The Reaper (Dark Verse 2)

Morana gave him a look that he returned innocently and turned to smile at Dante. “Oh, there’s nothing eye-bleach-worthy going on here. Nope.”

“Oh?” Dante asked, his eyebrows climbing his forehead as he looked at Tristan for a second before settling his brown eyes on her, a grin on his face. Morana felt herself flush. It had been happening more often lately, her brain-to-mouth filter slipping. She didn’t understand why.

“Any leads on the Syndicate?” Morana changed the topic without any subtlety, asking the question she was pretty sure she already knew the answer to. Since her meeting with the grave mystery guy, she and the boys had been working relentlessly to unearth some kind of evidence about whatever this Syndicate was, and surprisingly had found nothing. Not even Dante and Tristan, with all their shady connections, could find anything or anyone who had even heard of it. The ghost-group or organization, whatever it was, was good.

“Actually, there is something,” Dante said, surprising her.

Morana held up a mug in silent question and Dante shook his head. Heartbeats fast, she settled in opposite him and felt Tristan come to stand behind her, his hand on her waist as he considered Dante. “Tell me.”

“I have an informant,” Dante directed his eyes at Tristan before looking back at her. “The assassin, who tried to kill you, if his information is correct, was hired by this Syndicate group. He has another lead and wants to meet tonight somewhere public. I’ve told him to come to one of our clubs.”

The voice of whiskey and sin came from behind her. “I’m coming with you.”

Dante nodded. “I want you both to come actually.”

Morana frowned. “Not that I mind, but why?”

“Because,” Dante explained, “I can’t be sure someone isn’t keeping an eye on us. If they are, I want them to see nothing but us taking you out for a night in the city. Who we meet there, we control. You and Tristan can actually have fun while I get the meeting done.”

Morana turned her neck and looked up at the man behind her. “I think at this point in our relationship, you should know I don’t like wearing heels.”

She got a flash of dimples.

Somehow, she still hadn’t seen his tattoos.

She didn’t know how he’d done it, given she saw him shower and slept beside him, but one way or another, his tattoos were still a mystery to her. Promising herself to solve them soon, Morana checked out the hotness that was Tristan Caine in dark jeans and black Henley, the sleeves pushed up his muscular forearms, bunching in a way that was making her neglected core pulse with every heartbeat. She should probably just masturbate at this point and make him watch. Now, that was a good plan.

She sat at the back as the two men sat at the front of Dante’s Range Rover, the vehicle humming pleasantly as they zipped down the hill towards the city, another car following them.

Over the last few days, Lorenzo Maroni had been absent at dinner but she knew he’d been at the mansion. She’d seen him often enough and sometimes, she caught him watching her with an odd look in his eyes – like he was privy to a secret she didn’t know. It gave her the creeps. Her father was absent as well. She was sure he knew where she was but she hadn’t heard a peep from him.

Morana had video-called Amara in the evening while getting ready, to chat but also to touch base about Shadow Port and if everything seemed okay. Amara had mentioned something felt off, and Morana had to agree. The woman, her friend, seemed genuinely thrilled that she had moved in with Tristan. Morana had been tempted to discuss her relationship issues with her but didn’t know how to. It felt so new to her.

That was when Tristan had told her they had to go. And gone they had.

Dante, dressed as casually as his mob brother, broke through her thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about the man you met, Morana. I suspect who it can be but I’m not sure. If he is who I think he is, I think we can trust the intel he gave you.”

“So the Syndicate exists?” Morana asked. “I’d honestly started to think we were chasing ghosts.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to think a whole lot is happening here that we don’t know about.”

“Then, it’s time we do.”

Dante exchanged a fleeting look with Tristan that she caught. Not mentioning anything, Morana simply asked questions about the city and Dante answered her, Tristan unusually quiet, as they made their way to the club.

In the old warehouse district just like in Shadow Port, the club was called Mayhem. Nice.

Morana saw the neon sign from afar, a long queue outside the doors indicative of the good business. Dante parked in the lot and they got out, Tristan opening her door and offering his hand like the gentleman she didn’t know he could be. Wearing the heels she hated and a dark blue shimmery halter dress she loved, Morana took a hold of his hand and got out. In her heels, with her hair in a high ponytail, red lips, and her rectangular glasses, Morana looked good. She knew she looked good.

But the way his eyes roved over her with that territorial possession? It made her feel good.

Splaying a possessive hand on his arm, she walked with both the men into the club, the music suddenly pounding into her pulse. Each hard beat drifted off her heart, sinking into her blood, heating her system. She could see the dance floor full of gyrating bodies, the neon lights playing hide-and-seek with all the exposed flesh, a bar on the sidelined up with more people.

Unlike her last time, she knew this time she would have a good time.

Dante’s hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to him. He nodded to Tristan and smiled at her, before walking off to the back of the club for the meeting.

A weird feeling in the pit of her stomach, Morana shook it off and turned to the man beside her, pointing to the restrooms. Tristan nodded, his eyes still on where Dante had gone, and she knew he was distracted. Leaving him to his brooding, Morana quickly escaped to the bathroom. After doing her business and fixing her lipstick, she headed out again into the crowd, trying to locate her man.