Page 44 of Savage Claim

We hung up, and I went into the bedroom. Isabella was sprawled across the bed, still snoozing, but her eyes cracked open the moment I sat down. “You look serious,” she said, voice thick with sleep. “Did you burn the trees down?”

“I should have known that a singular attitude adjustment wasn’t going to do the trick.” Isabella blinked, playing innocent, and it took everything I had not to roll her beneath me. “Get up,” I told her. “I have to be at Castello’s soon.”

She pushed up on her elbow. “Is that the nightclub downtown?” I nodded. “I didn’t know that you owned it. I went there a few times with some girlfriends from work.”

Imagining Isabella in tight, little clubbing outfits was bad for my health, I was sure of it. “There was an incident that I need to go deal with.”

She groaned and sank back into the mattress. “Can you take me to see your workplaces when thereisn’tan issue? Pretty please?”

I chuckled and wrapped my fingers around her ankle, tugging at her gently. “Next time,” I promised. “For now, get up, and I’ll pick out an outfit for you. You’re going to keep me company, and then I’ll take you to dinner.”

Isabella looked about as angry as a wet kitten. “I could stay here,” she grumbled. “You could take Elio, and I’ll keep Amalia company.”

I patted her ankle. “Up,” I said again. “We have to leave in about thirty minutes.”

I stood, laughing when she groaned. “Nothing tight,” she said as she climbed out of the bed. “I can’t do the staring today, all right?”

“We’ll see.”

Isabella stripped off her clothes and sent me a cheeky look before disappearing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her. As an addedfuck you, the lock clicked into place.

Deep, rich blue was Isabella’s color. It made her warm eyes all the deeper. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her whenever we hit a red light. On the fourth or fifth light, she reached over and turned my face back towards the road. “Eyes on the road, Don Vitali,” she chastised me.

I took her hand and brought it to my lips, pressing them to her knuckles. “Can’t blame a man for looking at a beautiful woman.”

“I can when he’s driving, and the beautiful woman wanted to stay at home in sweats to begin with.” Despite what she was saying, I could hear the smile in her voice, and when I glanced over, she rolled her eyes at me. “Am I sticking with you when we get there?”

“No, you can stay in my office while I sort through things. We’ll head to dinner after.” Isabella was happy enough to follow through with that plan, and when we got to Castello’s, she glued herself to my side. “Head up,dolcezza,” I murmured, and she squared her shoulders. “Good girl.”

She slapped my arm, glaring at me. “Don’t start,” she grumbled as I laughed.

We walked through the club, and all of the mirth drained from my face. It was almost eerie with the lights on and music off; the space wasn’t large to begin with, but it had the illusion of space when the lights were dimmed and filled with the glow of blacklights.

We walked around the dance floor, skirting the body laying there. Isabella barely spared it a second glance. It was for the best that she became desensitized; I would never be able to promise that she would never see another corpse again.

Behind the bar, tucked into the hallway with the restrooms, was the door to my office. It wasn’t as luxurious as my other workplaces; it was a smaller room, barely big enough for the desk and two chairs that I had put there. I rarely came to Castello’s unlike all my other businesses, so having a huge office wasn’t the most important use of space. Usually, the team that ran the place was excellent and barely needed my assistance, and when I did come, it was easier to chat at the bar. It had been a long time since such an upset happened here.

Once Isabella was settled in the office, I turned back to the dance floor. The body was on its front, lying in a wide pool of blood. “Besides the fact that he spoke Russian, do we know he’s a part of the Syndicate?”

Renaldo leaned down and grabbed the body’s arm and held it up. He had a brand from one of the Russian families. It wasn’t a wolf, thankfully, but it was undeniably one of the Syndicate family brands. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I grabbed my phone and dialed Nikolai.

The man answered after a handful of rings. “Lorenzo,” he greeted and sounded far too pleased to hear from me. “What can I do for you this evening?”

“One of yours ended up in my nightclub. He opened fire and clipped one of my favorite bartenders.” Renata was doing fine at the hospital, so far, but it would be months before she was back behind the bar. If she didn’t quit first, which I wouldn’t blame her for. She might have been raised Cosa Nostra, but she came from one of the smallest minor families. Hers was the closest to a normal childhood.

“Impossible,” Nikolai insisted. “None of my men would do something like this without my express order.”

I put the phone on speaker so that I could take a picture of the body and then a close up of the brand on his arm. I sent it to him in a text. “Check your inbox.”

I heard some shuffling, and then the man swore out loud. “That’s my brand,” he admitted reluctantly, “but that’s not my man.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never seen him before, and I personally brand all of my men. He didn’t get it from me.” Which, if he was telling the truth, meant that someone was impersonating Nikolai and the Syndicate, and we both knew it. “I’ll look into this.” He sounded like he was barely holding on to his rage. “I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Nikolai,” I said before he could hang up.

“Yes?”

---