Sassy in Lingerie (Lingerie 8)

My phone started to vibrate in my sweatpants, so I pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was a number I didn’t recognize, but since those numbers always seemed to be the most important in my line of work, I took it. “Bones.”

A long pause ensued over the line, a stretch of silence that seemed innately purposeful. A full thirty seconds passed.

I refused to say anything more, knowing there was a person on the other line. Silence was my game, and I could handle the tension better than anyone.

“Meet me at Club Bellissima in thirty minutes. The men will bring you to the back.” I knew exactly who it was even though he gave no introduction. With a deep voice full of threat, his hatred was obvious in his tone. Hearing me address myself as Bones probably ticked him off so much he needed a full minute to unclench his jaw.

“Alright.”

Click.

I set the phone on the end table and looked down at Vanessa. I assumed he’d called me this late because he didn’t want his daughter to be involved in this conversation. I scooped her into my arms and carried her to bed before I got dressed and left.

The bouncers at the door recognized me before I gave my name. They handed me off to another crew, and the men guided me upstairs and to the back of the bar Cane Barsetti owned. I suspected both of the brothers would be there to interrogate me.

They took me through a locked door and then into another room. With black walls and black leather sofas, it was a private room with no windows. It was soundproof and the throbbing from the bass immediately died away once I was inside.

The men shut the door behind me.

Crow Barsetti sat there alone, a bottle of scotch on the black walnut table with two glasses. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans. His black wedding ring sat on his left hand, and his Tuscan skin was still noticeable despite the dark colors around him. His jaw was covered in thick stubble because he seemed not to have shaved since the last time I saw him. Fearless, he stared at me once I stepped inside and never once looked away.

I stepped farther into the room, noting the privacy we shared. I didn’t bring a weapon to the meeting even though I had no idea what to expect. Also, the second he saw a pistol on my hip, he would immediately distrust me.

I moved to the leather sofa facing him and lowered myself into the seat. I was in a black t-shirt with black jeans, the nighttime air not bothering me. My blood was too hot, and I craved the cold. I’d left Vanessa in my bed and was grateful she didn’t wake up before I left. I didn’t want to explain to her where I was going, knowing she would want to come along.

Crow rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, his posture suggesting his guard was down. It didn’t seem like he was packing a gun, and I wasn’t sure what kind of message he was trying to send to me.

I knew he didn’t trust me.

He grabbed the bottle and twisted off the cap. It was aged a hundred and fifty years, so it was bound to be smooth. He poured two glasses then set it down again, the bottle thudding against the coffee table.

He grabbed his glass and took a drink.

I did the same.

He stared at me some more, his expression hardening into a look of irritation. My features alone were enough to make the bile rise up his throat, I was sure. Despite his aggression and distaste, he never pulled his gaze away.

“I’m not carrying anything. Your men checked me.”

He took another drink. “Nor am I.”

I couldn’t stop myself from raising an eyebrow, surprised he would allow himself to be unarmed when we were alone together. He didn’t trust me, but I couldn’t think of a different explanation. Maybe he was trying to show respect to his daughter, but I didn’t think that was the reason either.

He answered the unspoken question. “I don’t need a gun to kill you. My hands will suffice.”

I was much more muscular than Crow, who was ripped and lean. I packed on the muscle at a young age and never allowed it to disappear. I continued to make it grow, continued to add more weight to my workout sessions. But size wasn’t always more important in a fight. He was thirty years older than me, so I had that leverage, but I wasn’t arrogant enough to assume he was powerless against me. He had more experience than I did, and after all, he’d outsmarted my father many times until he died.