He pauses his conversation to slide his tongue between my lips briefly, then turns his attention back to his brother. I take a sip of my drink, which is mostly melted ice with the subtle taste of lime at this point, and enjoy the peaceful feeling of just existing without having to put on a performance for anyone else, because none of them are paying me any attention. All the guys are so focused on their own partners that I don’t think they’d hear any dumb-ass quips I made anyway.
I wonder what Lorenzo is doing tonight. How does he like to unwind after a stressful day, or celebrate after a big win like we had with the Reapers? Is he just sitting alone in his apartment with a glass of Scotch or is there somewhere he likes to go, somewhere he can be someone other than Lorenzo Moretti for a few hours at a time? I don’t know why I’m thinking about the boss right now, other than because he’s the last one of us who hasn’t found some kind of happily ever after lurking in the shadows.
On Sparrow’s other side, Xaviaro pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns at it for a minute or two, then he curses under his breath. It’s quiet, barely audible over the loud music, but all the conversation at our table dies at once and we all go still like we’re holding our breath, waiting to hear what could have gone wrong and how fucked we might be.
“The Reapers?” Spettro asks ominously, tightening his grip on my thigh, his expression hardening instantly.
Xaviaro looks up from his phone and shakes his head. His usually stoic expression slips just enough for a chill to run through me.
“My contact in the Fitzpatricks’ organization just texted me…”
Somehow, we all know what he’s about to say. Elio goes pale, and Salvatore curses under his breath just like Xaviaro did when he read the message.
“Is he dead?” I ask quietly, and Xaviaro nods.
“He said they found Declan’s body, burned and left on Cian’s doorstep.”
My hackles go up immediately. “Cian?”
“His unhinged shitbag brother?” Dante chimes in, his voice dripping with the same suspicion that’s gathering in my gut.
“Let me guess, Cian is taking over?” Salvatore drawls.
“I’m assuming,” Xav says blandly, nudging Sparrow to encourage us all to move and let him out. “I agree, there’s something fishy as hell going on, but either way, I have to go tell Lorenzo.”
The table rocks, spilling what’s left of some people’s drinks, as Elio scrambles to get out on the other side.
“I’m coming too.”
“You know he’s not going to want to cry on your shoulder about this, right?” Salvatore says.
“I don’t give a shit. He’s my brother.”
Xaviaro grunts in understanding and gives Sparrow a quick kiss, and then he and Elio take off together. We’re all quiet for another minute, staring into our mostly empty glasses and letting the information sink in.
Shit with the Fitzpatricks was already complicated, and something tells me that Cian taking over isn’t going to improve matters. With Declan out of the equation, is Lorenzo going to finally take the kid gloves off and decide to start a war? I guess only time will tell.
Spettro clears his throat and everyone snaps out of their thoughts at once.
“I think the festive mood is officially dead,” he says with a gruff chuckle.
“Yeah, I might actually see if I can catch up with Xav and Elio. Lorenzo is going to need someone who won’t coddle him when he gets the news,” Sparrow says.
“He’s not going to take this well,” Dante mutters. “God help us all.”
“A-fucking-men,” Salvatore agrees.
“Come on.” Spettro slides out of the booth and threads his fingers between mine. “Let’s go home. The nuclear fallout can wait until tomorrow, and I’m not ready to stop celebrating just yet.”
A slow, sultry grin stretches his lips, and I let this bombshell news slip to the back of my mind for now. He’s right, there’s nothing we can do tonight, and the people closest to Lorenzo will have his back for now. But this is the biggest night of Spettro’s life, and he doesn’t deserve to have it ruined.
“Seltzers and death announcements weren’t your idea of a proper celebration?” I joke, letting him lead me out of the club. “Did you have something else in mind?”
He leans in and nips at the edge of my jaw. “I can think of a few things.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three