Page 64 of Brutal Revenge

Nico stares at me as though I’m a circus freak, so it’s only right that I continue unhinging his jaw.

“It’s… different.”

“Different how?”

When I remain quiet, too lost to form words, he studies me intently, eyes narrowing slightly.

“If you’re struggling, maybe Azra means more to you than you think she does,” he says a short time later.

A harsh, humorless sound rattles in my chest. “Or maybe you’re projecting.”

My reply hits him harder than my fist ever could. Remorse flickers in his expression, and his jaw tightens. Nico has been in love with Alora for years and has done absolutely nothing about it. He just watches her from afar with quiet longing and pathetic restraint.

I don’t believe I can do the same with Azra.

After a beat, Nico murmurs, “Might have to listen to Giovanni’sadvice more often. She’s lighter on her feet tonight.” He nods toward Azra, who’s still burning off the calories of her three-course meal. “Like all the dead weight she’s been carrying finally slipped off.” I don’t need his wink to understand what he’s implying, but he gives it to me anyway. “Any idea of the cause of her newfound freedom?”

I don’t brag, which is unusual for me.

I usually overshare, and Nico knows it.

“You’re so fucked.”

I throw my fist into his stomach, winding him. “Shut the fuck up and let a man enjoy the splendor in front of him.” His smile is too smug, so I act like the brat middle child I am. “Alora is aging like fine wine.”

That wipes the smile off his face. “Behave, fuckface, or I’ll make Boris prove his muscles aren’t for show.”

I only direct my eyes to Boris, the massive Samoan bouncer, for a fleeting second before he wilts like a picked flower.

“Make sure he brings a tank. I don’t want to carry all your security to the dumping ground in one sitting. I’ve got plans.”

Before Nico can respond, a staff member taps his shoulder, her expression urgent. Nico sighs, mutters something about never getting a night off, slaps my shoulder in farewell, then disappears into an office at the side of the bar.

I return to my seat. It, like every other table in this nightclub, has a prime view of the dance floor. Influencers, models, actors, and preppy trust fund boys mingle with everyday folk, seeking a taste of a place everyone whispers about. This isn’t just a nightclub. It’s a kingdom.

There are three levels, each dedicated to its own crowd. The first floor is for the tourists who want to say they were here. They dance, drink, and post selfies for their followers.

The second floor is where the real money goes. Athletes, CEOs, and actors come here to be seen and to associate with those they believe are worth their time.

And on the third floor, the floor we’re on, the world’s worst decision-makers maketheir choices.

Proof? I don’t discourage Azra from participating in whatever scheme Alora is plotting when she whispers something in her ear.

Azra’s eyes flick to mine, and her face scrunches in panic for a nanosecond before she throws back her head and laughs.

Watching her now feels like I am witnessing a transformation I shouldn’t be privileged to see.

Her hair catches the light as she spins with her newfound friends, her smile bright and unguarded. She’s too young for the world she’s stepped into and the weight she carried before we arrived at the club.

Too young for me.

Yet I can’t look away.

I slump back in the booth and cross my arms, eyes locked on Azra. I tell myself I’m here because Antonio prowls clubs like this every weekend, and the quicker I help Azra make him jealous, the sooner I’ll be free from this ridiculous arrangement.

But that’s a lie.

I’m here because something about her pulls at me in a manner I don’t understand.