Trust is hard to give, especially when raised in a mafia family. However, I went with my gut instinct and called Len, with tons of lead time, to give her team the meeting time and location—Electric, one of our clubs in San Diego, at ten o’clock. I give them almost ten hours’ notice, which means they have ample time to plan something shady. However, something tells me I can trust Len and this team.
Len herself isn’t coming for the meeting, though. Antonio and his partner, Miguel, are attending, along with a guy named Tag Hale. Tag is the head of security for Severyn Andrews—a songwriter-musician and close friend of Antonio—who will also be attending. Len promised she trusts these people, and they’re acting as the liaison for her team, which relies on anonymity.
Sophie, Andro, and I wait in one of Electric’s private VIP rooms. My brothers, Gabriele, Raf, and six of their men are spread out throughout the club.
Antonio, Miguel, Tag, and Severyn had just arrived with two other men. Rocco, the head of security at Electric, checked them to ensure none of them carried weapons. Crispin and Daniele are on the security cameras; they quickly identified the other men as Nexin Walsh and Rolf Torkelson.
The speed at which Crispin and Daniele can work is insane, but they rapidly reported that Tag is an ex-Army Ranger, Nexin is an ex-CIA, and Rolf is an emergency and trauma physician. As a security team for Severyn Andrews—a songwriter-musician and niece of a billionaire who seems to value her privacy—they’re quite the stud security package. Rolf is taller than Vito’s six-five and has Massimo and me beat for width. The guy may look like a tank, but his movements are smooth and agile as we watch them on the security feed on my phone. He may not have been military-trained, but he’s a definite possible threat.
Rocco has taken them to another VIP room and will bring them through the network of secret passages that connect the rooms, courtesy of the prohibition days. They’ll be here any minute.
Sophie has been on edge since we learned that Pastor Salome attacked Ollie. Add to it that we’ll come face-to-face with her uncle, and her angst is palpable. Once this is over, I vow to keep her life as happy and stress-free as possible.
Andro stands at the bar, glances at Sophie, then holds up a bottle of red wine, and I nod. He pours her a glass and pours us a glass of bourbon.
“Minnie, why don’t you sit and relax?” Andro comes around the bar and hands her the glass of wine. “The latest update about Ollie sounded promising.”
Ollie’s been stable for the past few hours in the ICU. When we landed in San Diego, I knew that Sophie desperately wanted to go to the hospital even though she hadn’t asked—she knew I’d have to say no. Len has organized another team to stay at the hospital, though, to protect Ollie in case Salome or Sophie’s father tries to hurt her again.
She gives Andro a small smile of thanks, accepting the glass of wine, but doesn’t say anything. Since her unraveling breakdown in our bedroom at the estate, she’s been excessively quiet. Almost the only time she spoke today was when she called Sylvie for her birthday. Crispin had secured the connection, but she had kept it short. The conversation with Sylvie and her abuela had been in rapid-fire Spanish, but Sophie assured me they didn’t seem aware of what was happening.
I wrap my arm around Sophie’s waist, pulling her tight to my side, and some of her tension eases.
She looks up at me, biting her bottom lip again. I pull it free and rub my thumb over the raw flesh. “I’m nervous,” she whispers.
Would Antonio be angry, judge her, not accept her choice? Would he be livid with me?
I don’t want to lie or insult her by telling her it will all be okay and that she has nothing to worry about. Because, in truth, I don’t know how this will go.
When it comes down to it, though, I don’t give a shit. That’s on Sophie’s family if they can’t accept her choice. I don’t care if they judge or hate me because my focus and goal is to love, cherish, and worship my angel, my queen, for the rest of my days. But that doesn’t mean I want her to hurt in any way. And her family has the potential to hurt her, and not just her cunt of a father.
My jaw clenches thinking of him, and I force myself to relax. I lean down and kiss the top of Sophie’s head while my fingers draw a lazy circle on her hip.
She melts into me, more of her tension dissipating, but when we hear the secret door click, she stiffens again. The door swings open into the room, and I pull Sophie tighter to my side as four people enter.
Tag enters first. Like me, he’s tall, broad, and muscular, and his hard, alert eyes scan the room for threats. Next comes Severyn Andrews herself. Her eyes scan, too, like she’s assessing for threats. Both Tag and Severyn’s eyes lock on us. Tag may play for the good guys, but there’s a darkness in his eyes, warning me that even without weapons, the man is as lethal as my mafia brothers.
The last two men to come in are Antonio and Miguel. Miguel stops when he sees Sophie tucked in close to me, narrowing his eyes. Antonio doesn’t stop, though; his brown eyes, more like dark chocolate compared to Sophie’s, are filled with fire and loathing.
“You bastard!” he roars at me.
Andro goes to step in front of me and Sophie, but I stop him. Tag grips Antonio’s arm and speaks quietly into his ear.
“Antonio,” I say calmly, curling my fingers around Sophie’s hip in the dark pants she wears that hug her curvy frame, and his eyes flare with anger at my possessive hold. His protectiveness of Sophie is commendable, but I’m not letting her go. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Hijo de puta,” he seethes. Motherfucker. I know some Spanish.
“Tio.” Sophie’s voice is firm and calm. “Creed is not the enemy here.”
Antonio’s eyes, tumultuous with emotion—anger predominantly mixed with fear that I may hurt her—sweep over her, looking for signs of harm. “No sabes lo que estás diciendo.”
Her chin lifts, and she places her hand over mine, resting on her hip. “I do know what I’m saying, Antonio. And speak English.”
“Firefly…” He looks pained, but when he turns back to me, his anger is back.
Sophie steps from me to move closer to him.
He eyes the glass of red wine in her hand. “You’re not of age.”
She sips it almost defiantly, and I catch Severyn’s lips twitch.
Outside of being Antonio’s friend, I’m not sure of the songwriter-musician’s role here. The way Tag shifts closer to her, looks at her, tells me he isn’t only here to protect her as a member of her security team, but there’s something deeper.
Game recognizes game; like recognizes like.
I’m in love with Sophie and will protect her with my life if needed, and I recognize the same in Tag when he glances at Severyn. I file that away in case I need it as leverage.
“Antonio…” Sophie presses her lips together. “After what I tell you, me sipping wine in a nightclub will be the least of our worries.”
His face softens. “Firefly.”
Sophie had told me the reason for Antonio’s nickname for her. She has so much goodness and light, and I can understand why Antonio calls her that. She looks over her shoulder at me, and I gesture toward the sofas and chairs.
“Sit with your uncle, angel.” I lean down to kiss her forehead, ignoring the death glare Antonio levels at me. “Explain everything and anything you’re comfortable with.”
