Page 176 of Knot So Lucky
"Mr. Vance. Your table is ready."
The narrow staircase leads down, descending into warmth and sound—live jazz filtering up from below, mixing with the rich scent of expensive food and aged wine.
The main room is exactly as I remember.
All dark wood and brass fixtures, vintage lighting that casts everything in warm amber tones. The bar stretches along one wall, bottles arranged with precision. Small tables scattered throughout provide intimate spaces for conversation, while the stage in the back hosts a jazz trio playing something sultry and complex.
Every table is occupied by people who radiate the particular energy of those who operate in shadows. Expensive suits and designer dresses, conversations conducted in low voices, the understanding that what's said here stays here.
Our table is in the back corner—the best seat in the house for observing the room while maintaining privacy.
I pull out Aurora's chair, waiting for her to settle before taking my own seat across from her.
"This place is incredible," Aurora breathes, her eyes taking in every detail. "How did you find it?"
"Family business," I say simply. "The Bravati syndicate owns about a dozen establishments like this across Europe. Places where... certain conversations can happen without interference."
Understanding dawns in her expression.
"Mafia."
"Organized crime with pretensions toward legitimacy," I correct with a slight smile. "But yes. My family has been in the information business for five generations. We know things, facilitate connections, provide services that exist in legal gray areas."
I watch her process this, curious how she'll react to the reminder that I'm not just a tech genius from a wealthy family, but someone with connections to actual criminal enterprises.
Her expression shifts into something thoughtful rather than judgmental.
"That's how you knew about the surveillance equipment," she says slowly. "And the security protocols. And how you're so comfortable investigating things that require... technical rule-breaking. You and Adrian for that matter, though maybe that’s more billionaire protocol."
"Esattamente." I let the Italian slip naturally. "My world is darker than my soft voice might suggest. I wanted you to understand that before we go too far down this path."
The waiter appears—an older Beta man with the kind of professional discretion that comes from years serving clientele who value privacy. He takes our drink orders without writing anything down, recommends the evening specials in hushed tones, then disappears as silently as he arrived.
Aurora leans forward slightly, candlelight catching on the emerald fabric of her gown.
"You know what’s been nagging me? The kidnapping but in you guys’ perspective," she says quietly. "Like…tell me how it looked from your side."
The shift in conversation is deliberate, and I appreciate her directness.
"It was coordinated," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Not just random fan violence or opportunistic criminals. The timing was too precise, grabbing you during the narrow window between the press conference to simply using the bathroom.”
I pull up a mental file of everything I've learned in the weeks since.
"Three vehicles involved in the extraction, though only one was present on the road for the main event. The two others tried to flee but those were taken care of before your Father could interfere in those departments. Professional drivers, knew the city well enough to avoid main thoroughfares where cameras are denser. Reviewing the fact Roran was drugged before the initial race with custom compounds—not street drugs, but something manufactured specifically for subduing without causing obvious harm, also tells me that whoever plotted this hoped you’d jump in on Roran’s behalf and reveal your true identity to the world."
Aurora's expression darkens.
"My family has handled it. My father would never let those bastards live forty-eight hours once he knew what happened."
The casual confirmation that her family executed her kidnappers doesn't surprise me. Gregory Lane's reputation for protecting his children is well-documented in certain circles.
"But it did seem unprovoked," Aurora continues, frowning. "Even with me revealing myself that same day. Like the kidnapping was planned well before anyone knew I was an Omega. Almost expected, as if that's exactly what they wanted."
Her observation aligns with my own analysis.
"A test," I suggest. "Or a message. Someone wanted to see how vulnerable you were, what kind of response your protection would mount, whether the pack bonds were strong enough to warrant concern."
The waiter returns with wine—an expensive Barolo that I selected earlier—and pours with practiced elegance. We wait in silence until he retreats before continuing.
