Page 33 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

I couldn’t look away. No matter how angry I was, no matter how much she pushed me, she still did something to me I couldn’t explain.

I could watch her from across a room and feel her under my skin.

She stirred my soul. She made the air shift.

And even if she drove me mad, I’d still drink her bath water without blinking.

I moved through the crowd with quiet precision, weaving between tables and half-drunken laughter, never taking my eyes off her. Tatum hadn’t noticed me yet. She was too wrapped up in the music, the moment, and the freedom she thought she had. That gave me the advantage.

She stood with her back to me, hips rolling in slow, deliberate movements, unaware that every step I took was pulling me deeper under her spell. I closed the distance, letting the rhythm of the music mask my presence.

I was close enough now to catch the soft scent of her perfume. It was tropical with a hint of spice—the kind of scent that clung to your clothes and stayed with you long after she was gone.

When my hand found her waist, she didn’t tense, nor did she turn.

She just kept moving, like her body had been waiting for mine.

Like some part of her already knew it was me before her mind had the chance to catch up.

It was instinct. Familiar. That silent recognition that lived in the space between us, always waiting to catch fire the moment we got too close.

“Your man know you out here like this?” I lowered my mouth to her ear and whispered.

“No,” she said, teasing. “And I’m sure he’ll be here at any minute. You might want to move around. He’s dangerous.”

I lowered my hand, tracing the curve of her side. “So am I.”

She turned her head to glance at me over her shoulder and smirked. “That supposed to scare me?” she asked, voice playful but edged.

I dragged up to her throat, closing my hand around it, my grip firm but loose. “It should.”

“Is that right? What if I told you I’ve met your type before?”

“I’d say you’re a liar because I’m one of a kind. If you met someone like me, then you’d be getting handled right.”

“They tried.”

“And failed.”

She turned toward me then, still dancing, still wearing that look that said she wasn’t backing down. “You think you could do better?”

“No. I know I can. The real question is, do you think you can handle me?”

She smiled, slow and wicked. “Try me.”

I slid my hand from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head so she had no choice but to look up at me. “I don’t try,” I said. “I take.”

Her lashes lowered, but that smirk didn’t fade.

“Then take your shot, stranger,” she said. “Let’s see if you live up to the hype.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I studied her, the way her mouth curved, and the way her body stayed close even when her words played hard to get. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.

I slid my hand down her back until it found her juicy ass. This time, I pulled her into me, our bodies flush. Her breath brushed my neck, and I felt her heartbeat pick up in her chest.

“You talk too much,” I murmured.

“You touch too slow,” she whispered back.

My lips ghosted across her jaw, not quite kissing her, but close enough to make her shift. Her hands slid up my chest, nails grazing through my shirt, her eyes daring me to do something reckless. Something public.

“I could fuck up your whole life,” I said, low and even.

Her grin widened. “Then fuck it up.”

And that was all I needed.

I pressed my mouth to hers—slow at first, deep, like I had time to waste, even though every part of me was screaming to devour her.

She opened for me, soft but hungry, matching every move with her own.

Her hands curled in my shirt as I kissed her like she belonged to me, because even in this game, she did.

When we finally pulled apart, her lipstick was smudged, and her breathing was uneven.

“Still not scared?” I asked.

She licked her lips and tilted her head.

“No,” she said, voice hoarse. “But I’m finally interested.”

That made me laugh.

Tatum tugged me by the front of my shirt mid-chuckle. “Dance with me,” she said, playful but firm.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

“What?” I gave her a look. “Gangstas don’t dance. We post up and watch. We hold drinks and mean-mug. What we don’t do is body roll in clubs like strippers. You tryna ruin my rep?”

She tilted her head, smiling like she had me cornered. “Never. I’m just trying to get a husband to dance with his wife. Is that too much to ask?”

Then she spun around and pressed herself against me, rolling her hips as if she knew I wouldn’t be able to resist. I held my ground for a second.

Maybe two. But by the third beat drop, my hands were on her waist and my hips were moving— moving.

Not a simple two-step, either. I was body rolling. In public. With rhythm.

And I didn’t even care.

By the time the third song ended, we were both out of breath, laughing, and leaning into each other. The rest of the room had disappeared.

However, reality slapped me the second we made it back to the table.

Sophia looked up from her drink, brow raised, like her soul had left her body at the sight of what she'd just witnessed.

“Nahhh, son,” she said, laughing. “I know that wasn’t my brother. Shaking that ass. In public. Doing hip rolls.”

Riley leaned back and clapped slowly. “I am screaming . You looked like one of those uncles that be at the cookouts, tryna show he still got it.”

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my drink. “Y’all done?”

“Absolutely not,” Sophia grinned. “I need to call nuestra madre and Mama Deleon and tell them how you were just out here winding your waist like Beyoncé.”

“I dare you to call my momma with that,” I warned, shooting her a glare that had her cracking up even harder.

“You didn’t say nothing about Mama Deleon, so let me get her on the line right now.” She pulled out her phone, and Tatum jumped in, smirking as she sipped what looked to be water.

“Leave him alone. My man was just matching my energy.”

“Matching your what?” Riley asked.

“Energy,” Tatum repeated. “And I loved it. I was about to throw it back harder, but I didn’t wanna spend the rest of the night at the ER. You know he's old and can’t bend like he used to.”

Sophia choked on her drink. “Bit—Tatum, please!”

I shook my head, trying not to smile. “Don’t lie on me. I bend just fine when I’m tearing that ass up.”

“Yes,” Tatum said sweetly. “Those five minutes are always the best I’ve ever had in my life.”

Sophia and Riley lost it, cackling like hyenas, and I just stared at my wife while she sipped her drink like she didn’t just assassinate my ego in public.

I leaned into Tatum, my eyes heated and filled with challenge. “Keep on, and you gon’ fuck around and need therapy to learn how to walk again.”

Tatum didn’t flinch. “I’m just speaking my truth, baby. You know I love you… stamina and all.”

Riley wheezed. “Not stamina and all! ”

Sophia slapped the table. “I am crying. Y’all are sick.”

“Say what you want now, but don’t complain when I have your legs shaking and you have to crawl to the bathroom.”

Her eyes narrowed, but that grin broke through anyway. “Boy, shut up before I start telling details. Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not the one playing,” I said, sitting back. “You're the one who’s talking shit like you don’t have to go home with me.”

Sophia made a gagging sound. “Well , damn. I’d be quiet if I were you,” she said, instigating.

“I think you might be right.” Tatum laughed and leaned into me, her shoulder brushing mine.

“You gonna behave now?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said, kissing her teeth. “Depends on if you let us keep the night going.”

I checked the time, then looked around at all three of them. They were too lit, looking too good, and too excited to be out for me to shut the night down now.

“Aight,” I said, reaching into my pocket for my phone. “But let’s hit Khalil’s club. It’s more secure, and y’all can wild out without me stressing.”

“I need food,” Riley said immediately.

“Hookah,” Sophia added.

“And a section with actual back support. My ass has been sitting up too straight all night.”

I nodded. “You’ll have bottles ready to pop on the table, too.”

They gave each other a look and agreed in unison, so I stepped away from the table and dialed Khalil.

He picked up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“I’m sliding through,” I said. “Bringing Tatum, Sophia, and Riley with me.”

He didn’t ask questions. “VIP’s already yours. I’ll let security know.”

“Good,” I said. “Bring Felicity and tell Bats to bring his wife too. We all need a breather before shit picks up again.”

There was a pause on the line.

“I don’t know if bringing Felicity is a good idea,” Khalil said, sounding on edge.

“I didn’t ask if it was a good idea,” I replied. “Bring her.”

Felicity needed to be seen, not just by us, but by everyone. She’d been tucked away too long. That might’ve made sense in the beginning, but not anymore. If she was going to wear our name, then she needed to start walking in it.

She hadn’t exactly made things easy, but Khalil was trying, more than I’d seen him try for anybody. He wouldn’t say it, not out loud, but I knew he wanted this to work.

Bringing her out tonight wasn’t just about appearances.

It was about giving them space to breathe.

To exist outside of that house, outside of all the pressure.

Being around us as family might show her the kind of greatness she was now a part of, and maybe then, she’d stop pushing so hard against it.

And truthfully, I wanted her to get it right, for his sake.

He deserved a wife who made him feel whole, who brought him completeness.

That wife could be Felicity, but she had to prove she could handle it. Not in theory, not behind closed doors, but here. Out in the open. My brother deserved peace.

Khalil let out a breath and replied, “Alright. I’ll bring her.”