Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

I t feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Telling Roman what happened five years ago hasn’t totally eradicated the pain, but it’s a start, and I feel like we’re in a much better place for it. Unfortunately, the dark cloud of anger and sadness that hangs over my head since my dad’s departure still lingers. No amount of comforting from Roman seems to remove the gloom, so when Haven turns up at my door unannounced, I know he’s brought out the big guns.

“Come on,” she sings as I bury myself under my covers. “We’re going out!”

“Not tonight,” I grumble. It’s seven o’clock, in the middle of the week, and the last thing I want to do is play dress-up and go dancing in some club with a bunch of drunk guys on the prowl.

Cold air whips my body as Haven yanks the duvet off me. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. So get your mopey ass in the shower and put on your dancing shoes!”

Groaning, I turn and glare at my best friend. I know there’s no fighting her when she’s like this, though, so I heave myself out of my bed and grumble expletives as I let her drag me to the bathroom.

“There’s this new place that opened up downtown,” she tells me as I switch on the shower. “Everyone is raving about it!”

“Uh huh.” I strip off my clothes and slide between the shower curtain and the wall, absentmindedly running through the motions of washing my hair while Haven drones on about the club she wants to visit.

“They have these kaleidoscope lights, drinks to die for, and ladies get in for free on Wednesdays!” she squeals. “It’s called Mosaique.”

“Cool,” I reply automatically as I comb my fingers through my conditioned strands.

“Alright!” Suddenly, the shower curtain is whipped back and Haven stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at me. “Talk! Roman hasn’t told me anything, but judging from his urgent message, I figured it had something to do with you leaving the fight the other night?” She stares at me expectantly, and even though I’m stark naked, it doesn’t bother either of us.

“Actually,” I glare back, reaching forward and snapping the curtain back into place. “My dad came over.”

“What?” The curtain swishes open again, Haven gaping at me all wide-eyed and shocked.

“He came here and…” I swallow back the stickiness that coats my throat. All of the sudden it’s hard to repeat those words my father said to me. They were so harsh and final that it dragged me into a slump and I’m afraid to go back there.

“Lani?”

“Dad knows. He knew all along,” I croak past the lump in my throat as a single tear slips down my cheek. Luckily, the shower masks it so Haven only sees my face grimacing slightly.

She lets out a loud exhale before stepping back and sitting on the lid of the toilet seat. “How did that go?”

I quirk a brow as I turn underneath the shower spray and rinse my hair. “How do you think it went? He pretty much disowned me.”

A long, sullen silence follows my statement, and I can tell Haven is trying to decide how to respond. I wouldn’t blame her if she had nothing to say at all because we both knew my father would take the news the hardest. But him knowing all along is like a twist in the gut. I know I’m just as much in the wrong here—I had ample opportunities to tell my family, but the prospect of knowing exactly how they’d react made it more difficult.

“Maybe you just need to explain why you’re doing it. Your mom will understand,” Haven eventually replies.

“My mom isn’t really the one I’m worried about,” I mumble as I squeeze the water from my hair. My mom is the most reasonable out of all the Bonannos, an attribute neither Alvaro nor I have inherited. She’d be the first to make my dad see reason, or at least back off enough for me to explain my side, but I don’t think I’m ready to divulge every detail. My dad isn’t exactly known for being patient when it comes to family.

Haven hands me my towel as I step out of the tub, and I wrap myself in the warm, fluffy material, tucking it in at the front. “She can reason with your dad and help him see things from your perspective.”

“Haven,” I huff. “How do you think my parents are going to respond to me telling them I was…” Fuck, I can’t even say it. Even after five years, I can’t bring myself to say that one word. It’s like tearing open an old wound; that single word is the knife that’ll slice me up.

A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I realize I’m keeled over the sink, my knuckles whitening as my fists grip the porcelain edge. My breaths are sharp and shallow, my chest squeezing tightly. Every time I think about what happened over the weekend, I feel the sting of disappointment. I never expected my dad to be completely on my side, but I believed he would at least give me the chance to explain why I wanted to join the police force.

“It’s hard, I know,” she says softly. “But this might finally be the thing that brings you closer to your dad.”

“We’ve never been close,” I snort. “We’re always going to clash because we’re just too similar.”

“You’re both stubborn, you mean?”

I snap my gaze to my best friend, hating how right she is, but loving that she’s not afraid to point out my flaws. Especially when they’re getting in my way.

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but you need to make the first move here.” She chases her words with a stern look, her brown eyes narrowed on me. “Tell them. If not your dad, at least tell your brother.”

“At the moment, he’s not even talking to me.” I’ve sent him a ton of messages over the past few days but he hasn’t replied. Roman told me about Varo confronting him at the gym, but he’s made no attempt to actually speak to me .

“What about Roman? Does he know?”

I inhale deeply, turning to rest against the sink. “He knows.” Fuck, he knows. And he didn’t react the way I thought he would. He might have looked at me like I was broken, but he didn’t treat me with disgust or tread carefully around me. Obviously, the guy was pissed, but when I admitted that I blamed him—even when I know deep down none of it was his fault—he accepted it.

It’s about time. I knew better than to expect Roman to behave a certain way. So far he’s surprised me at every turn, even when his behavior has been questionable.

The look on Haven’s face is almost unreadable; like she’s trying to work out what exactly is going through my head right now, and fuck if I know. The past three days have been a blur, my mind and heart still warring with what to do. Do I save my relationship with my family and not join the NYPD, risking leaving a guilty man free to hurt someone else? Or do I push forward to seek retribution, but lose my family in the process?

Neither is an option, because I’ll do everything I can to take Ashton Greedy down myself. Which means Haven is right; I need to speak to my brother—because one way or another, I need to make things right. Not just with my dad, but in my own life, too. If anyone can understand, it’s Alvaro. I just need to get past his moody wall first.

“So…” Haven arches a brow, clearly wanting more information than the two words I provided.

“He was surprisingly calm. I told him what happened and I think now he understands why I want to join the police.”

Blowing the hair out of her face, she folds her arms. “He was definitely pissed,” she states.

“One hundred percent,” I laugh. “But he gets it.”

“Then maybe he can help Varo understand, too?”

“Maybe.” Sidestepping Haven, I make my way to my bedroom to start rummaging for something to wear. I’m really not in the mood to go out, but Haven and I both know I need this. I need to take my mind off what’s happened—even if it’s just temporary.

By the time I’ve selected my outfit—a pair of black skinny jeans and a glitter ball style crop top with matching straps—I’m pretty much ready to go. I’ve left my jet-black tresses wavy and wild, and my makeup dark like my soul.

In a matter of minutes, Haven is shoving me out the door and into the taxi she pre-booked. It doesn’t even take us as long as I thought to get to the club in question, and when the cab halts abruptly, I can see why Haven wanted to come here.

From the outside, the nightclub looks like a seedy place where you’d come to cover your illegal businesses up. With a line of people outside waiting to be permitted, Haven was right in saying this is the place to be.

She pays the driver before we step out onto the chilly sidewalk. As always, Haven is wrapped up in her big overcoat, which I can’t help but snort at as she pulls me past the line of grumbling patrons.

A burly man stands tall in the doorway to Mosaique, his demeanor intimidating to say the least. His face is stern, his neck covered in tattoos that are barely concealed behind his collar. He’s silent as he gives us a once over before nodding to his equally scary companion, whose thick tattooed fingers reach for the handle, pulling the door to the club open for us.

We walk through a lobby style room, where a coat check kiosk is situated to the side. Haven hands over her coat and then tugs me through another set of doors.

As soon as we step through, I’m hit with the sights and sounds that can only be described as an amusement park, yet I’m totally here for it. The ceiling is alight with multicolored lasers bouncing from every surface in the vicinity. The music pumps so loud that I can taste my eardrums, but that’s not what captures my attention.

It’s the women hanging from hoops and ropes and ribbons above us. They twist and twirl like acrobats, legs splitting, hair flipping and wide smiles blinding us from below. Mesmerized, I don’t realize I’m gaping until Haven shouts in my ear, snatching my attention. I have no idea what she just said, but when I snap my gaze to hers, she gestures for a drink.

I nod emphatically, tearing my gaze from the sight above and following my best friend to the bar. Thankfully, its bar is on the other side of the room, where the music doesn’t feel like it’s penetrating every orifice. I can hear Haven better now. Clearer, too. She orders us our usual drinks of choice whenever we go out, and I turn to admire the scene around me.

On the dance floor, bodies slide and grind to ‘Gimme what I want’ by Miley Cyrus, sweat glistening on their skin under the heat and intensity of the lights. It’s got a sexy, sultry vibe that bleeds into the fun and liberating atmosphere. Between the colors and music, I can anticipate losing myself in the crowd too, letting go of my inhibitions, ignoring my surroundings and just feeling the bass. With Haven by my side, it makes it a little easier to avoid the anxiety crawling up my throat from being in a room full of drunk guys eye-fucking us.

I turn back to Haven to find two glasses of champagne in front of us. “What’s this?” I grimace, lifting the glass to inspect it.

She shrugs back, gesturing to an area just away from the bar where a group of men lounge back in their private booth. I lock eyes with one guy as he lifts his glass in the air, and even though he’s partially hidden by the shadows, I recognize him in an instant.

“Haven,” I grind out. “We shouldn’t be here.”

She spins around, brows furrowed angrily. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure this place is owned by the Russians.”

A guiltless smile crosses her lips as she brings her glass to her mouth. She tosses the drink back effortlessly, sinking the entire thing before she licks her lips. “And the Russian alcohol tastes a hell of a lot better than Haldon’s,” she giggles.

Rolling my eyes, I raise my champagne flute to Milo, who watches us carefully, then sip the bubbly slowly. “You do know the Russians supply your brother with the same alcohol,” I state, turning around to avoid his eye contact.

“Ahhh… shut up and enjoy the night!” She spins around and saunters her way over to the light-up dance floor that reminds me of something out of Saturday Night Fever.

“Haven!” I call after her, but she doesn’t listen. While I don’t like the idea of being here, I follow Haven’s lead. Roman told me to stay away from Milo, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. It’s not my fault he was here at the same time as me.

I follow my best friend’s lead, sliding between the dancing bodies until we’re in the center of the room. I close my eyes as Haven takes my hands and we dance to the track of Ariana Grande’s ‘Bad Idea’. The irony of the title isn’t lost on me, but while I’m here with Haven, I’m at least staying out of trouble.

The music shifts between R&B and sultry pop, our bodies slick with sweat as I realize we’ve been dancing for over an hour. Gesturing towards the bar, Haven nods and I make my way over to order more drinks.

“What are you doing here, Lani?”

I jolt away from the bar at the familiar voice, my heartbeat thundering to the bass of the music and my own panic. I turn to see my brother leaning against the bar, his expression furious as he glares down at me, his dark brows knitting together.

“Vee,” I gasp, clutching my sequin top. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of?—”

“I know,” he snaps, gaze drifting past me. “Not really been in the mood to talk since I found out my sister is a traitor.”

I wince at his words, trying to ignore the sting of them. While they’re somewhat true, it still hurts to hear them coming from my twin. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he retorts and I hate the look he gives me.

“What are you doing here?” I repeat his question, trying to ignore the fact he probably hates me right now.

“None of your business,” he grits out. The anger lighting his dark eyes is enough to deter me, but as long as Varo is my brother, his safety is as much my business as mine is his. If he told me to stay away from the Russians, he’s as much in danger as I am right now, but it’s no use in pointing that out to him. Especially with the notable mood he’s in.

Despite the look of indifference he casts my way, I rest my hand on his, offering him a pleading look. Haven’s words ring in my ears, and since now is as good a time as any, I take a deep breath and set my mind on clearing the air with my brother.

“Can we talk please?”

He turns and gestures to one of the bartenders, his expression blank and bored. “We’re talking,” he mutters.

“Vee,” I plead, but I don’t get very far before someone interrupts us, their presence looming over us like a dark cloud filled with suppressed danger.

“Is there a problem, Bonannos?” Milo asks.

“Nope,” Varo replies swiftly, sending me a warning glare. In that single look, I know he’s telling me to shut up and leave. We might not share some conspiratorial twin telepathy, but even I can sense how desperately he wants me to leave. This isn’t about me right now. It’s something else, something he doesn’t want me to be a part of.

A wave of recognition and acceptance floats between us. If I was to protest right now, I’d be an idiot. So instead, I nod and push away from the bar in the direction of the dance floor to search for Haven. Whatever is about to go down tonight, I need to steer clear.