1. The Playground

ONE

THE PLAYGROUND

GENEVIEVE

I f my brother knew I was here, he would kill me.

Well, no. Not me. He loves me, and would forgive me almost anything.

But Christopher? He doesn’t have a prayer.

My best friend is nibbling on his thumb nail as he stands on the edge of the dance floor. Slender, if a little lanky, the low-cut silky blouse he has on is so different from the suit he normally wears, but it’s perfect for a night out at the club. Though, if the slight furrows in his brow are any sign, he’s wishing that he’d managed to talk me into going to an establishment on the East End of Springfield rather than the West Side.

Silly Christopher. The East End is Dragonfly territory. What would the fun be in that? The Libellula Family owns the drug trade in this city, plus the counterfeiting ring, and there are plenty of nightclubs where I’d be welcomed in on sight despite the fact that I don’t have the trademark dragonfly inked on my arm. After all, as Genevieve Libellula, my name is all it takes.

But that’s the East End. On the West Side, no one knows who I am. That’s how Damien prefers it, and my overprotective older brother has gone to great trouble over the years to keep me away from his rival’s territory. From giving orders that I can’t leave the three-floor manor where I live with him, his new wife, and our cousin, Vin, to insisting that I only agree to dance on stages far from this part of Springfield, I’ve been coddled and shielded from the brutality of his criminal empire since he became my guardian when I was only ten.

Damien is fifteen years my senior. Sometimes, he seems to forget that I’m not ten anymore. You’d think that after we hosted his fortieth birthday dinner a month ago, he’d realize that I’m firmly in my mid-twenties, but that’s never going to happen. If I leave it up to him, I’ll be seventy-five instead of twenty-five, and that man will still think I’m too delicate and innocent to know the truth about what it’s like to run a Family in a crime-filled hotspot like Springfield.

Not only am I nowhere near as innocent as Dame thinks—except in one way, and that’s part of the reason why I’m here tonight—but I’m fascinated by the darker side of my brother’s career. I always have been. I know better than to think he’ll ever let me help him run the Family, but if I can prove to him that I’m not the little girl he’s convinced I am…

Step one: realize that there is life beyond ballet and doing what Damien tells me.

Ignoring my brother’s stubborn insistence that I be a mafia princess instead of a co-runner of the Family is easy. When there’s never been any repercussions to defying him, I got into the habit of blowing Dame off when I was a rebellious teen. Scaling back on ballet was harder, but as I got older, I had to admit that I wouldn’t be able to dance forever, even if I wanted to. My body doesn’t bounce back like it used to, and my marathon training sessions while I’m preparing for an upcoming performance suck way more now than when I was younger.

I still stretch and dance and perform as much as ever. Only I also sneak out of my bedroom a handful of times a month so that, for a night at a time at least, I can just be ‘Gen’ instead of Genevieve Libellula.

Of course, whenever I try, all it takes is one look at Christopher’s guarded body language to know that I can never forget for a moment what my last name is—or the identity of my brother.

Christopher is my best friend. He’s also Damien’s admin, which is a fancy way of saying that he runs my brother’s calendar, keeping track of all of the meetings he has—both legitimate and not—as well as doing all kinds of odds and ends for the head Dragonfly. I got him the job when we were eighteen, and he’s spent the last seven years making himself indispensable to Damien.

But despite my blonde hair, I’m not a ditzy idiot. Christopher is my best friend, but Damien is his boss. When I sneak out, I’m pretty sure my brother has no clue what I’m doing—in order for him to, he’d have to have figured out there’s a blind spot for his cameras near my room, and that the tree growing outside my window makes it possible for me to shimmy down and slip away sight unseen—but I have no illusions about why Christopher offers to join me on my adventures.

He’s not just my wingman. He’s my chaperone.

Tonight, his leather pants are so tight, they’re basically plastered to his ass. That shirt leaves little to the imagination. Knowing him as well as I do, I’d put money down that he has at least one weapon tucked out of sight somewhere , and if anyone threatens me, he’ll handle it since God knows Dame would definitely kill him if he doesn’t.

Christopher has come a long way from the shy eight-year-old boy who was teased for taking ballet lessons before I punched Lindsay Chant in the lip to get her to leave him alone. We’ve been fast friends since the day I protected him, and if he has this silly idea that I need him to protect me , I’m happy to let him… so long as he lets me have my fun, too.

I don’t like to think of it as blackmail. It’s such a dirty word for the agreement between Christopher and me. But we’ve been sneaking out to be wild teens since before Damien hired him on, so as far as I’m concerned his loyalty is to me first. Will he ever admit to Damien that he follows me all over Springfield—including Sinners Syndicate turf? If he had to, I’m sure he would. But since this is a case of ‘what Damien doesn’t know, won’t hurt him’...

I’m staring out at the dance floor, working up the nerve to go out there and shuck my training, letting the music move me, when someone near the bar catches my eye.

I grab Christopher’s arm. “Hey. Is that her?”

He cocks his head, raising his voice over the noise as he asks, “Where?”

I don’t want to point, so I tug on him, guiding him until he’s staring in the same direction as me. “There. The Playground uniform. Waitress… she’s got a serving tray in front of her.”

“You mean the redhead that I’ve been dying to fuck? Yeah, that’s her. That’s Jessie.”

My gaze goes from the blonde waitress I was staring at to the other one. Ah. So that’s who Christopher ’s been watching.

As a Dragonfly, he’ll run his gaze over the crowd, searching out any threats.

As a man, he has his eyes set on his next target.

I let go of him. “That’s not who I meant, but— hang on, Jessie’s a chick?”

Christopher is bi. I shouldn’t be surprised that the Jessie he mentioned a few times these last couple of weeks is a woman. Unlike me, he’s definitely not stuck with his V-card. Lately, though, he’s been dating mainly guys. There was Sal. Ben. Tony was around for a couple of weeks before he ghosted Christopher, and then he had a fling with one of the newer Dragonflies that didn’t last. As far as I know, he’s been single for a bit now.

No wonder he didn’t really push back against me earlier when I told him that we could go out tonight because Damien would be spending most of the evening in the basement gym, ‘training’ Savannah—and I say ‘training’ because while he’s definitely teaching his wife self defense techniques, I made the mistake of opening the door to the basement the other night and discovering that that’s not all they do down there. They’re definitely going to be too distracted to come up to the third floor and check to see if I’m there. And since Christopher would be cruising for a little action of his own…

It’s been a while since he’s been hung up on a woman. Part of me wonders if that’s because, if he dated more girls, Damien could remember that Christopher might one day hit on me. I know better. That’ll never happen. We’re best friends, and as much as I want something like Damien and Savannah have—except, maybe, for the whole stabbing meet-cute thing that my brother still refuses to elaborate on—it’s not going to be with Christopher.

But I want him to be happy, too, so I give the redhead a once-over. Her hair is a fiery if unnatural shade, wild and wavy, and it’s styled around a striking face. Add that to the tits she has on display and the sassy way she cocks out her hip to rest her empty serving tray on it, and I nod.

“She’s hot,” I tell him.

“Hell yeah, she is. Nice, too. Last time I came by, she comped me a free drink.”

I poke him in his upper arm. “You came by without me?”

He winces, more from the accusation in my tone than the fact that my fingernail did any damage. “Sorry, Gen. But that was a night when your brother was home and you thought he’d check on you. Tony texted me and invited me to hang out at the Playground. He was such a good lay, I thought I’d give him another chance.”

I roll my eyes. I should’ve guessed. No wonder he didn’t tell me. After how pissed Christopher was after Tony ghosted him and how he ranted to me about the disrespect, I would’ve given him an earful if I knew he gave Tony a second chance.

“And? You make up with Tony before he disappeared on you again?”

Because if he has his eye on Jessie, Tony’s no longer a focus for Christopher. He might change lovers as frequently as I change my underwear, but he’s loyal.

“Never happened. He was a no-show. So I flirted with my waitress a bit, and she gave me the drink. I meant to get her number, but I got a call and had to head out before I could. But I see she’s here tonight. Maybe that’s a sign I should… wait. I was talking about Jessie. Who were you talking about?”

“Me? Oh. Yeah. The blonde next to her.”

“What about her?”

“Is that the girl? The one who was with Kieran when he got killed?”

Christopher glances over at me. “And how do you know about that?”

Is he serious? “Because you told me that Dame lost one of his enforcers after the thick idiot tried to steal a Sinners’ girlfriend from him.”

There’s more to the story than that. Between Christopher and what I overheard at Damien’s dinner party—when he was too busy keeping an eye on Savannah’s introduction to the Family to notice I was eavesdropping on some of his soldiers as usual—it seems like one of my brother’s top killers went rogue, kidnapping his ex-girlfriend after she moved on with a member of the Sinners Syndicate.

That man ended up shooting Kieran to get her back, and he put the word out that he’d do the same to anyone else who hurt her. I was curious when I heard that—like me—she was purposely kept out of the life, instead working as a waitress at the Devil’s Playground.

Makes sense. From what I learned, her husband is the second command to the Devil of Springfield himself, and he also manages the Playground. I haven’t seen him prowling around the crowded club just yet, but when I noticed the pretty blonde and she looked a bit familiar, I had to wonder if that was her.

It made me wonder other things, too. What would it be like to be so loved by a man that he’d do anything to keep you safe? To make you his? Not because he’s your brother and he thinks he still has to take care of you after all this time, but because you’re the one woman he can’t live without?

I have no idea, but here’s hoping that one day I’ll find out.

For now, I’m content to needle and tease my best friend while, if only for a couple of hours, I can shed the mantle of who I am, and who I’m supposed to be.

Christopher flushes as he realizes I’m right. “Oh. Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him, going up on my tiptoes so I can throw both my arms around his neck, laying my head on his shoulder. “I didn’t let Damien know that, after a gin and tonic or two, you gossip like a schoolgirl.”

“Thanks, Gen,” is his dry response. “I appreciate it.”

I kiss his cheek, then let him go. The blonde waitress has disappeared into the crowd, serving the tables that border the edges of the dance floor. I decide I’m bored with the topic of whether that was Nicolette Williams or not, instead focusing on the redhead who still has Christopher’s attention.

I tap my chin. I’m not sure if it’s because of the obvious dye job influencing me or not, but… “She looks like she might be feisty. You sure you want to take her on for size?”

“If she’ll have me, definitely .”

From across the floor, I watch as Jessie suddenly flips her empty serving tray up, then swings it out, smacking one of the male club-goers in the back of his head after he boldly grabbed her tit as he ‘danced’ by her.

The man spins on his heels, looming over her, but the much smaller Jessie tilts her head back, jutting her chin as she says something to him.

As though summoned by the commotion, two guys in black suits appear just as suddenly behind her. She angrily waves them off, her body language making it clear she’s more than willing to handle the handsy customer on her own.

I bump Christopher with my hip. “My fucking God, she’s going to eat you alive.”

Christopher’s dark eyes light up. “If there is a God, I hope she will.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” One of the suits leans down, saying something to Jessie. She reluctantly nods, and the guy grabs the customer by the arm, muscling him away from the bar. Jessie tosses her hair over her shoulder, slams her tray on the countertop, and leans over to talk to the bartender. Christopher is watching her every move as if hypnotized. I nudge him. “Go say hi.”

“She just got groped, Gen. I don’t think she’ll want to be hit on right now.”

“Or maybe she’ll appreciate a good guy who won’t cop a feel because she’s working the dance floor,” I point out.

Christopher narrows his gaze, looking as if he’s seeing me for the first time. “You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

I give him my most innocent expression. “Me? Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you, Genevieve?—”

“Ooh. Full name. I’m in trouble.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over. “I call you Christopher all the time. Does that mean, if I shortened you to ‘Chris’, that’s when you’re in trouble?”

Christopher exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I grin. “You’ve been hanging around my brother too much. When I get on his last nerves, Dame makes the same exact face you just did.”

“Forget it. I know what you’re up to.” He glances at the bar again—and takes a step closer when he notices that Jessie is still hanging around there. “And there’s nothing I can do about it right now. Fuck it. I need a drink.”

Huh. That’s a new record. We’ve only been at the Playground for about ten minutes. Usually Christopher makes it at least a half an hour before he has his first gin and tonic in hand. Too worried that I’ll get into trouble—and then he’ ll get into trouble with my brother—he stays sober while we have these secret nights out. He’s my ride, after all, but I consider it a success if I work the uptight Christopher enough for him to have two drinks before he inevitably announces it’s time to leave.

But if he wants an excuse to go to the bar…

“Ooh. Get me a pi?a colada if you’re heading that way.”

His lips purse a little, like he’s trying to hide his smile. “Virgin, right?”

And… that’s what I get for poking at him earlier.

“Haha,” I say dryly. “Very funny.”

I don’t drink alcohol. That’s a leftover from my hardcore ballet days. I still audition. I still train and practice and dance every day. But now that I’m responsible for myself, instead of studying under Madame Durand, I don’t freak out about gaining ounces like I used to. I’ll splurge with a mocktail, but even I can’t bring myself to indulge in actual alcohol—and Christopher knows it.

More than that, he encourages it because we both know I’m already enough of a handful without booze. Add it and who knows what kind of trouble I could get into.

Still, as much as I tease Christopher, he gets his back whenever he can. He’s happy to swap lovers frequently, nowhere near ready to settle down at twenty-five. And then there’s me. I’ve kissed guys before, but that’s as far as it’s gone, and Christopher knows that, too.

He also knows how much it irks me that, between my family and my career, I’ve missed out on so many life experiences normal people my age have had which is why, in his way, he enables me sneaking out so that I at least have some of them.

But that doesn’t stop him from saying, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time. I’m going to go dance on the floor for a bit.”

“Gen—”

I roll my eyes. “I know. Don’t draw attention to myself. It’s an upbeat dance song, Christopher, not a piece by Tchaikovsky. I’m not about to do pirouettes and arabesques in the middle of the dance floor. No one will even notice me.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

He sighs. “Did you happen to look in a mirror before you snuck out of your bedroom earlier?”

I was in my studio which is wall-to-wall mirror from floor to ceiling. “Obviously.”

Christopher opens his mouth, thinks about it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Never mind. Just… dance by yourself, okay? Until I’m back with the drinks. Can you do that?”

“Be careful,” is the answer I give him. “You’re starting to sound like Damien.”

“I mean it. Just because there’s a truce?—”

I wave him off. The entire ride over to the West Side of Springfield earlier tonight, I had to hear Christopher’s lecture about how dangerous it would be if anyone from the Sinners Syndicate realized that Damien Libellula’s sister was on their territory. I heard that before the recent truce. I’ve heard it after.

It’s just a nightclub. I’ll be fine.

Christopher hesitates, as though he wants to push the subject, but a quick glance over his shoulder reveals that Jessie has moved behind the bar now.

He’s my best friend—but he’s also a guy.

“Behave,” is the last thing he says before he starts pushing his way through the crowd, moving like a great white shark who has its prey in sight.

Behave?

I scoff.

Now why would I do that?