“Fuck,” Carter mumbles, and I look to where his eyes are resting and stiffen slightly when I see my ex-wife. She’s stripping on stage to a song about regrets, and I bet she has a few. I know I sure do. Marrying her being one of them. I watch her for a moment and realize that I feel nothing. When I first saw her on a pole years ago, I was angry. Livid. But I tried. I tried so hard to help her, to get her better, and now as I see her oily hair in tangles on her shoulders and her black mascara smudged under her eyes, both of which are bloodshot and barely open, understanding washes over me that there is really no hope for her anymore.

I watch as she twists and turns, and my mind briefly goes to the woman in my bed, her perfect soft skin, her bright green eyes, and her long red hair. They couldn’t be more opposite, and I am already itching to get back home to watch her sleep some more. It has become my new favorite pastime over the last few days—as creepy as it may be.

I lift my chin to Carter. “Over there,” I say, pointing to a hidden door at the back of the room, just to the side of the stage. Carter nods, and we stalk toward it, completely uninvited, but not giving a shit. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a few burly men from the venue’s security team come closer, but one look from me and they stay rooted to the ground, turn their eyes, and pretend they don’t even see us.

Carter opens the door to a long corridor, and I walk through quickly, along with our men. There are doors down the hall, on both the right and the left, and my team and I open each and every one as we make our way to the end. The corridor is bare, and aside from the bustling dressing room for the dancers, we find nothing. Frustrated, I push open the exit door at the end of the corridor and what do you know, outside, in the back parking lot, appears to be where all the action is.

“Well, what do we have here…” I say, mocking, as I spot a group of four men, one of whom I know is Benny, a cousin of the Russo boys. My eyes flick to Carter, and I nod to him. Benny and his men reach for their weapons, but they needn't have bothered, because we are faster. Three of the men are shot dead point-blank while I shoot Benny in the hand and relieve him of his gun.

“Fuck, Dante! What the fuck!” he screams as he grabs his hand in pain, his right hand now out of action and short of a few fingers.