Chapter Fourteen

Adele

Resin nightclub is impressive. I'll give them that.

The place is a sensory feast. From my vantage point at the bar, I take in the scene. Strobe lights bounce off the polished marble floor and the air is scented with lavender and citrus, a refreshing change from the usual overpowering scent of sweat and cloying perfume.

Plush velvet booths line the walls and colorful reflective lights lend an interesting flickering glow to the place.

Across the room, bathed in the glow of the revolving disco ball, Kira effortlessly spins a set that has the crowd raving. I catch the girl with the pink braids and the rectangular-spectacled guy from the other day and wave back with a smile.

"Sure you don't want to dance?" Zedd asks beside me.

I take a steadying breath and pray that he respects my personal space today. I really don't want to have to give him a dressing down on a night he seems to be having so much fun.

"No, I'm good for now, Zedd. You go on."

The last thing I want to do is dance. I'm feeling too self-conscious in the white dress I talked myself into wearing. Although I didn't have a choice.

I couldn't exactly wear baggy jeans and a T-shirt, especially when Kira was dressed in a sparkly black number. The white dress was the only one I had.

"You've had an ungodly long drive here, Addy. You should stretch your legs on the dance floor," Zedd coaxes.

I didn't want to go on Zedd's tour bus because fourteen hours of being stuck in an enclosed place with his eyes burning holes into me wasn't my idea of a fun road trip. And as Kira isn't a great fan of flying, we rented a Corolla, and I drove us down here.

"No, seriously. Go have fun. I'll watch you from here."

"Well, in that case, we can stay here and people watch together."

Oh, Lord. I thought the guy could take a hint. If the last half hour is any indication, it seems he plans to stay glued to me all night.

I shrug and take a sip of my apple juice since I've clearly become allergic to alcohol. I mean, I wasn't going to knowingly drink while pregnant, but this baby has ensured that every drop of alcohol that entered my body after she did, came flying back out.

Kira and I haven't spoken about the pregnancy since I tested positive. She understood that I needed time to process my next steps.

"By the way, you look beautiful, Addy," Zedd breathes. "White is definitely your color."

"Thanks," I murmur tightly, discreetly tugging at the hem of my dress again, regretting why I didn't go with Kira to get a different dress.

While there's nothing wrong with this one, it's just that it belongs to another life. The last time I wore it was on my twenty-first birthday dinner date with Dante. I push down the memories threatening to surface and focus on why I'm here.

I'm here for Kira.

My gaze drifts back to her and instantly snags on the person standing next to her in the DJ booth.

An attractive man in his mid-twenties wearing an expensive suit. Tattoos snake up his neck, and a silver necklace peeking beneath his open shirt. Their heads are close together, almost touching as he speaks. She listens raptly even as her hands fly over the mixer. And then she throws her head back and laughs.

An unwelcome shiver races down my spine.

There's something about him—a familiarity that feels like a slap to the face. But it's Kira's reaction that's most unsettling. Kira is relaxed and at ease. Enjoying herself.

They know each other.

"Zedd?" My voice is barely audible, drowned out by the pulsing music. He leans close to me, his eyes brightening with hope and excitement.

"Do you know that guy Kira's talking to?" I keep my voice casual despite the unease prickling at the back of my neck.

Zedd follows my gaze and lets out a low chuckle. "Oh, him? He's one of Kira's people."

He says that like he expects me to get it. When I continue to stare at him blankly, he moves even closer to me, his face etched with disbelief.

"Wait, how long have you known Kira?"

I'm pretty sure I've known her longer than you, I want to snap, but somehow I sense he's not trying to mock me.

"Since college," I admit, feeling like the idiot who missed the joke. "We were roomies." His eyebrows almost rise to his hairline and something tells me I don't know Kira Sibel at all.

"I mean, she went back home to Chicago shortly after we finished college while I stayed back. We only just reconnected a few months ago when she returned to Boston."

And by the time Kira returned, she'd somehow become a nightclub sensation.

Zedd's nod is weighted as if debating what to say.

"In that case, you should ask Kira who her people are when you get back home."

"Zedd, come on. Please." I give him my best puppy-dog eyes.

"Okay," he mutters, his resolve instantly crumbling. "But you didn't hear this from me."

"I swear," I say quickly, my eyes still pleading for him to spill.

"So," Zedd begins, "does the name Vito Vitelli mean anything to you?"

I stop breathing. Please. No. Hell fucking no.

"No," I squeak. But it does. It really, really does.

He continues in a hushed tone. "Well, Vito is the patriarch of the Vitelli crime family—he's retired now. His son Nico is in charge now. I only got to know this myself when I was DJing in a Chicago club a few years back. Kira was new to the scene, and I think she was a little starstruck by me. We got talking, and she got tipsy. Nothing happened between us," Zedd puts his hands up when he sees my expression morph into disgust.

"Anyway," he continues, "Vitelli is Kira's godfather or something."

I snort out a laugh, my tension dissipating. "Oh, please. A drunk Kira told you that? And you believed her? Kira has a thing for Italian men and the mafia."

Absently I run my fingers through my curls, lifting the strands off my shoulders to let cool air reach my skin. The instant I see Zedd's heavy-lidded gaze heat up, I snap out of it. I'd hate for the guy to think I'm flirting. "Look, The Godfather is like her scripture, so I'm not surprised she'd fantasize that Vito Vitelli, a retired mafia don, is her godfather."

Zedd only gives me a wry look. "Alright. I see how that might be a stretch to believe. Can you at least believe that her mother is the Vitelli's housekeeper?"

The smug smile falls off my face.

Seeing he's got my attention, Zedd presses on. "Did you also know Kira's mother was trafficked from Turkey to America by a rebel syndicate, and Vito intercepted the cargo and saved them? Kira was so young and had no way of coping with her new disability."

I clasp my hands together in my lap to stop the trembling.

"Vito Vitelli took them in and raised Kira like a daughter, or well, like a god-daughter," Zedd finishes as if he just told me that Kira won a spelling bee.

My heart breaks for what Kira and her mom went through, and I am unable to imagine what would have happened to both of them had Dante's father not intervened. Yet hot betrayal burns in my chest at Kira's deception.

Kira's obsession with the Mafia isn't some audiobook fantasy. She lives with them.

Kira knows Dante Vitelli.

Kira knows I'm pregnant with Dante Vitelli's baby.

And suddenly, I feel like I'm the punchline of a joke I didn't even know I was part of.

I swallow my rising panic and the urge to run out of the club and out of Chicago like a crazy woman.

"So back to him," I nod at the tattooed guy still standing next to Kira. He appears to be whispering something to her. "You said he's one of Kira's people? Is he here to support Kira?"

"No, he's some sort of mafia genius and he designed this place." Zed throws an arm out. "His boss, Dante Vitelli, owns the club. Or maybe Nico does. Anyway, one of them does. It's hard to tell which way is up with the Vitelli brothers."

My blood turns to ice even as my rage simmers.

This is—could be Dante's club.

Kira knowingly brought me here.

Dante could show up at any point because Kira may have told him I'm pregnant with his baby.

My heart races, pounding against my ribcage like a trapped bird desperate to escape. The room spins, the flashing lights and pulsing music blurring into a dizzying mix. Here I am, already drowning in the bog of my family drama, yet the universe decides my life still isn't complicated enough.

Zedd must sense my discomfort because he places a reassuring hand on my arm. "Are you alright, Addy?"

Fighting to keep my expression neutral, I force a smile and say, "Zedd, I need to leave."

"What? Now?"

"Yep." I jump off my stool as panic claws at my throat. I need space to breathe, to think. I can practically feel Dante's presence, a phantom heat radiating through the crowd.

Zedd catches my arm, holding me in place. "Whoa, hold up, Addy." His words are playful, but his grip tightens. "Look, I didn't mean to scare you. I promise you're safe here. No one will hurt you. Actually, no one can. You're Kira's friend."

Kira is a lot of things right now, but my friend isn't one of them. I yank my arm free, stumbling back a step. "I just remembered something I have to do back in Boston." My excuse is beyond lame. I really need to be a better liar.

Like Kira, and Benjamin O'Shea, I think, anger surging through me, hot and bitter.

"What? Are you serious?" Zedd moves to block my path, his brow furrowed. "You can't just bail on Kira's big night. You drove her here!"

"I'm sure she'll have no shortage of mafia men to ferry her wherever she needs to go," I spit.

All those years, and all through the fourteen-hour trip here, she could have mentioned that she knew Dante. That Dante is her god-brother or whatever they are to each other.

I can only conclude that she wanted me here for her big night, not even caring that it would put me in an awkward position, especially being pregnant with the man's baby.

Zedd places a hand on my shoulder. "Look, I'm not stupid. I get that she didn't tell you any of this. She doesn't tell anyone. She still deeply regrets spilling the beans to me. As much as she is grateful for that family, she wants to live a normal life, and to be able to do that, no one can know that she's linked to them."

"I'm not no one. I am—was her best friend, Zedd."

His voice softens, his eyes searching mine. "Talk to her. Work it out. I'll get her for you right now if you want."

I hesitate, torn between the urge to flee and the realization that Zedd might be right. Leaving won't help, except to hurt Kira. And while I would derive perverse joy in hurting her back, I really don't want to.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "Zedd, I can't pull her in the middle of a gig so we can have a chat."

"Are you going to wait till the end of the night?"

I grab my purse. "Hell no."

He sighs, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "Then I'm not going to be the reason her best friend abandoned her in a club on her big night. Wait, I'll get her for you and take over from her. I'm sure the crowd won't mind."

I sigh in defeat. "Okay, hurry. I can't . . . I shouldn't be here right now."

Zedd nods, squeezing my shoulder before approaching the DJ booth. I watch as he reaches Kira, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. She glances in a random direction, unable to locate where exactly I am, and my heart squeezes tight.

I'm so angry with her but still in awe of her at the same time. I often forget she can't see.

Just then, a movement to my left catches my eye, and I turn to see a stunning woman in a slinky gold dress. She's tall and slender, with sleek dark hair and a figure that could make a nun swear. Her lips are curved in a cool, predatory smile, but her dark brown eyes are like ice chips, sending a bolt of unease through me. She perches on the barstool to my left.

I smile in greeting, and in response, she stares pointedly at my hair, scoffs, then rolls her eyes and turns away.

Fresh out of patience for catty nonsense, I snark. "Is there a problem?"

"Not unless you make one, hun," she replies, not sparing me another look. "Just a friendly heads-up, by the way, the man you're looking for is now permanently off the market."

I blink in disbelief. Who the fuck does this woman think she is? "I'm not sure which fortune teller told you I was looking for a man, hun, but you might want to ask for them for a refund." I retort.

Kira and her friend arrive, distracting me from the bitch next to me. Kira slips onto the plush seat, and the big tattooed friend stands next to her, watching me with an unsettling intensity. He inclines his head slightly as if in recognition.

"Addy, what's going on? Zedd says you're trying to leave," Kira's voice is tight and urgent, her unseeing eyes fixed on a point just over my shoulder.

"Oh, you know, just thought I'd cut the night short," I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Turns out I'm allergic to surprise mafia connections. Who knew?"

Kira's eyes widen. "Addy—"

"How could you, Kira? All this time, you knew Dante, and you never said a word."

Kira's jaw clenches, and her hands curl into a fist. The tattooed man looks over at the catty woman sitting on the opposite side of me, bends and whispers something to Kira, then leaves.

Kira immediately lowers her voice to a whisper. "You're one to talk about keeping secrets."

"That's different, and you know it," I snap, my voice rising. "I explained why I did it. You, though. You have no leg to stand on. I thought we were friends, Kira. I thought we trusted each other."

"Exactly," Kira retorts, her words clipped and icy. "I trusted you. Both of you. You obviously met during the Rho Theta party in our senior year, right under my nose. Do you think if I could see, both of you could have kept that secret from me?"

I shut my mouth, guilt twisting in my gut. She has a fair point there. Looks like we're both competing for the ‘Friend of the Year' award.

"Look," I say, my voice low, trying to get a grip on my swirling emotions. "Can I just go? Please? I don't want to be here. I told you, Dante warned me to stay away from Chicago."

"Addy," Kira continues in a cool voice, "he's here. And he now knows you're here. So, you might as well stay and talk to him."

My heart leaps to my throat, my eyes widening in disbelief. "Kira, are you serious? I have to leave." I grab my purse, but then something awful occurs to me. "Did you tell him?"

Kira's brows furrow as she shakes her head, and then she reaches for my hand. "Of course not. I'd never do that. It's not my place."

I yank my hand away from her. "But you thought it'd be okay to make me look like a stalker, right?" The thought sends a fresh wave of humiliation through me. "I mean, he already has dozens of women throwing themselves at him; what's one more, right?"

"You only say that because you don't know how he—" Kira starts, but the silky voice to my left interrupts our heated exchange.

"You know, you being a pathetic stalker might be the one thing we can both agree on."

I whirl around, facing the catty brunette again. "Look, I've had it up to here with your nonsense. I don't know what your problem is or who you think you are—"

"I'm Alina De Luca, the woman he's marrying in a few weeks. So, I think I've earned the right to demand that you keep your filthy paws off Dante."

I roll my eyes, not even about to rise to her wild claims. "Right. And I'm the Queen of Boston. Lovely to meet you, too."

"Oh no," Kira murmurs beside me, and I whirl on her.

"Addy," Kira grabs for my hand again, and this time her grip is like a vise. "You're right, Addy. You should go. You can um, come back later."

Kira's reaction tells me everything I need to know.

Suddenly I don't want to leave. "Is it true? He's getting married?"

Kira nods imperceptibly and murmurs, "Arranged marriage," under her breath.

Rage. Jealousy. And a few other ugly, painful emotions I can't be bothered to name rush through me. I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Oh, wow. An arranged marriage. How charmingly medieval. What's in the clause? A dowry of goats and a public bedding ceremony?"

Here I was, secretly—stupidly, apparently—loving the idea of a part of Dante growing inside me. And now, I find out he's getting married to someone else.

I guess that gives me the clarity I need. Along with a heaping dose of humiliation.

I take a deep breath, forcing down the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. As I turn back to the woman, her pretty face marred by that smug, ugly sneer, the truth hits hard—she's somehow enjoying this.

"Well, Alina, it would seem congratulations are in order then," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil churning beneath the surface.

She arches an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "I would wash that garish hair dye right off, hun. It's no use. Clearly, he doesn't do redheads anymore."

My jaw drops. The audacity of this woman! Before I can come up with a suitably scathing retort, I notice people are stopping, staring, and whispering behind their hands.

"Alina." A deep voice cuts through the tension like a knife, bringing the temperature in the room down a few degrees.

Dante.

He materializes beside Alina, his face tight with tension and a muscle ticking in his jaw. He looks gorgeous with his black tailored shirt clinging to his big frame like a second skin, tanned tattooed throat peeking out of his partially buttoned shirt.

He doesn't even spare me a glance, yet, like a besotted fool, I can't tear my gaze from him. My breath catches as I stare. I don't think a time will ever come when I'll get used to Dante's presence, his aura. His beauty.

And right now, his hand is resting possessively on Alina's lower back.

Well, isn't that just perfect?

"Come with me, cara, " Dante says to her.

I watch as Dante helps Alina off her stool. She follows him, her gaze filled with undisguised hunger. It occurs to me as Dante and Alina disappear into the sea of bodies that I've never seen him touch another woman before. It's torture. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of Dante with her.

Touching her.

Making love to her.

Putting his baby inside her.

A wave of disgust hits me, and I know I should turn away, but I can't stop watching, staring at that hand hovering on the small of Alina's back.