With nimble fingers, she enters the door code and slips inside. My mouth drops open when I lose sight of her. How the fuck did she know the door code? And why is she dressed like that?

A headache forms behind my temple as I put the car in reverse and slam on the brakes once I’m almost out to the main street. Jumping from my car, I hurry to the front door.

“No entry.” A bouncer with about a hundred pounds on me holds out his hand, blocking my way.

“If you want to keep that fucking hand, you’ll let me pass,” I snarl, my anger fogging any rational thought. Anger and … fear. Carina doesn’t belong in a place like this. She could get hurt. Badly.

“We got a tough guy?” He reaches out to grab my lapel.

I take his hand, yank it to the side, then twist his pinky finger so hard it snaps.

He yowls, and another man opens the black door of the club, takes one look at me, then steps back. “Gilly. Didn’t expect you.”

“Vince.” I brush past him.

“Should I tell Mr. Cavalli you’re here?” He peers out into the dark behind me. “Is Antonio comin–”

“Just me.”

He closes the door on the still-yowling bouncer.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s new.” Vince gives me a tight smile. He’s been a club manager for various families for years. He was on our payroll a while ago at one of our cabaret fronts, but we shut down when the feds got too close.

“I’m looking for a girl.” He tries to hide his shocked expression. He most likely thought I was meeting someone here to talk business.

“Aren’t we all?” His smile widens until I see his gold teeth glinting.

“Who else is here tonight?” I glance around at the black walls leading back into a small club space and then farther into private rooms and torture scenes. This club is well known for its particularly twisted forms of entertainment.

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge client information. You know that.” He drops his voice to just above a whisper. “Heavies in the back. Steer clear.” He taps the side of his nose. “Now let’s find you a girl.”

I let him lead me into the club area. A few tables are enjoying bottle service while two women writhe onstage. I ignore these bit players and peer through the gloom. No Carina.

“Not here.” I turn and head back toward the hallway.

Vince scurries ahead of me.

“Gilly, when I said heavies, I meant it.” He shakes his head. “The Falco heir and–”