THE IDIOT ARRIVED in the middle of the night, just when Layla hooks one leg and slowly twirl down the pole topless. A loud cheer rang out the room and a group of college drunk guys throws small bills in her direction, and she suctions them up and makes them disappear into her tiny thong like a fucking pro.

I sit at the bar of L'ufficio waiting for my next prey to take the bait, a glass of whiskey at my elbow, the pounding sound of pulsing music making my skin tingle in excitement. Dusk had already fallen by the time I landed in New York and although the primal need to head straight to my house was intense, some things needed to be taken care of first.

"I told her she doesn't need anything new. Stick to what she do. It's already perfect." As if she can hear us, she throws us a wink, good old Layla.

I chuckle. "New tricks mean new tips."

"God, she's a handful." Declan says as he stretches and sighs, leaning his back against the bar, clutching a beer in his right hand. He takes a long pull and sighs. "I'm surprised you're still here and not with the girl." He eyes me sideways and my jaw flexes. I don't need his shit tonight.

I grunt at him. "Don't worry about her."

"Hard not to worry after what you did."

"She'll get over it."

Declan chuckles. "Come on, Kade. You gotta know about the father. This might backfire. What the fuck are you playing at?"

"Yeah?"

"Rumor is that he knew the chief court justice and there's a mob connection to it."

I force myself to grin at him and shrug, releasing some of my pent-up anger. Declan's been my friend since high school and there's nobody in this world I trust more—except I can't tell him a thing about my plan, not now, not without taking some risk, and I'm the sort of man that controls the situation and bends risk to my own fucking needs, not the other way around.

I knew what he's worried about. Dorian Van Horen is a sick ruthless motherfucker. The bitter taste of vengeance was heavy on my tongue as I think about my next move. The men on my list are his friends and foes alike, some men I've never met but know more about than they'll ever know. Some of them, those who rightfully don't trust technology, have been harder to get to, but I have enough to work with. After all, they were the ones who help him burry his fucking skeletons and torture her for years.

What I unleashed today is nothing compare to what I plan to do next. Jail time should be the least of their concerns. That was just a ploy. I knew it will create panic within their organization and it will only be a matter of time before they make a wrong move. And no one would ever suspect me of anything because I never show my hand.

"You'll know soon."

He shrugs again, drinks his beer, and sighs.

"You should've just let Lorenzo kill 'em and get it over with."

"Grandfather might be quick and haste to kill his prey but I'm different." Debt had to be collected and paid, and revenge was about to be served, cold and punitive.

"And the girl?"

My blood buzzes with desire as a smile breaks across my face. "She's my consolation prize."

He shakes his head. "Yeah? Like she'll welcome you with open arms,"

"She has no other choice, brother," I say just as the text came in. I stand up and he nods to me as I squeeze his shoulder and slap his back. "I'll talk to you soon."

I caught Vince eyes and he follows me as I head towards the back door. I pass a group of chattering drunk girls on the way and saw one of the stripper, Calista, a blonde with big eyes and flirty as fuck attitude coming from the back.

"Going too soon?" Calista says giving me this ridiculous fuck-me smile.

"Remember what I told you." I say as I walk past. "I want him recorded."

"Of course, baby."

I don't break stride. My head's spinning in excitement about the thought of seeing Ayla in my house. I step out into the parking lot, get behind the wheel of my black McLaren, and drive fast toward my house. Everything was starting to fall in place just as I had planned. Now, it's time to feast.

I smile at the thought.