Page 28 of Secret Betrayals
I dare Axel to speak again. Iwanthim to. But he doesn’t. He glares, then turns and storms off down the hall, grumbling under his breath like a petulant child. Armand catches the subtle shift in Sebastian before I do. He puts a firm hand on my son’s shoulder, whispering something calming. I keep walking, following Nitro. He glances back, studying us all, but says nothing. Smart man. Axel disappears down the stairs, and Nitro motions for us to follow. I’m grateful the building’s mostly empty despite the party. The fewer people we interact with, the better. I’m too close to snapping.
He shows us the amenities—some I remember from before, though the place has changed. When we reach the gym, I’m impressed. After the brief tour, he takes us to the top floor, where we’re to stay. Apparently, we’re important enough to be put up on the President’s floor.
I’m not sure how I feel about being that close to Talon andher. But this isn’t about me. It’s about our children.
Nitro must sense my unease.
He explains, “Talon and his family don’t usually stay here. They’ve got a house on the property. This floor’s mostly for lockdowns. The only ones who stay up here regularly are him and Axel. You shouldn’t run into them much.”
That helps. A little.
But nothing about this is easy. And I have the sinking feeling it’s all about to get harder, messier.
Eight
Every moment is like a dagger in the heart I forgot I had.
Ientered the room they reluctantly offered me, shutting the door more forcefully than necessary. My eyes sweep across the space. Decent—not five-star, not even close—but it’ll do. The bare walls tell no stories, but the nightstand? That tells me everything I need to know. Whoever stayed here before me used this room for more than sleep.
A shiver of disgust runs down my spine.
I cringe. What the hell did I just volunteer for? Staying here might’ve seemed like a good idea in theory—boots-on-the-ground and all—but now that I’m breathing the air and staring at that bed, I’m second-guessing everything. Some say I’m bougie. Hell, they’re right—I am. And proud of it.
I wonder if it’s too late to tell the boys I’ve changed my mind. I’d much rather be at the Kimpton with a decent thread count and no mystery stains. I shake my head, glancing down at the duffel bag in my hand. Breathe. The scent of lemon andwhatever cleaning product they used tries to convince me it’s clean. Shit. That bed says otherwise.
I try to focus. There’s grime from travel sticking to my skin, but showering can wait. The boys come first.
Still, who the fuck uses black sheets? You don’t need a damn UV light to know what’s been on them. I mutter to myself, “Yeah, no. Not doing this.” Dropping the bag, I exhale hard. My nose wrinkles at the idea of how many bodies have sweated, moaned, and bled in that bed.
This trip it’s not about personal comfort. It’s about business and finding out who the hell’s stealing from my family. And with the MC now knowing what I do. I can’t have them breathing down our necks. My men can’t operate at full capacity with the club watching them too closely. So I split the crew—half here, half at the hotel, with our usual setup. We’ll get answers. One way or another.
After the boys get cleaned up and changed, I find Seb and Kai waiting in the hall with the rest of my crew. No one speaks. Their clenched jaws and stiff shoulders say everything. They need to hit something. Sparring will bleed off some of the anger, and I know Armand will keep it under control. He and my brother are always telling me to stay away when the boys spar—apparently, I overreact. Maybe I do. I’m their mother. I’ve earned that right. They can deal with my crazy.
A smile tugs at my lips as thinking about how much shit they all give me.
We walk wordlessly through the clubhouse. The party’s still going. Music pumps through the walls. The scent of spices and grilled meats floats in the air. As we enter the main floor, the laughter and the carefree screams of children echo around us. It’s beautiful.
And it guts me.
Sometimes I wonder if I tried hard enough. I believe I did—but part of me still questions it. Would my children have been happier here? With kids their age running wild in this strange freedom, the club offers? Our home was safe. Still is. But isolated. My kids were happy. They told me so—loudly, often. But still…
I push the thought away. Regret is a luxury I can’t afford.
We pass through the common room. My men, the boys, and I ignore the glares, the curious stares. Let them look. These people don’t realize my family is why they live without fear. I could’ve been petty. Could’ve let the Barone wrath crash down on them years ago.
I didn’t.
They don’t know how many times I stepped in. Negotiated. Protected this club from enemies they didn’t even know they had. I did that for my children. Not for gratitude. But watching them look at me like I’m the problem? It makes my jaw twitch.
They don’t understand. I’ve sat at tables with men who would’ve burned this place to ash. I’ve taken threats, silenced enemies, and made it crystal clear that anyone who wants to touch LSMC has to go through me.
And no one wants that.
My crew comprises of people from various cultures and backgrounds—Italian, Afro-Italian, and one redheaded Irish-Italian beast named Armand, who has been my ride-or-die since before I knew what loyalty really meant. We don’t look like a typical mafia family, and that’s fine. We’re not.
The gym surprises me. It is bigger and better equipped than I expected. It is not San Francisco’s quality, but solid. My eyes zero in on the boxing ring.
“There,” I say, nodding to it as if they haven’t already locked on with those eager grins.
