by Mara McQueen
She downed her champagne in one large gulp, loving the way it fizzled down her throat. She was very close to getting buzzed. But no matter how many fancy glasses she picked off the trays or how hard she tried to concentrate on anything else, even the "happy" couple, her nerves were still all over the place.
"Babe, stop fidgeting." Nat placed a gentle hand on Bianca's shoulder. "He's not here, I haven't heard anyone mention him."
"I have no idea who you're talking about," Bianca said primly.
But Nat had a bullshit radar set to high and Bianca had been craning her neck around all day, dreading the moment she'd see him.
It hadn't come. No sign of his handsome face that haunted her dreams. Nobody had even mentioned his name.
Bianca didn't know if she should be glad or furious he hadn't shown up. She would have loved to throw some wine into his face. The red kind, too, to know it would stain.
"Sure you don't." Nat scoffed. "I'm really curious to meet this Xander. See if the rumors are really true."
They were. He was as skilled, deadly, and charming as everyone had warned her he would be.
"Let's just enjoy this wedding week for what it is—an extended family holiday." Nat smiled, her cherub cheeks bunching up.
Almost half the family had flown in from the States, the Syndicate's territory, to this small Meditarean island. Neutral territory for an important marriage alliance.
Between making sure all the guests were accounted for and the decorations had been shipped out in perfect condition, Bianca spent her days lounging on white beaches, drifting for hours in the crystal blue water, and exploring the small cliff just off the coast.
It was the perfect vacation she'd never dared take. She couldn't afford to miss one day of Syndicate business. She also couldn't have afforded the plane ticket all the way across the ocean. Thank God for the Serpent bank accounts and their obsession with everyone knowing just how filled they were.
Nat waved another waiter toward them, eyes lighting up at the rainbow of drinks on his tray.
But Bianca had had enough for tonight. Perhaps a bit too much, because the back of her neck suddenly tingled and her skin felt hot. Definitely not the state any self-respecting Syndicate member should be in when surrounded by Serpents. Nobody apart from the security personnel had been allowed to bring weapons, but Bianca knew this loud, overflowing restaurant had more assassins and guns stashed underneath tables than plates and glasses.
"I'm going to get some fresh air," Bianca said.
Nat pouted, already picking up a pink cocktail that wouldn't feel all that great when it hit in the morning. "You are no fun."
Who needed fun when Bianca had a bright future ahead of her?
She wound between the tables, avoiding the uncles and aunts dancing up a storm in the center. Well, not quite a storm. Maybe a light, unbalanced drizzle.
The old-timers who'd served the Clan well back in their prime, had taken enough lives to fill more than one cemetery, and now could make fools of themselves whenever the band started playing too loud.
But nobody would ever say that to their faces. You'd be lucky if you came out of it with all your limbs. And after the last few shitty years, the Syndicate deserved a few rowdy nights.
As soon as Bianca stepped outside onto the terrace, the salty sea breeze ghosted across her heated face. But it did nothing to cool her down.
She wandered further underneath the wooden pergola dripping with sweet climbing jasmine. No matter how hard she tried to lose herself in the view of the gentle waves sweeping over the beach, in the calm reflection of the moon and stars, her skin still tingled.
As if someone was watching her.
She eyed the windows. Nobody in the restaurant was looking at her, not even Nat, who was busy giving her phone loopy smiles.
Then her gaze wandered to the edge of the beach, near the cliffs. Her heart stuttered.
There he was. The only man whose mere name could make bloody assassins quake. The man who made and crumbled fortunes with one word.
Xander Cirillo. The Serpents' fiercest negotiator—who was talking to the Syndicate's leader and trying to be very inconspicuous about it.
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