22. Scarlett

"So where is this Valentino's?"I ask, as Lyssa and I exit the diner.

"Surely you know Valentino's." Lyssa gives me a look like I'm hopeless. "It's…well, it's neutral ground in this city. Where the big players go to parley and hash shit out without fear of getting whacked on someone else's turf."

I shake my head. "Never heard of it. But like I just said to Johnny, Grandmother made sure none of us could see the bigger picture. So show me, Wolf." I give her a smile and slip my arm into hers. "Teach me."

"We'll need to blend in," Lyssa says, eyeing my jeans and t-shirt. "They have a dress code. So we'll need some new threads for the occasion."

Before I can protest about not having money for fancy outfits, Lyssa is grabbing my hand and hauling me over to a hopeful-looking taxi waiting by the curb. We end up at one of the ritziest shopping districts in Chicago, pulling up in front of a designer boutique that looks wildly out of my price range.

It should be closed, this time of night, but Lyssa made a phone call on the way over, and it's lit up like a Christmas tree, with a sign on the front saying Private Dressing to keep out the curious.

"Lyssa, I can't afford—" I start to say, but she just winks at me.

"My treat. Can't have my girl looking like a ragamuffin when we hit up Valentino's."

My cheeks flush at her casual possessiveness, that little endearment of "my girl" making my heart skip a beat despite myself.

"Besides," she says more seriously, "money is not an issue. At all. Ever. Get used to it, Scar."

I just shake my head with a smile, and let her pull me into the store. Lyssa locks the door behind me, and three women appear, one with champagne.

Well, alright then.

"Ms. Lyssa," one of them gushes. "How lovely to see you again. And this occasion, you say?—"

"Dinner. At Valentino's."

"We have just the thing, I'm sure."

We end up alone soon after, Lyssa ushering me into a private dressing room with a devilish grin as she hands me a garment bag that one of the women handed her. "Try this on for me."

I unzip the bag, my jaw dropping when I see the slinky red dress inside, made of some satiny material that clings to every curve. It's easily the sexiest, most daring thing I've ever seen.

"Are you serious?" I hiss at Lyssa, who's lounging casually against the wall, already changed into a slimline sapphire blue suit that makes her look like some kind of delicious mobster fantasy.

"Just try it on," she purrs, her voice low and sultry in that way that makes me shiver.

Swallowing hard, I slip off my street clothes and carefully step into the dress, and let Lyssa zip me up. When I finally turn to face the mirror, I can't believe the vision staring back at me.

The dress molds to every dip and curve of my body like a second skin, the neckline dipping in a tantalizing, low vee between my breasts. The brilliant red color makes my skin look luminous and my hazel eyes glow.

"Wow." I run my hands down the front of the dress, feeling like a total narcissist when I can't take my eyes off myself.

"You like?" Lyssa's voice comes from right behind me, her arms snaking around my waist as she presses up against my back. Our eyes meet in the mirror and the heat in her gaze makes me feel like I'm burning up from the inside out.

"I love it," I tell her in a breathy whisper, arching back against the solid strength of her body.

Lyssa's lips brush the side of my neck, sending tingles down my spine. "Good. Because you look like the tastiest fucking thing I've ever seen, and later I want to peel that dress off you with my teeth."

A whimper escapes my lips at her words, images of exactly that flashing through my mind. Before I can second guess it, I'm spinning in her arms and crushing my mouth against hers in a searing kiss.

Lyssa shoves me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head. "When Hadria and Aurora got together," she murmurs, "Hadria took her shopping. They spent hours finding the perfect dress to distract Hadria's brother Nero." She leans back, looking me up and down with unashamed desire. "At the time, I thought it was a waste of time. But boy oh boy, I get it now."

I tilt my head, looking up at her through my lashes. "Is that your way of telling me I look hot?"

Lyssa pulls me off the wall only to turn me and push me against the mirror so that I'm eye-to-eye with myself, her hands sliding over my belly, my ribcage, my breasts. "No," she murmurs, her lips brushing my ear. "This is my way of telling you that you look hot."

One of her hands drops to grab the skirt and hikes it up, while the other yanks my panties down, leaving me exposed and aching for her. I press my ass back into her crotch, moaning softly. She encourages it as I grind back against her, my pussy already tingling, aching for her touch. At last her fingers slide between my legs and she gives an appreciative chuckle. "So wet for me already. I want you to watch yourself while you come. See how gorgeous you are."

"Oh, fuck," I whimper, writhing against her as her skilled fingers tease and glide. Each brush of her fingertips against my clit makes me want this more. "But if they come in?—"

"If they come in, then I'll make them stand there and watch along," she murmurs, eyes dark with lust. "Because I wouldn't want to deprive them of such a beautiful sight." Her free hand slides into the loose top now, pinching at my nipple. "Good girl," she coos as I groan. "See how pretty you look?"

Oh, God—her words, combined with her fingers, and the idea of having those women outside file in and watch as Lyssa has her oh-so-wicked way with me?—

My eyes meet my own in the mirror, and I'm shocked by the wanton expression on my face. My lips are swollen from biting at them to keep quiet, cheeks flushed, and there's no doubt about exactly how much I'm enjoying this.

"I think you might be a bit of an exhibitionist, Scar," Lyssa murmurs. "You get wetter any time I mention people watching me play with this hot little pussy of yours."

That's it. I'm right there on the edge with her dirty talk, my eyes going wide in the mirror as I realize there's no stopping what's about to happen. "Lyssa?—"

"That's it, baby. Show me exactly how much you like it."

I close my eyes instinctively, but her hand shoots away from my nipple and grabs my face, making me watch myself, watch her as she watches me watching myself…

"Still," she whispers in my ear. "I gotta be honest. I like knowing I'm the only one who gets to see you like this. So let's make sure to keep things quiet." She slides her hand over my mouth, not hard, but enough to give me that last little erotic jolt that I need. It hits me hard enough that my knees go weak, and I feel like Lyssa's hand in my cunt is both the only thing holding me up and the one thing that's making me collapse. I grind frantically into her palm and watch myself come for her, my tits shuddering as I writhe and shake in her hold.

Sometime later, we emerge in our new clothes—the red dress and Lyssa's suit—and after paying for them, we head back out to the taxi dressed up for a night on the town—including, for me, the high heels the women in the store recommended.

Not stilettos. They suggested them, but I turned them down fast. Lyssa had a wry look on her face, but she said nothing.

As far as I'm concerned, my stiletto days are over—both knives and shoes. These heels I'm wearing will be tricky enough to fight in, but Lyssa assures me there will be no fighting tonight.

"So, uh, what's the plan when we get to this Valentino's place?" I ask, doing my best not to stare too overtly at how good she looks in the suit. She's wearing the buttoned jacket over nothing at all, having deemed the shirt suggestions at the store "too frou-frou." it's hard to keep my eyes on her face instead of her chest. "I'm guessing we can't just waltz in without a reservation?"

Lyssa shoots me a look, one corner of her mouth quirking up. "You wound me, Scarlett. Don't you know who I am?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't deny the little thrill I get from her complete confidence. She's a force of nature, striking awe and fear wherever she goes. The Wolf.

Still, I can't help teasing her a little. "Is that what you're going to say to the host? ‘Don't you know who I am?'"

"Ma?tre d'," she corrects me. "And I won't have to. Getting in won't be an issue. Getting information…now that's the tricky part."

True to her word, when we enter the restaurant, the staff blanches visibly at the sight of Lyssa coming through the doors. We're immediately ushered to a private table in the back, discreetly placed with our backs to the wall—no doubt for security.

"Would you ladies care to start with something from the bar?" the ma?tre d' asks once we're seated, his tone completely deferential towards Lyssa.

"Water," Lyssa replies crisply. "Sparkling," she adds, as though giving in to luxury.

"Just sparkling water for me too, thanks."

The ma?tre d' nods and scurries off, leaving Lyssa and me alone in the hushed, luxurious surroundings. I lean in a bit, keeping my voice low.

"So much for not attracting any attention," I murmur, watching as the staff continues to sneak glances our way. "I feel like we've got a goddamn spotlight on us."

"Let's use it to our advantage, shall we?" Lyssa says with a casual shrug, utterly unfazed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that a reputation can be a hindrance…or a help." We order some food for appearances, but mostly stick to sipping our waters as Lyssa begins to strategically question our servers, her low tones holding the barest hints of threat. To their credit, none of them flinch too obviously, though I see one of them with hands shaking as he refills our glasses.

By the time our entrees have been cleared, one visibly-rattled waiter has reluctantly admitted that Grandmother was here about a week ago, and met with someone. But he claims not to know who she spoke with.

Lyssa eyes him coolly. "Send over the ma?tre d'."

"Ma'am, if there's anything I've done to offend?—"

"Send him over."

The ma?tre d' hurries over as soon as he's alerted to Lyssa's summons. The poor man looks like he's aged ten years in the span of our dinner so far, sweat beading on his brow as he approaches our table.

"I-is there something else I can get for you, madam?" he asks, stammering slightly.

"Yeah. The truth," Lyssa growls, low and dangerous. "Tell me who Grandmother met here, and you'll be allowed to finish out your night in peace. Deny me, and…" she lets the threat hang in the air, ominous and unspoken.

"Madam, you must know our reputation here?—"

"And you must know mine," she breaks in. "You must know that I'm no mafioso, bound to old-fashioned codes of honor. I'm the Wolf. And if you don't tell me what I want to know…" She smiles, and even I feel my heart rate pick up. "Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your fucking house down."

The ma?tre d's eyes go wide. After what seems like an eternity, he finally leans in and whispers into Lyssa's ear.

I watch in confusion as her body goes stiff and motionless beside me as the ma?tre d' practically sprints away from the table.

"Lyssa?" I prompt, a tendril of fear curling through me. "What is it? Who did he say?" When she doesn't respond right away, I reach out and grasp her hand firmly, giving it a squeeze. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

Lyssa finally turns to meet my gaze, her expression grave and heavy. "Zepp Imperioli," she says, voice hollow. "Hadria's father. Grandmother met with Hadria's fucking father."

The name means almost nothing to me—I know there was some scuffle between Hadria and the Imperiolis, but just like Valentino's, the intricacies of organized crime in Chicago have not been something I looked into much. But I can see it's bad news. I'm just not sure why. I squeeze her hand again, reassuring.

"Okay," I say slowly. "Then what do we do with this information?"

Lyssa's eyes are hard. "There's only one thing I can do, Scar. I need to let Hadria know. Immediately."

I can feel my face going pale. "But?—"

Her fingers tighten almost painfully around mine as she holds my gaze. "I know what I just said to that guy, Scar—that I'm not interested in honor. But it wasn't…"

"It wasn't true," I finish for her.

"She's my sister," Lyssa says simply. "And she needs to know, even if she's real fucking mad at me right now." Her brows pull together, and somehow her voice becomes even more intense. "And I need you to promise me something, Scarlett. If things go south with Hadria...if she decides my betrayal is too much...I need you to run. Get the fuck out of Chicago and don't look back. Will you do that for me?"

The plea in her voice tears at my heart. There's so much left up in the air between us, so much unresolved. But she needs to hear me agree with her right now, so that she can concentrate on what she needs to do.

So I lift her hand to my lips, brushing a soft kiss over her knuckles as I meet her stare steadily. "I promise," I murmur against her skin. "Will you go to Elysium?"

"No," she says grimly. "Ironically, Valentino's is the best place for this little conversation. She'll think twice before trying to kill me here, for one thing. And for another, she might want to put the squeeze on the staff herself."

"Then I'll stay and?—"

"No," she says. "No, Scar. You need to go."