Neal stood at the end of the bar at Club Sanctuary, trying to act like her only care in the world was getting one of the busy bartenders to make her a drink, certain anyone watching could see through the ruse. When had she lost her ability to keep her cool?
When she’d stopped being someone else’s bodyguard and had to focus on keeping herself alive.
She needed purpose, which was exactly the reason for her visit here tonight. Before Royal had burst into Siobhan’s life and exploded it all to hell, Siobhan had spent a lot of time at this place, taking pleasure in the arms of strangers. Women she’d use to satisfy her urges in the rare moments when she wasn’t fully focused on her work as Don Carlo’s consigliere. Neal had witnessed the beginning of every such encounter, standing off to the side, taking great care to appear nonchalant while being hyper vigilant about protecting her charge.
Now Don Carlo was dead and Siobhan was gone and the Mancuso family empire was teetering on the brink of demise. For all she knew, everything she spent years dedicated to protecting was no longer relevant. What was she supposed to do now?
Find someone who might know where Siobhan was. Right. She took the cold glass of vodka and soda the bartender handed to her noticing the light brush of her fingers lingering a moment after the handoff was complete. She broke the contact by raising the glass to her lips, and she took a healthy swallow, enjoying the cool trickle of vodka and lime down the back of her throat.
“I’ve seen you here before,” the bartender said, her lips curling into a sly smile. “But this is the first time I’ve seen you drink.”
Neal raised the glass. “Cheers to the attentive bartender.”
“Honey.”
“Excuse me?” The touch was one thing, but the term of endearment was a bit much.
The bartender stuck out her hand. “My name is Honey. In the spirit of you loosening up, I figured we should be on a first-name basis.”
This was the point of the encounter where the other woman expected you to reciprocate with some flirty banter or personal disclosure, but Neal wasn’t up for either so she dodged. “Names are overrated. And who says I’m loosening up?”
“Mr. Tito says you are.” She pointed at the glass in Neal’s hand. “Ready for another?”
Neal looked down, surprised to see that barely a quarter-inch of vodka covered the bottom of the glass. She shouldn’t have more—liquor was going to stall her search—but turning down the offer wasn’t the way to get information. She nodded and handed her glass back across the bar. Honey took her time, dipping the ice into the glass, pouring the ice-cold vodka from a foot above the glass.
“You’re pretty good at that.”
“I’m good at a lot of things. Ditch your girlfriend and I’ll show you.”
“What makes you think I have a girlfriend?” The question spilled out before she could stop the words, but she was genuinely curious.
Honey made a show of looking around before leaning across the bar and whispering in Neal’s ear. “The tall leggy brunette who looks like she eats fire for breakfast. The one who you stick to like glue. Where is she tonight?”
Good question. Neal focused more on the fact she’d like to know the answer than correcting Honey’s misimpression of her relationship to Siobhan. She flashed back on her conversation with Muriel with renewed frustration about the lack of information. How was she supposed to defend the family’s interests when the family had scattered to God knows where? Maybe she should get a clue and take off on her own.
She shook her head. She didn’t even know what being on her own would look like. Except for her regular visits to the home where her sister lived, the Mancusos were the only family she’d known since she’d dropped out of Tulane years ago. Leaving when their situation was in chaos was tantamount to betrayal, and she wasn’t a traitor.
She raised her glass and faked a smile. “Just me tonight. I was hoping maybe you’d seen my friend.”
Honey laughed. “Friend, right.” She used air quotes to emphasize her disbelief. “Not a sign of her tonight, but I haven’t been here long. You want me to ask around?”
“No,” Neal answered quickly. The last thing she needed was to fuel the rumors that Siobhan had taken off following the Don’s death. She was as well suited as anyone else to find out where she was, and she could do it on the down low. She picked up her glass and eased away from the bar. “Thanks for the drink.”
“I get off at two.” Honey grinned. “Or I could if you want to stick around.”
Neal grinned back but kept walking. While the prospect of sex with a stranger was alluring, Honey was a little too observant for a casual encounter. She’d have to find another way to take the edge off. In the meantime, she needed to focus. She glanced upstairs to the balcony. It would be the perfect place to look for any of Siobhan’s prior trysts. She turned to head to the stairs and crashed into a woman rushing through the crowd. Vodka and soda soaked them both.
“Dammit.” The woman stopped and wiped the front of her dress.
Neal started to reach out to help her but drew back her hand when she realized how much bare chest she’d been about to handle. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously,” she said. Her angry voice adjusted to a higher pitch. “It’s my favorite dress.”
With good reason. Neal made a note of the pronounced Russian accent. She squinted for a moment, a tiny spark of recognition lit and then faded. Her encounter that afternoon at the Mancuso mansion was causing her to mistrust everyone and see things that weren’t there. “I’ll buy you a new one,” Neal said, scrambling to smooth things over before the woman caused a scene.
“You can’t. It’s vintage couture. It’s the only one of its kind.”
Neal caught the catch in her voice and realized she was genuinely upset. She couldn’t imagine getting worked up about a piece of clothing, but rich people did a lot of things she couldn’t relate to. The thought jogged a memory and she reached into her pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, and held it out. “I’m really very sorry. Maybe there’s another one of a kind that would suit you just as well.”
The woman’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the large bills. Probably wondering what she’d done to get that kind of cash. The answer was easy—absolutely nothing. She’d found the money in an envelope in Siobhan’s apartment after she’d taken off with Royal. Her name graced the outside of the envelope in Siobhan’s graceful, flowing script, but there was no note of explanation inside. Neal had taken it for safekeeping, but she’d never intended to use it. Paying for a ruined piece of fashion seemed as good a use for it as any. Especially if it made the Russian beauty stop throwing daggers her way.
“I don’t need your money,” the woman said.
“You don’t look like you have need for many things.”
The woman raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. “You are very presumptuous.”
“I’ve had a hard week, and I don’t have a lot of patience.” On impulse, she stuck out her hand. “My name is Neal. It’s nice to meet you.”
A slight grin teased at the corner of the woman’s lips as she looked down at Neal’s outstretched hand. “Ah, you think it’s nice to collide with total strangers and leave them in tatters?”
Neal let her gaze drift from the woman’s face to her cleavage and back again. She was stunning. And she knew it, but the realization didn’t keep Neal from appreciating the sight. “I don’t see any signs of tatters here.” Her pulse pounded as their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else receded—the Don’s death, Siobhan’s departure, the attack on the Mancuso home, her complete and total lack of direction. All she could think about was kissing the ripe, red lips and—
“What’s going on, Ana?”
The voice that ripped through her thoughts was harsh, but Neal was happy to have the information it conveyed. “Ana?”
The woman nodded in response before turning to the new arrival. “Katia, where have you been?”
“Flirting with one of the bartenders.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of Honey’s spot at the bar. “They are incorrigible.” She turned to Neal. “I bet you already know that.”
Neal resisted asking what that was supposed to mean. She was ready to end this conversation. “The more you come here, the less likely it’ll be the bartenders hit you up for silly things.”
“Are you hitting my friend up for silly things?” Katia asked, circling her like a cheetah.
Neal fixed her with a steely gaze. “Silly isn’t my style, but if she’d like to join me for dinner sometime, that’d be fine by me.”
“I bet it would.”
She took note of the edge in Katia’s voice while watching Ana’s face, unable to get a read on her reaction. Probably for the best. She wasn’t here to flirt or fuck or do anything other than find out if Siobhan had left any clues behind, likely a lost cause. She tore her gaze from Ana’s and faced her protective companion.
“Not to worry. Dinner isn’t really my thing.” She gave a mock salute and walked away, resisting the urge to turn back for one more look at Ana in her pretty, albeit stained dress. She made a mental note to find a way to make it up to her, couture or not, and strode across the room, back to Honey who slid a drink her way the moment she reached the bar. She started to push the glass away, but decided she deserved a break and took a healthy swallow.
“I see you struck out with the ice women,” Honey said. “Don’t worry, you’re not the only one.”
“Hard to strike out when you’re not playing.” She risked a surreptitious glance across the room. “What’s the story there?”
“The tall one’s a mystery, but her sidekick comes in here every weekend. Kind of like your friend.”
The word friend didn’t define her relationship with Siobhan. Didn’t come close. And Neal didn’t appreciate the casual way Honey referred to her charge. She might be angry with Siobhan for abandoning her and the family business, but after years of dedicated service, she’d earned that right. Honey was a stranger and she had no business making judgments. She reached into her pocket for some cash and pulled out a few bills and shoved them toward Honey who looked surprised at the abrupt end to their conversation.
“Leaving?”
She froze at the sound of the silky voice and slowly turned to face Ana, sans her friend. She let her gaze roam slowly over Ana’s entire body—a virtual embrace—savoring every second. Finally, she found words to match the feeling of desire welling up from within.
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“No. Leaving is an excellent idea.” Ana slipped an arm around her waist. “But there’s no need to do it alone.”
Neal breathed deep to keep from hyperventilating with excitement. What was wrong with her? She didn’t indulge in the pleasures of this club as often as Siobhan, but she’d done her share of going home with beautiful women. Single episode encounters, designed for no attachment, no distraction. But this wasn’t that, and she’d known it wouldn’t be from the first moment she’d spotted Ana in the club. She shook her head. “I have to go.”
Ana slid her hand up her back. “You do not have to do anything you do not want to do. For me. For anyone.”
“If only it were that easy.” Neal cocked her head. “I guess you’ve decided to forgive me for ruining your dress?”
A smile played lightly across Ana’s lips. “Forgiveness is a process. Let’s say I’ve taken the first step.” She leaned in close, and her whisper was steamy against Neal’s ear. “Would you like to help me take another?”
Neal stiffened with resistance, and then tried to figure out why. The temptation was great. This woman checked all the boxes. She was a total stranger and breathtakingly gorgeous. Besides, she could use some relief after the turmoil in the wake of Don Carlo’s death. It wasn’t like she’d seen anyone tonight who was going to lead her to Siobhan. Why not indulge her own fantasies for an evening instead of guarding someone else’s?
She ran her hand down Ana’s arm and threaded her fingers through hers. “Sure, why not?” Like it was the easiest decision in the world. And it was. Until she heard a man’s voice behind her.
“So, this is where you play when I’m working.”
Neal turned toward the loud, sharp voice and cringed with recognition. Mikhail Petrov, one of the Mancuso family’s most formidable enemies, stood facing her, but his eyes were fixed firmly on Ana. It only took a second for Neal to grasp the gravity of what was happening. She resolved to play it cool. “Hello, Mikhail.”
He pointed at her but directed his words to Ana. “See how this is? She knows my name. But I do not know hers. I don’t need to know hers, because all I need to know is that she is loyal to my enemies. Isn’t that right, dear?”
He punctuated his question by grabbing Ana around the waist and pulling her toward him. Neal watched Ana’s face, certain she would win if she resisted, but she didn’t put up any show of a fight other than a look of disdain. She’d only seen Petrov’s wife one other time and only for a moment which explained why she hadn’t realized who Ana was from the start. If she’d known, there wouldn’t have been any flirtatious banter. No, she would’ve gotten the hell out of the bar.
Which begged the question: what was Anastasia Petrov doing in a queer bar?
* * *
Ana hugged the door on her side of the limousine, determined to stay out of Mikhail’s reach. Meanwhile, he acted like it didn’t bother him at all to find her in a women’s bar. It shouldn’t—their attraction to women was the only thing they had in common.
“It doesn’t bother me,” he said, tipping a glass of icy Cristal to his lips and downing it in one gulp. “I trust you to bring home a beautiful specimen for both of us to enjoy.”
She turned in her seat and stared out the window, refusing to take the bait.
“That one you were flirting with?” He growled. “She’s not for you. Or anyone else. Women that tall are only good for one thing.” He mimed dribbling a ball. “Like that athlete. The one who smuggled the drugs into Mother Russia.”
Ana started to open her mouth to refute the faux news summary of Brittney Griner’s plight, but she decided the energy would be a wasted effort. Mikhail was successful because of his muscle not his mind, and he didn’t deal in nuance.
“You have nothing to say?” he asked.
The challenge in his voice was impossible to ignore. “I have a lot to say, but very little to you. You’re drunk.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He patted his chest. “You’d drink too if you were me. Married to a woman who doesn’t know how to please.”
She laughed. “I know how to please, but I’m particular about my pleasures. Not just any whore will do.”
“That’s rich. You would’ve left with that bitch if I hadn’t shown up when I did.” He grunted. “She’s the bodyguard for Mancuso’s consigliere. Likely left behind when the rest of the family fled the city after the old man died. She’s either incredibly loyal or too dumb to realize when the fight is lost. Either way, she’s not for you.”
She tensed at his proclamation. He was constantly testing his power, likely hoping one day it might be enough to give him sway over her. It was wearing.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. She pointed at him and back to her. “This is an arrangement. One you knew about from the start. You have the money and resources you were promised. Now you simply have to fulfill your part of the bargain and leave me alone. Understand?”
She could see the resignation in his eyes, but she also saw rebellion and a struggle to cede his manhood to get the other things he wanted. Not her problem. She’d married so their families could broker a business deal. As long as she stayed with him, the business would be successful, but if she left, it could all fall apart. Their relationship was the glue that kept everything together, but it was sticky at best.
When they arrived home, Mikhail retired to his overly ornate study where he spent his days intimidating everyone but her. He’d strut around, admiring all the silly things he collected and drink himself into a stupor like he did every night.
Grateful he was already too drunk to enforce their vows, she took the stairs to her private bedroom. Katia followed her, likely expecting to be invited in for a recap of the evening, but she feigned a headache and asked to be left alone for the rest of the evening. Her head might not hurt, but it was full. Images of Neal at the bar, looking rakishly handsome in an I-don’t-really-care-about-impressing-anyone kind of way, standing up to Mikhail in a manner that none of the others who came to the house would dare to do paraded through her thoughts, but she pushed them away. She’d gone to the bar looking for release, not an encumbrance. If Neal really was connected to the Mancuso family, any connection would be complicated, and she had no interest in more complications. Even if they came in incredibly interesting packages.