Chapter 31 · Tip

"Keep the tip, sweetheart." The guy's fingers slide into my breast pocket like he owns it, folding a hundred against my chest. "You earned it tonight."

I don't move. Two hundred people in this ballroom, my hand still wet from the champagne toast, and some silver-haired associate of Nico's father just tipped me like I'm working the coat check.

"Excuse me?" My voice comes out flat, not loud. Loud is for people who don't know how many cameras are pointed at this room.

"Don't be shy." He pats the pocket. "Everybody at this table knows what you are. Falcone's pretty little signature. No shame in getting paid for it."

I hear Nico before I feel him — that specific quiet that drops over a room when he decides to stop pretending to be charming. His hand lands on my shoulder first, not rough, just final, like a door closing.

"Say that again," Nico says.

The guy laughs, doesn't get it yet. "Relax, Falcone, I'm complimenting your—"

Nico's other hand closes around his wrist so fast the champagne in his glass sloshes onto the tablecloth. Nobody at the surrounding tables looks up. That's the thing about this crowd —