I raise an eyebrow. “And yet, I still look better than you.”
“Everything okay?”
I nod, then smile as Liam Byrne, the head of the Irish mafia, and Gabriel Demir, the head of the Turkish mafia, join us.
When I’m done greeting the men, I head to the bar. “Stoli. Give me two bottles,” I order my favorite vodka.
I plan to drink as much as possible in the least amount of time.
I take the two bottles and tumbler from the bartender and find myself a table to sit at that overlooks the dance floor below.
As I pour myself a drink, the men of the Priesthood each take a seat at my table.
“So…” I say, forcing myself to sound normal and not like a man who had his heart ripped out. “How’s married life treating you all?”
Nikolas shakes his head. “We heard what happened.” He lifts an eyebrow at me. “I honestly thought you’d never let the girl go.”
I give him a look filled with warning. “That’s the one topic not up for discussion tonight.” Throwing my head back, I empty the tumbler, savoring the burn of the strong alcohol.
“Luca told me about the fuck up in Peru,” Gabriel says, wisely changing the subject.
I let out a chuckle and shake my head. “Fuck up is the understatement of the year. I regret not killing the fucker.”
Mariya walks toward us, followed by the other men’s wives.
The only woman I’d marry is in New York.
The thought makes my heart squeeze painfully. Ignoring the tumbler, I bring the bottle of vodka to my lips and drink until I need to breathe.
“No talking business tonight,” Tessa says. She and Nikolas just celebrated their third anniversary.
Liam and Kiara have been married for two years.
I watch as Gabriel pulls Lara onto his lap. They’ve been going strong for a year.
I let out a disgruntled sigh as I glance at the newest couple. My best friend and my baby sister.
And then there’s me – the fucker who couldn’t hold onto Rosalie.
Jesus.
I pour more vodka down my throat. If it weren’t for the bond I have with the Priesthood, I’d be on my way home already.
“It’s time to blow out your candles,” Tessa tells Nikolas.
He scowls at her. “You make it sound like I’m thirteen.”
She lifts an eyebrow at him. “Sometimes it feels like you’re thirteen.”
Everyone laughs, and when they leave the table and walk to the huge-ass cake, Gabriel hangs back and moves to the seat next to me.
We watch as Tessa lights the candles. The woman somehow got all thirty-nine on the cake.
“I’m going to piss myself laughing if she burns down the club with all those candles,” I mutter.
Gabriel takes the bottle of vodka from me and pours some into his tumbler before giving it back. “Why did you let her go?”
“I said the topic isn’t open for discussion.”