Page 36 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

He nodded once before sitting again, but his eyes still lingered. He was always calculating and always reading between the lines. That was Naeem. Every word, every gesture, he was filing it away for later.

Next up was Riley.

She uncrossed her legs and stood, tall and graceful in her heels. “I’m Riley,” she said, her smile wide, but not exactly warm or inviting either. “Tatum’s best friend.”

Felicity didn’t miss a beat. “Good. I like knowing who’s loyal to whom.”

Riley tilted her head, smile still in place. “Never make the mistake of questioning my loyalty. I ride when Tatum rides… and sometimes before.”

Felicity nodded. “I can respect that. Hopefully, one day we’ll feel the same about each other,” she replied, tone even.

Riley’s smile didn’t shift. “We’ll see.”

That was it—no yelling, no side-eyes, no neck rolls, just a civil exchange between two women who hadn’t decided if they’d be allies or enemies yet.

They leaned in for a cheek kiss that resembled a carefully choreographed dance, more theatrical than sincere. It was a ritualistic motion, a display of respect devoid of the heartfelt emotion that usually accompanies such acts.

I observed the entire situation quietly, noting every action because I understood that women like them didn't act impulsively. They observed, they planned, and when they made their move, it was with accuracy. Whatever that was, it wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

They still had to figure one another out.

Next was Tatum.

She remained seated for a moment, her gaze fixed intently on Felicity, scrutinizing her with the keen, discerning eyes of someone trying to unravel the true nature of the person before her.

Her expression was a mix of curiosity and caution, as if she were peeling back layers to uncover hidden truths.

Felicity, unfazed by the penetrating stare, stood her ground. With a gentle yet confident smile playing on her lips, she stepped forward gracefully, assuming the lead with an air of confidence.

“Hi, I’m Felicity,” she said, voice smooth but intentional, like she knew exactly who she was introducing herself to.

Maybe she did. Tatum had once been arranged to marry her brother, Dallas.

Tatum stood then. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, her tone even. Tatum stood, slow and deliberate, not rushing to greet anybody. She looked at Felicity the way a queen sizes up a guest at her table—gracious, but not soft.

“I’m Tatum Genevese-Bulgari,” she said, her voice smooth but commanding. “Don of the Genevese Family… Naeem’s wife.”

Felicity gave a respectful nod, but I could see the wheels turning in her head.Tatum’s position of power had caught her off guard.

She had expected Tatum to accompany the Don title merely as his wife.

What she got instead was the queen of her own throne, separate from ours, and for a second, it threw her off her game.

There wasn’t tension between them, only understanding, and maybe, if she was smart, a bit of respect.

“It’s nice to meet you, Don Tatum,” Felicity said, her voice steady, respectful.

“You too—but call me Tatum,” she replied with a soft smile, before easing back into her seat like the throne it was.

Felicity glanced up at me, and the look on her face said it all.

She hadn’t expected kindness to come with the crown.

However, that was Tatum’s gift. She could disarm a room without ever laying down her power, and judging by Felicity’s expression, she wasn’t just taking mental notes.

She was reevaluating the whole damn chessboard.

After a few minutes of silence, conversations carried on, but there was a subtle shift around our section.

It was a brief lull as everyone settled back into comfort.

I wasn’t fully tapped into the noise around me, though.

My attention stayed locked on Felicity, watching how she moved, how she carried herself, and how she handled every interaction.

“Since nobody thought to introduce me, I guess I’ll do it myself,” Kenya said, trying to pass Felicity a glass. “Hi, I’m Kenya—Bats’ wife. Want something to drink?”

Her tone was friendly and playful, with not even the slightest hint of shadiness. Still, I opened my mouth to shut that down before Felicity got the wrong idea, but she beat me to it.

“I’m good. Thanks, though,” she replied politely.

My chest seized, not from fear, but relief mixed with the bitter taste of my own doubt.

I turned to look at her to make sure I heard her right.

She hadn't touched a drop since we got here, hadn't even looked at the bottles twice.

I'd been watching. Closely. Waiting for her to crack or slip up, but she didn't. Not tonight.

For a heartbeat, I caught her thumb worrying against her ring finger. That was the only tell that this wasn't as easy as she made it look. Then our eyes met. Hers held something I hadn't seen before: a quiet plea for me to notice, really notice, not just surveil.

Her outfit was part of her rebellion, and her attitude lurked right beneath the surface. But the way she turned that drink down with her head high and no shame in her tone? That shit hit different. She moved like she wanted to be better… or at least wanted me to think she was trying.

Didn’t mean I trusted her.

But for a second, she made me want to.

Young Dolph came blaring through the speakers, his Memphis drawl rattling the walls, and Felicity matched every bar like she lived in the booth with him.

“This is my shit!” she shouted out of nowhere, her voice slicing through the bass as she stood, hips catching the rhythm before the words were even out.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder at me, then turned back around and walked toward the open floor like she ran the damn place. Her water bottle was in one hand, but the way she moved, one would think it was a shot of something stronger.

She was feeling herself. Hair bouncing around her shoulders and jewelry catching the lights as she hit every beat. Her hips popped, body rolled, and before I knew it, she was bent over with her hands on her knees, rapping along like the whole damn track was about her.

Next thing I knew, Riley was out of her seat, hyping her up like a proud big sister. “Go 'head, Fee! Show that nigga what it do!”

Sophia kicked off her heels without missing a beat, her gold anklet catching the light as she spun into the center of it all.

Bottle of Henny in one hand, her other thrown in the air, she started moving like the music lived in her bones.

Ass bouncing, smile wide, hair wild, she, too, made the floor hers without even trying.

As for Kenya, she was on one too, being loud, loose, and dancing like her rent was due.

Her laugh rang out over the music as she threw her hands up, moving with zero shame and even less coordination, but somehow still making it look good.

She hyped the others up, talking shit, spilling liquor, and living like she didn’t have to answer to a damn soul—not even her husband.

She pointed at Riley, eyes glazed and wild. “If Bats saw me now... that man would cry ! And I mean cry! Do you hear me? That man thinks I’m an angel. It would break his heart to know I was that girl!”

The whole section cracked up while Kenya twirled like she was on the Soul Train dance floor, absolutely living her best life with not a single ounce of remorse.

Thank God for her, Bats had left about thirty minutes ago to check on things upstairs. He knew I didn’t trust leaving Felicity alone, especially not with temptation on every table. He told me he’d take the weight tonight so I could keep my focus on her.

When I removed my eyes from Felicity, I noticed Kenya was putting on another damn show.

Her shoes were gone, lace front slightly sliding, and one titty was this close to popping out of her dress.

She climbed on top of the marble table like it was a stripper pole, dropped into a shaky-ass split, and turned that mess into a slow twerk that had the whole room yelling.

Naeem was crying, laughing, Riley almost dropped her drink, and Sophia was recording and screaming, “Y’all ain’t ready for Kenya Casamigo!” That shit had me laughing because Sophia had named the damn woman after her drink of choice.

Tatum was off to the side, drink in hand, watching with a smirk on her lips and a quiet heat in her eyes.

She wasn't one to act up, at least not with her new title hanging over her head, but even she loosened up for a minute. I saw her do a little two-step and sing along to Megan’s verse with a grin.

However, when she started swaying her hips to the beat, Naeem whispered in her ear with that look he always gave her when he was two seconds from dragging her out of the room.

Felicity doubled over, laughing so hard her mascara smudged. She looked good like that—free, glowing, and soft. That laugh was real, not one of those fake ones she put on when she was trying to work me. Nah, this one came from her gut.

I leaned back in my seat, drink still in hand but untouched. The chaos around me barely registered because my attention was locked on her. Even in a room full of wild energy and bad decisions, she was the only one I saw.

As if she felt my eyes on her, Felicity turned around and met my gaze head-on, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk—the kind that said she knew exactly what to do with me… and she wasn’t afraid to prove it.

Without breaking stride, she slowly made her way back toward me, her hips swaying like Aaliyah's in Queen of the Damned.

That was a movie I'd watched alone at seventeen, constantly rewinding that scene until the DVD scratched.

Back then, I thought I was just horny. Now I realized I'd been starving for the kind of connection that made you forget how empty your bed felt every night

Every step screamed confidence. She was pure sex and seduction wrapped in soft skin and gold jewelry, and she didn’t just tempt, she commanded.

The air grew thick with her perfume. It was something warm and expensive that made my throat close and my mouth go dry as sand.

I forced my face into careful indifference even as my pulse hammered against my collar, betraying every wall I'd built.

The room faded around her, and all I could see was the sway of her body, the curve of her mouth, and the quiet promise in her eyes.

Felicity wasn't just trouble. She was the kind of danger men begged for, and the kind I'd sworn I'd never need.

“Oop. This bitch is tryna get pregnant tonight,” Riley joked drunkenly, making Sophia laugh.

“Don’t try to trap my brother,” Sophia teased, her tone light, but that look in her eye told me she halfway meant it.

Ignoring her, Felicity straddled me, arms draped over my shoulders and pussy centered over my dick, and I didn’t even pretend to hold back. My hands found her ass, gripping it with enough pressure to make her gasp loudly enough for the people closest to hear.

The beat was slow and dripping in bass when she started to ride me like she wasn’t surrounded by new friends, possible enemies, and everything in between. Her movements told me she wanted to fuck the breath out of me right here in this chair.

I let her do her thing.

Guided her even.

One hand gripped her waist, the other slipping beneath her tiny shorts, my fingers finding bare skin and nothing underneath. Her body jerked slightly, but she didn’t stop. She leaned forward, lips brushing my ear.

“I want it,” she whispered, her voice velvet-soft and soaked in heat. “Right here.”

I didn't say a word. Just tilted my head back and let her move. Part of me wanted to pull her closer and tell her I was tired of fighting, and tired of pretending I didn't want more than this.

Dick was hard and pulsing, I grinded right into that perfect wet heat between her legs, and we both knew I wasn't the only one feeling it.

Sophia made a choking sound, Riley whispered, “Oh my God ,” and Naeem muttered something under his breath, but nobody stopped us.

They just watched.

Because we were putting on a fucking show—and for once, I couldn't tell where the performance ended and the truth began.

Felicity moved like she was riding me for real, as if the friction alone was enough to make her come. My jaw clenched, eyes locked on hers, and all I saw was need, fire, and something that looked dangerously close to what I'd been afraid to want.

“You keep grinding’ on me like that,” I murmured, my lips brushing her skin, “and I’m gonna show you what happens when a bitch starts something she can’t finish. Right here. In front of everybody.”

I didn’t make a habit of calling women names. That was never my style. I believed in control and respect, and in handling mine without crossing that line. However, Felicity had a way of dragging me straight into the mindset I kept locked behind closed doors. In the bedroom, everything goes.

That was where I let go of restraint. There, I was all Dom, no empathy, because empathy meant connection, and connection meant risk.

Risks that left you gutted and gasping when it inevitably ended.

But the way she moved on me now, bold and reckless, made it clear she wanted that part of me.

The dangerous part. The part that knew exactly how to take without asking permission.

That warm shit didn’t exist in my world.

In there, I didn’t play nice, and that was how it had been since the night Naeem handed me over to Riva at seventeen.

She was a dominatrix and had tried to do to me what she did to him.

I remember her telling me to kneel and to obey her demands as if she believed I was a subject she could mold.

I let her talk, I let her touch, and then I turned her over, fucked the air out of her lungs, and made her beg for mercy she swore she didn’t give.

I was young, but even then, I knew I wasn’t built to be under anyone.

Riva showed me how far power could stretch between four walls, but I was the one who taught her what it meant to be completely owned. I didn’t learn how to submit. I learned how to strip submission out of someone else. And I’ve been that man ever since.

Felicity didn’t stop. Instead, she smiled.

Because that was the point.

She wanted to test me.

And I was letting her.

My fingers slipped higher, teasing where she burned for it most, hidden by the shadows of her shorts and the rhythm of the club lights. Her breath hitched. Her hips stuttered. I knew I had her right where I wanted her—and she had me exactly where she needed me.

Felicity melted against me, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted, grinding like this was her last night alive. And me? I was two seconds from lifting her up and fucking her in front of everybody.

Because that was the thing about Felicity. She didn’t play fair. And neither did I.