no body no crime

Valhalla

When Pietro opened the door, I was met with a gun to my head.

"Hi there," I said casually, my hands hovering at the gun in my waistband.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here?"

I rolled my eyes, pretending the gun pressed to my forehead wasn't making my pulse race. "Someone told me to find you."

He lowered the gun a fraction. "Who?"

"Adelina de Luca."

His eyes widened. Forgetting the gun, his other hand grabbed my jacket and yanked me through the doorway. He slammed it shut and pinned me against it, his face hovering inches before my own.

"What do you know about her," he hissed.

I met his stare. His eyes shone a dark green, his hair black and curly. He was attractive, I'll admit. Most girls would kill to be pinned between his body and a door. So would I, except for the small detail that he is not a woman.

"I know she's in trouble. And I'm trying to find her," I said, my tone calm despite my nerves.

His grip loosened, but he stayed close. "You're a friend?"

"Yes. I promise, I don't want to hurt anyone."

Pietro stayed quiet for a moment. He let me off the door and ran a hand through his hair.

"Do you know where she is?" I asked him.

He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's a club in Midtown, an establishment of the Nighthawks. It's called Valhalla. If she's anywhere, she's there."

"Nighthawks?" I questioned.

"A rival gang. Mostly Italian, some French. You should know how dangerous they are before heading in there."

I nodded, releasing a tight breath. "Thank you, I'll be cautious. And if I find her, I'll make sure to let you know." I turned my back on him and reached for the doorknob.

"Who are you?" he called, curiosity lacing his tone.

I glanced over my shoulder. "I'm no one."

With his eyes on my back, I stepped through the door.

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It was the middle of the afternoon by the time I got to Valhalla. But it was Saturday, and New York, and the people packed the tables and bar. A bouncer stood outside, a tall guy with a tattoo of a talon beneath his right eye. His muscles fought the tight seams of his blazer. I stood before him, my hands on my hips. After a moment of shared eye contact, I moved to step past him. His hand found my elbow.

"Name," he grunted.

I bit my lip and leaned closer. "Nighthawk," I breathed.

He let me go with a questioning stare. After a moment of consideration, he resumed his position beside the door. I stepped past and this time, he didn't try to stop me.

Loud music assaulted my ears the moment I stepped inside. A long bar, crowded with customers, sat at one end of the room, while the rest of the crowd mingled around booths and standing tables. I made my way to the bar and took one of the few empty stools. A bartender approached, a pretty girl with blonde hair and a twisted smile.

"What are you having?" she asked over the noise.

I kept my expression passive. "A water will do."

She nodded and stepped away, coming back a moment later with a glass. I sipped at the drink as my eyes took in the room. On the outside, it seemed like any club, but I could sense an underlying tension.