I mingle, deep in my role to ensure Frank won’t have a reason to reprimand me later. Julij sneaks me out for a chat every thirty minutes, and for the first time, I enjoy a party hosted by my father.
“Call me if you ever need anything. Whatever it may be,” Julij whispers in my ear when we’re saying our goodbyes outside. “Promise you’ll call.”
I kiss his cheek. “I promise. It works both ways, Julij.”
He curls his fingers under my chin. “I’ll see you, sugar.”
Seconds later, the door to a white limousine closes behind him. The party ended much earlier than I expected. With Nikolaj’s condition, heavy drinking is out of the question. An evening I expected to be awful turned out pleasantly fruitful. I gained a friend.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dante
Star: Order me a mojito, please.
Layla’s text arrived thirty minutes ago. I rise to my feet because she’s due any minute. I really fucking hope she hasn’t changed. The backless navy evening dress she chose for tonight is the sexiest yet most elegant thing I’ve ever seen on a woman.
“Is Layla coming?” Sandra asks, eyes big and round.
“She’s on her way.”
No one told them to stay in the booth, but without Layla, they lack the courage to make a move and remain seated, glancing longingly at the dance floor.
The bartender approaches before I reach the bar, wipes the countertop before I rest my elbows on it, and passes me an ashtray before I light a cigarette. He’s new. He started last night. So far, I can’t fault him.
“What can I get you, Boss?”
“Mojito.” Before I finish smoking, a glass with two fancy straws appears in front of me.
“Jesus, what the hell happened there?” He asks, gawking over my shoulder.
I follow his line of sight to find at least thirty guys throwing punches left and right. Fights are common in Delta, but it’s usually two or three men fighting, and the security handles them within seconds. This time, my fighters’ help is needed. I turn to signal Cai, Luca, and Jackson, but they’re already on their way. Spades and Rookie follow suit.
With a cigarette in his mouth, Luca rolls up his sleeves and then knocks out the first guy in his path. He punches two more before guy number one hits the floor. He’s a pro, a merciless killer lacking inhibitions. Spades has fun dodging punches and kicking those that are already down. He prefers to fight with a weapon—a baseball bat or brass knuckles.
The crowd of onlookers thickens, but not before Jackson freezes at the top of the stairs, his body rigid, eyes trained on something out of my view. I follow his line of sight. It’s not until someone trips that I notice Layla. I’m on the move before my brain processes the information, my body in a state of instant readiness, not allowing fear to stop me when a rush of ruthless protection floods my veins.
“Don’t just fucking stand there!” I bellow at Jackson.
Four bouncers are at the bottom of the stairs. A few steps higher, Luca and Cai surround Layla, beating the living shit out of anyone who comes near her. My fists fly to the sides in reflex as I force my way through the chaos.
Even though I’m hitting blind, not daring to look away from Layla, I don’t miss once. She tries to fuse with the wall, her eyes focused as she looks for a safe way out of the mayhem. I jump over an unconscious, bloody mess and catch her hand, pulling her into my arms, shielding her petite body with mine.
“You good, Star?” I ask, checking her over for injuries.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Instead of fear, her voice is full of irritation. “I couldn’t move.”
My erratic pulse slows for a second before it picks back up as my right hand, entangled in her hair, finds something wet. “Fuck! You got hit?!”
Her eyes lock on my hand, and she turns ashen, trembling as if it’s an arctic winter.
“Layla!” I shake her harder than intended. She’s holding her breath, mindless animal panic in her eyes. “Breathe, Layla. You need to breathe, baby... in and out...” She nods, sucking in a harsh breath, fearful eyes trained on mine. “Good, again.” I inhale deeply, urging her to do the same.
Once her panic lessens, she opens her mouth to speak, but all she can manage is one word, “Blood.”
I read her lips more than hear the word. Thirty guys fighting didn’t scare her, but blood stripped her courage in a blink of an eye. I wipe my hand on the edge of my shirt and tuck it into my trousers.
“You’re okay.” I cup her face, looking into those steel-gray irises. “You’re okay, baby. Come on, I’ll get you out of here.” I say, lifting her into my arms.