Omerta ||ʙᴏᴏᴋ 1||

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ

We were back at the hotel room. Cole was god knows where, and I sat there, lost in the low hum of the TV, with Max beside me. The whole city to explore, but the thought of it didn't appeal to me. Sometimes, it's nice to just breathe, to forget the chaos—yet, as always, my quiet time was shattered.

"Skylar," my dad's voice echoed from the other room. "Get out here. Now."

I shot Max a quick glance, and he paused the TV. Without a word, I scrambled to my feet, Max following me.

I stepped into the living room, and my father's gaze locked onto me with icy fury. "Sit," he commanded, his tone brokering no argument.

Max moved to take a seat behind me, but my dad shot him a hard look. "Go back to the bedroom. Now."

I watched Max hesitate, his brow furrowing, but he complied. My father's eyes were cold, calculating, as he turned back to me.

"Skylar, we've got a situation." Emilio's voice followed, cutting through the air with that familiar Italian edge. "The Cobras and the NYC mafia have allied. They're planning to take us down."

I couldn't suppress a sigh, my mind already racing, dreading what was to come. "What do I have to do?"

Emilio's phone buzzed, and he stepped away to take the call, leaving me with my father. His sharp eyes cut through the air, scanning me like a predator.

"They're tracking us," my father continued, his voice low and urgent. "But we've got word they'll be at the Diamante nightclub. We need you to distract one of them, get information. Do whatever it takes, but be quick."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them sinking into my chest. What did "whatever it takes" really mean?

Just as I started to process his instructions, Emilio returned, and—of course—Cole was with him. His smirk greeted me like a familiar wound, but I rolled my eyes in response. I wasn't in the mood for his games.

"Get dressed," Emilio ordered, not even sparing me a glance. "We leave in an hour. You'll have a mic, so we'll know what's happening. Your dad will send you the location."

I turned, walking back toward the bedroom. The weight of the mission felt heavier with every step. I grabbed my makeup bag and rifled through my clothes, barely paying attention to what I was doing.

Then, my fingers brushed against it—a dress I didn't remember packing. I pulled it out. Red. Skintight. The fabric seemed to cling to every curve, every inch of my body. I slipped it on without thinking, trying not to look at myself in the mirror. I wasn't here to look pretty; I was here to get information—and to survive.

When I walked back out, Cole's gaze lingered on me, that damned smirk tugging at his lips. I felt my face heat, but I forced the blush down. My dad was right there.

Without a word, my father handed me the mic. "Put it somewhere safe," he instructed, his voice hard as stone. I stuffed it in my bra. I didn't care.

Cole shot me a look, his eyes darker now. "You good?" he asked softly.

I nodded, my stomach churning, unsure if I was more terrified of the mission or of what I felt when he looked at me.

"Focus, Skylar," my father's voice broke through the moment, sharp. "Don't get distracted. And don't make this about anything other than getting the information we need."

The car ride was nothing but a blur of lights, street signs, and an oppressive silence. My stomach knotted as we approached the club. The bouncers outside were massive, their eyes scanning the crowd, oblivious to the mafia presence lurking just beneath the surface. I swallowed hard. If I screw up, I'm dead.