Because he'd somehow always put her at a disadvantage when she hadn't wanted to be, put her in positions that had underlined just how much control he'd had over their bodies while she had floundered for it.
Morana grit her teeth as her mind, unwittingly, drifted to Tristan Caine. Again.
She'd pushed the entire episode from two nights ago out of her mind, vowing not to think about it ever again. Because the mess who'd been standing in her room with his blood on her hand, the confused mass of limbs who hadn't dared breathe because everything had been so baffling - that wasn't her. Morana Vitalio did not behave like a pathetic little girl being thrown a bone. Morana Vitalio did not show vulnerabilities to anyone but herself. Morana Vitalio did not expose the jugular to a man who went straight for it.
She'd been raised around sharks. And she'd learned not to bleed.
But she hated him because he had bled. Because he'd thrown her off guard. Because he'd done something she'd never believed he would do. Because he made her react not like Morana Vitalio but someone else. And she loathed admitting that the relief she'd thought she'd feel at her simple condition had been obliterated by drops of blood, and she had no idea why. She didn't even want to examine why. That was one episode of her life she'd gladly put behind her.
Taking a left towards the club, Morana shook her head and pushed all the thoughts out, focusing only on the meeting and on enjoying her first experience in a club as much as possible. Not that she wanted to get drunk or dirty dance with some random douchebag. No, she just wanted to feel those lights slide over her skin, feel the music pulse in her throat, feel the scents wash over her body.
A few miles of secluded road ahead, she saw a tall, grey warehouse rise towards the sky. A huge, ice blue sign glowed on top of the building, telling her she was in the right place. Parking the car outside in a spot as a valet came to her, she got out, declining his offer but nodding her thanks. The chill in the wind sent shivers crawling over her bare back as she hurried towards the building, the muted noise getting louder with each step she took towards the tall metal doors.
A muscled bouncer almost thrice her size looked her up and down as she approached, his hand on the knob, the scar covering the right half of his face hidden half behind dark glasses. She never understood why people wore dark shades at night.
"Invitation only," he spoke in a gruff voice, not budging a single inch.
Morana raised her eyebrows. "Morana Vitalio. Guest of Dante Maroni."
The man's dark face betrayed no expression, but he opened the door, the sudden noise exploding in her ears, and let her pass. Taking a deep breath, Morana stepped into the club, aware of the door closing behind her. A small, wary part of her reminded her that she was the daughter of the enemy in an Outfit club, alone and without security, making her heart race as a sliver of fear traveled down her spine. Jerking out of it, she stood right at the entrance, taking in the entire area.
Done in chrome and ice blue, with blue lights dimming and flaring alternatively with the heavy beats of music that pumped from the DJ’s booth on her extreme left, the entire converted warehouse floor was the dance area. The bar lined up the right, and bartenders catered to the heavy crowd. Bouncers littered the corners of the space inconspicuously, observing the bodies sliding against each other.
Watching the crowd, Morana did not feel underdressed at all. In fact, she was pretty sure the fabric of her dress could cover up at least five women there.
Eyebrows in her hairline even as a grin chased her lips, the sheer joy of being away from her house, from her life, so, so precious, even for a second. She breathed in the mixed scents of cologne and perfumes and sweat and alcohol. She tilted her head to the side as the music beat against her eardrums. She felt her heeled feet tap with the rhythm.
It was all a novelty.
She looked up to see Dante Maroni making his way towards her, dressed in a dark, casual button-up and trousers that screamed 'rich and loaded', his lips in a polite smile, his huge body moving with grace even as his dark eyes measured her. Morana looked around to make sure he'd come alone, as she'd demanded. He had. But that didn't relax her, despite the inviting smile on his handsome face.
Pointing to an area behind the bar, whic
h she guessed was the VIP section, he gestured for her to follow him. She slowly did, taking note of his arm behind her, keeping the dancing crowd away from her moving body. As much as she didn’t want to, she appreciated the gesture, especially as the dancing crowd pressed into her, and a few stray hands tried to cop a feel, making her want to gag.
By the time they reached the bar, her heart was pounding faster than the beats of the music, adrenaline spiking her system. Swallowing, she followed Dante to a secluded section separated by the bar, where the music wasn't so loud for some reason. Plush burgundy couches came into view, lining the walls, the dimmer lights creating intimate seating areas.
Morana entered the section he indicated, taking in the space, and suddenly came to a stop, her body stiffening.
Sitting on one of the couches towards her right was Tristan Caine, dressed in a suit jacket and a crisp white shirt that shone blue under the lights, with an open collar and no tie. There was nothing of the man from two nights ago in him. Her eyes drifted to the white gauze wrapped around his hand, a swift reminder that he was very much the same man. The same primitive being cloaked in civilization.
A woman sat beside him - a tall, raven-haired, absolutely stunning woman in a silver dress that was poured on her, her open body language a clear indication that she was friends with the man beside her.
Morana looked away before she could stare at either of them.
Dante led her towards the left, the opposite side, where the area was relatively empty, and motioned for her to take a seat. She deliberately took a seat facing the wall, with her back towards the other man, and saw Dante fold his huge body in the seat in front of her.
She waited for her nape to prickle with an awareness of his eyes on her, for the goosebumps to break out over her flesh, but neither happened. He wasn't burning a hole in her back with his eyes. Good.
"It's a coincidence he is here,” Dante began. “I know you requested he not be present, so I did not tell him where we were meeting. He just came a few minutes ago with Amara." His tone was slightly apologetic even as his brown eyes moved behind her, a shadow flickering across his face as he watched whatever was happening in somber silence. Was the shadow because of his blood brother or because of the woman?
Morana cleared her throat, bringing his dark eyes back to her. The shadows cleared as his eyes shuttered, his expression one of polite interest, one she was sure he'd been donning for a long time. "Can we focus on the codes?"
"Of course," he nodded, leaning back against the cushions as a server brought up some appetizers. "Would you like anything to drink?"
Morana shook her head, crossing her ankles and folding her hands primly in her lap, slightly uncomfortable with the whole situation. A frisson of awareness slithered down her spine.
His eyes were on her.