AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just water, thanks.” Which probably cost ten dollars a glass.
“Sir?”
“I’ll have a beer.”
We’d booked the gold package, which included a complimentary themed cocktail and a souvenir feather boa. Did I need a feather boa? No, but the gold tables were closer to the stage than those in the silver package, and the platinum seats were sold out. We’d arrived early, and after Collier hinted to the hostess that I had a bladder problem—thanks, buddy—she’d seated us at the side near the bathrooms and the kitchen. Our table for two came with velvet tub chairs and a cute beaded lamp. While I watched the show, Collier had been focusing on the staff and performers coming and going, filming all of them with a hidden camera. So far, we hadn’t seen anyone who looked like a Cavallaro, but the night was still young. Next up was Coco Delite, according to the program.
“Sounds like a dessert,” Collier remarked, and maybe that was intentional because ten minutes later, she popped out of a giant cake amid a cloud of confetti, just as the appetisers were served. Okay, the food was pretty good. I wasn’t sure if it was two-hundred-bucks-a-ticket good, but definitely better than a Wonder Burger. I speared a piece of grilled asparagus while Collier tucked into seared scallops. No buckets of onion rings here, and sheesh…that woman was flexible. I’d be in the hospital for a week if I tried any of those moves. How did she get her leg behind her head like that?
We had a good view because the table in front of us stayed empty. A “Reserved” sign stopped anyone who might be tempted to move closer to the stage. Those were platinum seats, three hundred bucks a pop, so someone clearly had money to burn.
“Damn, I love my job,” Collier said as a trio of scantily clad women shook their asses at him.
“I’ve had worse evenings,” I admitted. I’d been expecting a tacky show one step up from a strip club, but the performances were surprisingly good. Kind of like a Broadway musical, but with lip-syncing and fewer clothes. Short stories rather than a novel. If it hadn’t been for the whole Mafia thing, I might have suggested swapping Bradley’s burlesque workshop for a girls’ night out at the Starlight Lounge. “How long do you think they spend rehearsing?”
“Hours every day. My ex-wife was a dancer.”
Collier had been married? “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“Don’t be. We’re both happier without each other.” Collier glanced at his phone and leaned closer. “This place belongs to Vito Cavallaro, but his youngest son runs it day-to-day. Cesare. A slippery motherfucker.”
“You’ve come across him before?”
“Not personally.” Another glance, and Collier nodded toward the screen. “Used to share an apartment with a couple of cops, and they’ll still help me out off the record. Word on the street says Cesare formed a strategic partnership with Renzo Bucci.”
Renzo Bucci. The groom. “Arms dealing?”
“The NYPD hasn’t managed to pin anything on him yet.”
A chill ran through me, and Dan’s words echoed in my ears. Watch your back. I took comfort in the fact that I was in a room full of people and the Cavallaro family had no idea who I was. The thought that Kaylin La Rocca might have gotten tangled up with these people was beyond terrifying, and I knew that from experience. When I’d crossed paths with a gang loosely affiliated with the Mafia—the man in charge had been their banker—I’d found myself trapped in a luxury prison, expected to fuck dozens of men in return for not dying. Not every girl had made it out, but I had, thanks to Blackwood. The logical explanation was that Kaylin had suffered a similar fate, but if she’d been able to send a card to her grandma and flowers to an old roommate… Something didn’t add up.
“A friend of a friend got arrested for murder just for taking photos in a public park, and folks like the Cavallaros can sell illegal weapons without consequence? Sometimes, the justice system makes me sick.”
“Easy, tiger. Why do you think I never applied to join the NYPD? My uncle was a cop, and when I was a kid, he’d come over for dinner and rant about the unfairness of it all. And then his ex-partner—” Collier cut off and turned his attention to his last morsel of pan-fried sea bass. What had he been about to say? I never found out because once he’d chewed and swallowed, he nuzzled my ear with his nose. “Don’t turn around. Vito just walked in.”
Holy crap. It took an effort not to spin my head like a stuntwoman on The Exorcist. A moment later, four men came into view, all wearing suits, heading for the empty table. The thing that surprised me most about Vito was his size. I’d only seen headshots, and in person, he was shorter than me. The man beside him was four inches taller, and the pair of them were sandwiched between two hulking giants who made no attempt to hide the bulges under their jackets. Bodyguards.
“Just in time for the headline act,” Collier murmured.
Daisy de Ville and the Divas would be appearing at nine p.m., followed by the Vixens at ten. Marlena the Magician would be circulating among the gold and platinum tables for a more personal touch. We hadn’t decided whether to stay for the after-party—if Vito stuck around, I’d probably succumb to morbid curiosity, but otherwise my thousand-thread-count sheets were calling.
“Is that Cesare with Vito?” I whispered to Collier.
“I think so.”
Cesare Cavallaro. A dangerously attractive fledgling arms dealer who may or may not be the key to my case. The more I watched him from the corner of my eye, the more convinced I became that he could be the man Anisha saw. Handsome and he knew it. Even leaning back in his seat with a drink in his hand, he exuded power. And arrogance. He ordered the servers around as if they were trash.
The lights dimmed, and a hush fell across the club. Even the Cavallaros stopped talking and looked toward the stage. Someone had brought out a microphone, and a figure moved toward it, then stilled as the band struck up the opening bars to “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.” A spotlight hit Daisy de Ville, and Bradley would have turned green with envy if he’d been there. The effect was blinding. She sparkled from the crystal feathers on her ornate eye mask to the tips of her bejewelled pumps. Her long chestnut hair was styled into vintage pin curls, and a corset bodysuit accentuated her curves and pulled in her tiny waist. When she opened her mouth, I changed my mind about the ticket prices. Maybe they were actually too cheap? The Divas danced behind her in an elaborate routine involving a champagne glass and an oversized pearl necklace, and nobody in the audience uttered a word. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Then she sashayed across the stage toward us, microphone in hand, and a synapse fired in my brain. The mask hid the top half of her face, and a curtain of hair covered the left side. But when she lowered the mic for a second, there was something familiar about the mouth. The plump bottom lip, the deep Cupid’s bow, the momentary pout. Then there were the high cheekbones, the straight, narrow nose, and the delicate line of her jaw.
Could it be…?
No, no way.
But when I turned to Collier, he was watching her with the same curiosity, his gaze fixed on her face rather than her cleavage. He raised an eyebrow.
Fuck.
