[This story is complete and being edited.]
Armed racing is Atropellado's deadliest and most profitable sport. And wherever there is profit in Atro, there is crime.
Gervassio Blaze has left his most prized possession - ownership of the armed racing f...
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"Tonight is the night."
Rose tried on her evening dress for the umpteenth time in front of the bedroom mirror. She also admired her reflection in the glass curtain walls that overlooked Atropellado's sky line from the penthouse she, and Lancet had purchased. Rose loved that Atropellado's towering skyscrapers shimmered like mirrors in the sun. And by nightfall, the marbled night skies would sparkle like colorful sequins — the perfect backdrop for the occasion.
It was different from living in the Gloxinia estate in Silva, of course, but with her engagement to Lancet, having a home base near the racing circuits was a must, especially with her fiancé still recovering from being shot. They were still browsing for a house on the outskirts, somewhere quieter to "lay roots" as Lancet called it.
"So excited for bloodshed, Miss Gloxinia," came a deep murmur behind her. Two large hands dragged over her ribs in appreciation of the black lace where her tattoo peeked beneath. The dress stretched in a lacy diamond from her collar to her waist, where it was cinched to waterfall down to her ankles in black satin. A sliver of Rose's bronze kissed thigh was exposed through the slit that cut down the skirt.
"I don't know about you, but I've always loved a good spring cleaning. Nothing like tossing out the trash." Rose smiled mischievously as she leaned back against the solid body behind her, careful not to press into the bandages wrapped around her fiancé's chest.
Aware that Rose was not referencing literal trash, Lancet chuckled darkly into her neck before taking a nibble. "And your cousin?"
"Johan? He'll be at the party tonight with my uncle. Everything is in place."
"Good," Lancet nodded, his viridian eyes locked on hers in the mirror. With a kiss to her bare shoulder, the retired racer peeled away, but not without a grimace.
Rose tutted. "By rights, it's only been two months, and you shouldn't even be walking. Are you sure you'll be able to-"
"Not even a wife yet, and already questioning my capabilities." Had this been months ago, Lancet's cool tone would've felt sharp, but Rose now recognized it as teasing.
"I just want to make sure your injury won't interfere with tonight."
"Has it yet?"
This was true. Outside of their inner circle, none knew of Lancet's bullet wound thanks to a generous amount of pain killers, and his pristine acting.
"I don't recall you worrying about my injury last night," Lancet smirked suggestively over the rim of his freshly poured coffee cup. He chuckled when Rose fixed him with a stern look before she suddenly lit up.
"Oh! Before we get dressed."
Rose went shuffling for something in her nightstand. She tucked whatever it was behind her back, and met Lancet in the kitchen. Rose was practically beaming now, making the other mob boss wary enough to place his coffee on the counter, his brows raised in question. She revealed a long, and elaborately carved wooden box.
