The damn thing is for my hand, and I don’t even know when the fucking thing is. I haven’t asked my dad about it, and he seems glad to stay far away from addressing the neon pink elephant in the room. This ball was happening, but I would feel better about it if I knew where my dad’s head was about it.
The mission was chugging along. With the success of the first meeting, Donovan has stayed in his lane. The ramifications of the eventful run-in with Brenner afterward died out quickly. Whether from Donnie figuring out his battle’s lost and I’m going to do this my way, or Dad shutting his shit down.
Tonight’s the party, and the day has dragged on. I normally spend Halloween with Lion; the tree of a man has a costume party every year, and this is the first one I’m going to miss. I bought my costume two months ago, but when my plans changed, so did my outfit.
I chuckle to myself as I look in the mirror. For my own amusement, I managed to hunt down a “mafia boss” costume online and get it in time. The ensemble might be too risqué for federal parties, but sometimes a girl just can’t help herself.
The costume mimics the stereotypical pinstriped black suits mafia men were thought to wear back in the day, but I got myself a two-piece, slutty version for my own twisted game. The top is made to look like a vest, with fake pockets and all. The deep v that cuts below my breasts creates more than enough cleavage that too much jarring around will have me displaying my tits for the entire bureau. The matching tight skirt ends right below my ass. I finished the outfit with a pair of matte-black platform heels.
Collins offered to pick me up for the party, but I wanted my car close in case shit went sideways and I needed to get away. Dad made sure we swapped my tags with fakes if someone got too nosy for his own good. Should anyone run them, the information would match my alias, Mila Williams.
I chose not to take the car that matches Brenner’s since I gave him shit about his. The smug asshole would look at it as a sign of fate or some dumb shit like that.
The address Collins sent me was a venue in the middle of the city, near the courthouse and police station.
Of course, a building filled with federal agents still calls for having local backup nearby. You can never be too sure when the criminals might come to blow the bureau to shit.
Parking my car, I get out and feed the meter. I turn to walk towards the entrance, and I’m met with a familiar cheeky bastard, all grins and man bun.
“I’m surprised they haven’t made you cut that thing off yet.” I smile at Oren’s horrified expression.
“The FBI can take my soul, but the fuckers will never take my hair.” He places a hand on his chest as if wounded by the thought.
Oren Ramos, our inside guy.
It doesn’t matter how many people you have in your pocket in our world. Should anyone wake up with a conscience, it was wise to have someone on the inside to intercept the issue. Oren’s position within the FBI is too vital for us to use him to get close to Brenner.
From what I understand, the two have become friends. Whether it’s real or not, it’s a shame I couldn’t use Oren to get close to Brenner instead of Collins. At least I know what Oren’s skills are in the bedroom, and it would make this game worthwhile.
A girl has needs, and when there are a plethora of men in her house as she’s growing up, she has her pickings to roll around with. I couldn’t even begin to explain why I settled mostly on Breckin. Probably has something to do with the fact that I enjoy watching him beg. That and his pain that he can’t have more than what he gets. As much as he annoys me, I relish his attention.
“Went with a sexy mafia boss, yeah?” Oren smirks, deep brown eyes scanning my body. “You wicked little thing.”
I laugh. “Are you surprised?”
Oren has a white mask resting on top of his head and is dressed in a black suit. I cock an eyebrow, and he smiles, bright white teeth contrasting his darkly tanned skin.
He’s not as tall as Breckin or Brenner, but he’s still tall enough that I can’t see what the mask is. Given it’s only half a mask and his black suit, I’d guess Phantom of the Opera, which would be dad’s idea more than Oren’s.
“Are you ready to walk into the viper pit?” He asks, and I groan dramatically. “You go in first. Best we not walk in together.”
“If Collins doesn’t dance with me, then you will, Ramos,” I bat my eyelashes.
“You got it, boss,” he winks.
Leaving Oren by my car, I walk to the entrance. Two men stand on each side of the door in
their FBI attire. Knowing these men are about to do a body search on me, I
smirk.
“Play nice with those hands, boys. Mama doesn’t wear panties.” I tease, hearing Oren chuckle from a distance behind me.
I can picture the ugly scowl of disapproval on my brother’s face if I had been wearing an earpiece. But after last time, that shit isn’t happening again. And with Oren here, thankfully, Dad agreed.
The men exchange looks, and the one to my left clears his throat.
“You’re clear to move on,” he says, opening the door and shooing me inside.