The restaurant noise fades. The clinking silverware, the murmured conversations, the jazz… all of it dissolves into a ringing silence that fills my skull. My stomach drops so fast I press my hand flat against the table to keep myself upright. My skin goes cold from the inside out, starting at my chest andspreading to my fingertips, and the bruschetta I ate five minutes ago threatens to come back up.
“How long do we have?” Minutes? Hours? Days? An answer I never thought I’d want to hear.
“Well, by my calculations, since I took the contract out nine days ago…”
“Nine days!” I turn to Massimo who is red in the face and pin him with disbelief.
This night cannot get any worse. Nausea churns in my belly. I take several deep breaths as I fight to keep my stomach from rebelling against me. “You knew this, didn’t you?”
"The deadline expires tomorrow." Lorenzo picks up his wine, takes a slow sip, and sets it down. What a fucking rat bastard. I wish I had poison on me. I would pay anything to a server to spike his drink.
Listen to me. I sound like I’m part of Massimo’s world. Since when did I believe in offing people?
I don’t know, but for Lorenzo Ferraro I would make an exception. And I think all the angels taking notes on my actions might turn a blind eye and let me have this one, too.
“You have assassins running through Chicago hunting you and we are dining out? What the holy fuck is wrong with you?” I grit out every single word through clenched teeth.
"Oh, no. There’s more to it than that. I put up an extra ten million so I could have more than just your husband’s head in a bag for my pleasure.” Arrogance pulls at the corner of his lip.
I suck in a breath.
“If you are not delivered to me by midnight tomorrow, Harlon's men will begin enforcement proceedings. Your husband has known about this for nine days, yes." He looks at Massimo. "Haven't you?"
I turn to Massimo.
His jaw is locked. His hand is still on my thigh but the pressure has gone slack. His whiskey eyes meet mine and I watch everything I need to know move across his face in the space between two heartbeats. Guilt and shame war for dominance over his expression.
"How could you keep this from me?" My voice comes out quiet but the rage of one thousand demons roars in my blood.
"Sloane, this is a matter between?—"
"Don’t you dare fucking say it. You tell me it’s between you two and my worthless father who can’t get his head out of his drinks and I swear to God I will do those runners’ work for them and put two bullets in you myself.” I pause and inhale deeply. "Nine days. You knew for nine days and you didn't tell me. I gave you all of me. My trust. Everything. And you betrayed me like this?"
"I was trying to fix it before?—"
"Before what? Before when? They hauled me off the street? Or maybe I’d be at my boutique and the runner would come in, kill a few of my clients and kidnap me then. Or before they killed you and took me in a snap?"
I pull his hand off my thigh. My fingers are steady. My voice is steady. But inside I am a shivering mess. "No lying. Not about the danger. Not about anything. You wrote it in your own handwriting. Remember?"
“I do.” He doesn’t try to argue his stance. Good for him. At least he doesn’t have a problem admitting he’s a liar.
Lorenzo leans back in his chair, a performance of casual entertainment that makes me want to put my fork through his hand. "While we're clearing the air." He swirls his wine. "Sloane, you might want to ask your father about his membership at Society 69. It’s not good to keep skeletons in the closet."
The words bombard my ears and every fiber of my being goes still. My lungs stop pulling air. My heart stumbles over a beat and picks back up at double speed. My hands drop to my lap and grip each other so hard my rings bite into my fingers.
Society 69.
I know what Society 69 is. I've known since I was old enough to understand what happened to me at fifteen. The auction houses. The viewing rooms. The pipeline that feeds women into rooms where men sit with cocktails and decide what bodies are worth. Then they buy them, use them and discard them like rags that belong in the trash. I did a huge deep dive into rape cases, disappearances and murder cases. The Society came up often, but no one can ever prove who is part of the human trafficking ring. I was obsessed back then. I’d heard about the Society among the whispers of a few of my father's friends too.
But I never thought…
My heart shatters into a million pieces.
"Society 69 never held a window viewing your father didn’t attend." Lorenzo smiles at my father. "Harrison was quite the regular before things got complicated. Isn't that right, Harrison?"
I turn to my father. His face is gray. His whiskey glass sits untouched for the first time tonight and his hands grip the edge of the table with knuckles that have gone white. His mouth opens and nothing comes out.
The nausea hits so hard I have to press my tongue against the roof of my mouth and breathe through my nose. My vision narrows until the only thing I can see is my father's guilt written all over his face.