Page 43 of The Price of Power

Which was a good thing because it soon became clear that Gabriel wasn’t at The Relic to have a good time.

He never mentioned dancing. I don’t even think he stood up from his seat. Instead, he sat there, perched like a king on his throne, overseeing everyone and waiting for people to come to him.

And, unsurprisingly, they did.

A constant trickle of people stopped by the entire time. Most were burly men dressed like Gabriel in expensive suits. They came to shake his hand and maybe whisper a few words in his ear.

I wasn’t as naive as he thought. I knew they were mob men, just like him.

Well, not just like him.

Because with every interaction, it became more and more obvious that there was no one like Gabriel.

Only he could create an office in the middle of an overcrowded Manhattan nightclub on a Friday night.

The volume may have been deafening and the energy frantic, but it didn’t take me long to figure out why he’d picked this place.

Even though we were surrounded by people on all sides, the club’s atmosphere created a surprising amount of privacy. With speakers blaring on every side and the roar of the crowd rising up from the floor below, it was nearly impossible for anyone to listen in on his conversations.

Hell, I was sitting next to him all night, and I didn’t catch a single word he said except for the times he turned to talk to me directly—usually to introduce me to one of his colleagues.

For the most part, the men were surprisingly cordial, if not a little dismissive. I didn’t blame them. They probably thought I was nothing more than his usual arm candy. But there were a handful of guys whose gazes seemed to sharpen slightly when Gabriel introduced me as Miss Collins.

Maybe I should have been offended, but honestly, I was too worried about what it meant that so many members of the New York underworld recognized my family name. Clearly, Theo had wriggled his way into deeper trouble than I’d realized.

Dear God, what had my brother been thinking? I swore that if we somehow made it out of this alive, I would kill him myself.

I was lost in a mental debate with myself over how exactly I was going to do it—strangle him with my bare hands or tie him to the bumper of my car as I drove from Chicago to Milwaukee—when Gabriel suddenly stood up and declared it was time to go.

I didn’t argue. I simply stood up and followed him down the stairs and out of the VIP section.

I still had to hold on to his arm as we made our way toward the door and out to the valet stand, but surprisingly, not as tightly as on our way in. Either I was getting better in these skyscraper heels, or the couple of glasses of champagne I’d had loosened me up to the point that I was no longer overthinking every step I took.

I figured it had to be the latter since by the time we got back to his house and up the stairs to his bedroom, I had given up on my plan to only speak when absolutely necessary.

“Well, that was a surprisingly decent evening,” I said right after he closed the door behind us.

He didn’t bother turning around and started peeling off his jacket. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Just an observation.” It had been a pleasant surprise, but I kept that part to myself.

“Most women are usually more appreciative after a night out with me,” he said, folding his coat in half and draping it over the back of the chair next to him.

I’m sure they were.

“If you wanted flattery, then you should have brought one of the girls that were staring at you all night.”

“And if I’d wanted one of them, I would have,” he answered without apology.

Apparently, the champagne had affected me more than I thought because I couldn’t resist the urge to challenge his inflated ego.

“Of course. How could I forget?” I said, letting the sarcasm I’d been pushing down all day finally rise up. “Because you always do what you want, right?”

That did it. He finally turned to face me.

And the instant he did, I realized the mistake I’d made in loosening the reins on my inhibitions. Everything about him radiated a sense of power, from the breadth of his broad shoulders to the dark storm clouds that always seemed to be swirling in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you this just once, Liv,” he said without a hint of humor in his voice. “I don’t like games. If you have something to say, then just say it.”