front of Cavallo and his underboss. “In case you need it, I mean.”

It was a slight she wouldn’t have dared if they’d been alone, but here in the same room with Damian Cavallo she suddenly felt bold.

Go ahead and hurt me, she thought. Show them what a coward you really are.

His jaw grew tight as he clamped his mouth into a thin line and she wrenched her wrist free of his grasp. She set the bottle of vodka on the table, touched Primo’s arm.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked softly.

He shook his head, too intent on the man across from him to be concerned with the altercation between Aria and Malcolm. But when Aria glanced at the men across the table from Primo, she was surprised to find Damian glaring at Malcolm, his eyes like black ice. She was even more surprised when he spoke.

“Where I come from we don’t manhandle women,” he said.

Malcolm tossed back the vodka in his glass and refilled it. “Lucky for me, we’re not on your turf.”

Damian narrowed his eyes, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. It was a smile that said he wouldn’t forget.

A smile that said he was going to enjoy hurting Malcolm when the time came.

If Malcolm had been anyone else, she would have felt sorry for him.

Damian turned his gaze on Aria, and she had to resist the urge to look away. His eyes were like a spotlight on her soul. She felt illuminated.

Seen.

“Aria, is it?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Thank you for the hospitality, Aria.”

“You’re welcome.”

She had to fight to free herself from his gaze. When she finally managed to look away, she couldn’t get back to the bar fast enough. She poured another shot of bourbon, drank it down and chased it with ice water. She forced herself to concentrate on the conversation now resuming across the room.

“My business isn’t for sale,” Primo said. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”

There was a long pause as Damian seemed to consider his words.

“One of us will be out of business by this time next year,” Damian said. “At least this way you’re compensated for the work you’ve put into the territory.”

“You must be referring to the Syndicate,” Primo said.

Damian nodded. Aria noticed he hadn’t touched his drink. “They’re reclaiming the territory now that Vitale is back in charge. They’ve authorized me to make an offer to buy you out before they take it by force.”

“So is this your offer or theirs?” Primo asked.

“Irrelevant,” Damian said. “The offer is what it is. You take the money and you walk away. It’s the only opportunity you’ll have to do so.”

“What about you? Have they made you an offer as well?” Primo asked.

“Also irrelevant,” Damian said.

Aria couldn’t help being impressed even as she held her breath. It would have been easier to believe he was stupid than brave if she hadn’t looked into his eyes. If she hadn't seen what lurked there for herself.

But she had, and there was nothing stupid about him. Which left a kind of bravery she’d never been witness to as an observer of Primo’s organization. His men were thugs. They talked big when they had a gun in their hand, when they were bigger than the person they were facing down, when they outnumbered an opponent.

This was something else.

She almost wondered if Damian Cavallo had a death wish.

Damian stood, and the other men quickly followed suit.

“Thank you for listening to our offer,” Damian said. “I’ll leave it open for the next twenty-four hours in case you change your mind. After that it’s off the table for good.”

He’d already turned to leave when Primo picked up the folder and tossed it at him. The papers inside fluttered out, drifted around Damian’s shoulders. He paused and headed for the stairs without looking back, his underboss in tow.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. The rigid spine and wide shoulders, the slow amble toward the staircase that said he wasn’t at all concerned about the outcome of their meeting, although it couldn’t have been the one he’d hoped for. He had one foot on the step when he surprised her by turning around, his eyes finding hers across the room.

She thought he might say something, anything, to break the intensity of the moment. Instead he just looked at her, a question in his eyes she couldn’t define, the answer even further from her grasp.

The moment seemed to stretch between them. Then he was turning back around, heading up the stairs with the blond man covering his back.