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“Why belladonna on the warehouse?” I asked, curious. My reasons were a tribute to Nonna, but as he’d pointed out, belladonna is a bold choice.
“Why not?” He grinned. “Don’t see us as flower guys?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted, but his broad smile was infectious. “It’s deadly, true. Although, I expected more guns, less poison.”
“Guns are too predictable,” commented Graff.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you want to establish territory and fear?” I asked. “I would assume the club, being all about this counter-culture lifestyle, would want something big and scary on the building. I mean others would have to know what it is to be wary, because it really draws the eye.” My cheeks flared when I caught myself blabbing, and I looked down.
Graff curled a finger and tucked it under my chin, bringing my eyes back up to meet his. “There’s something addictively beautiful about the belladonna flower. Like it’s Mother Nature’s way of saying, ‘Come in and play,’ just before she eviscerates you.”
“Oh, I see,” I replied, keeping the flirty tone, though I didn’t know when that had started. Maybe when I first touched him tonight or maybe when we started bantering so naturally. But Ihad the sensation I was a mouse playing with the cat. I needed to be less sadistic before I lost my prize.
He drew his eyebrows together, like he was still trying to figure me out. “The Mafia’s so different?” His voice wavered between joking and hesitation.
“I don’t actually know that much about my father’s business,” I lied, “but I think the Mafia hides themselves better... until they don’t.”
I huffed and looked away, feeling like a misplaced child playing a game I didn’t understand. Yet. I may be a pawn now, but I had a plan brewing. Unfortunately, I looked away from Graff at the wrong time, losing the growing safety and contentment that had been forming between us, because then I saw Sas stumbling across the yard, his arm slung around one of the half-dressed girls. A bunny?
His glassy eyes reflected the bonfire before he stumbled toward the flames, but the bunny drew him back. He fell against her, and they laughed.
“Adelina,” whispered Graff, though it echoed in my ears. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles, but I withdrew my hand. I couldn’t let my betrothed’s friend offer that kind of comfort.
“Why is he covered in blood?” I demanded, still watching Sas.
The bunny was drawing him further away from the flames, their limbs intertwining.
“It’s his own,” said Graff. “Mostly. I think.”
“I can tell that from the shiner on his cheek.”
Then Sas and the bunny started kissing. Disgustingly. His jaw dropped open, and he looked like he was eating her alive. His shoulders were hunched over her small frame, his body shadowing bunny. They made out like they were devouring each other. Shit, they were probably going to continue until the bunnywas on her knees, sucking Sas’s cock. Like all the other whores here.
“Adelina,” said Graff in the same whispered tone. It was too tender for this kind of life.
“It’s fine,” I said, finally tearing my gaze away from Sas and the bunny. “Who is the chick?”
“Kaos,” said Graff.
I snorted. “What kind of name is that?”
Even the whores had stupid names. It probably all came down to what they did in bed. I bet the Duchess only fucked cowgirl style. Yeah, I might’ve been a virgin, but I wasn’t some naïve doll.
“They shouldn’t...” muttered Graff, shaking his head. All color had drained from his face, but he had wound his hands into fists. “Sas should know better, and they are...” He ground his teeth.
“It’s not like I expected him to be a real husband.” I waved off his concern. “I’m familiar with the lack of monogamy in MCs.”
He pursed his lips. “That’s, um, not exactly what I was getting at.”
“Seriously.” I scoffed. “It’s not like we’re married yet. Hell, I could be fucking whoever I want too. Right?”
Why waste my virginity on that asshole? I scanned the crowd to find almost everyone paired off, and gross. I would never want to touch any of these men, let alone have them touch me. But I peeked back at Graff from the corner of my eye.
Orange bonfire light illuminated his features, hardening the lines on his face that I hadn’t seen before. No, they hadn’t been there before. But now the lines were etched around his eyes, aging him ten years. The tattoos now made sense on him. The belladonna on the outside of the building had extra meaning—beautiful but deadly. It would bring in the weak and those who marveled, and then it would kill them slowly.
