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“Slade, this is Isabella.”

His attention moved to me, and his expression warmed. “Miss Isabella. Welcome to Xyst.”

“Thank you.”

Lachlan’s hand settled at the small of my back, and Slade opened the door.

The music hit me first.

Bass rolled through the floor beneath my heels while lights moved over a crowd that seemed to fill every available space. The long bar was packed three deep, bartenders working beneath shelves of glowing bottles. Beyond it, bodies moved together across the dance floor, while the balconies rose above them in dark, curving levels broken by private booths and lower pools of light.

People were drinking, dancing, kissing, and flirting in an atmosphere that was openly sensual without feeling cheap.

Xyst was beautiful.

Dark, expensive, decadent, and very obviously built by men who had never worried much about whether the rest of the world approved of them.

I turned slowly, taking in the crowded bar, the balconies above us, the security positioned where they could watch without hovering, and the staff moving through hundreds of people as though the entire place ran on an invisible set of rules.

“Lachlan, this is incredible.”

His gaze moved over the room as though he were seeing something far more ordinary than I was. “You like it?”

“I knew Xyst was successful. I wasn’t expecting—” I looked around again. “This. It’s gorgeous.”

His mouth curved.

“Me, Lucian, Gabriel, and Julian built it from nothing.”

“How long did it take?”

“Years. Finding the building was the easy part. Getting it built the way we wanted without half of Manhattan knowing exactly what we were doing took considerably longer.”

I smiled. “That sounds suspiciously like mafia code for a great deal of money and several favors nobody put in writing.”

“Now you’re learning.”

I looked over the club again, more impressed than before. “You should be so proud of this.”

He squeezed my waist.

“I am.”

As we crossed the main floor, people greeted Lachlan without making a production of it. He didn’t have to announce himself or demand anyone’s attention. Everyone simply knew who he was. One of the bartenders lifted two fingers in greeting before returning to a row of waiting drinks. A security guard near the stairs stopped Lachlan long enough to give him a quick report about something happening below in one of the private gaming rooms.

Lachlan listened, asked a couple of questions, then said, “Move another man over there until the party clears out. No need to make a scene unless the idiot gives you one.”

“Got it.”

The guard disappeared.

We continued through the club. A bartender set a whiskey on the edge of the bar without being asked, and Lachlan picked it up while we walked.

“Come on. The others are upstairs.”

We climbed to one of the upper balcony levels, where the crush of the crowd eased without disappearing completely. The music was still loud enough to feel in my chest, but the private booths gave us enough separation to talk without shouting.

Lachlan guided me toward one overlooking the main floor.