Page 3 of Dirty Mafia Sinner

Which is why I don’t notice the stranger’s approach until the back door’s jerked open. I jump at the same time the driver begins violently cursing. The stranger bends his head, and our eyes lock.

Rage fills his dark blue eyes. He’s every bit as intimidating this close as he was from across the bar. Everything stills as he skims his eyes over me, from my long legs to the hem brushing my knees, across my tight waist—made even smaller by my frequently skipped meals—to my chest. With narrowing eyes, his attention lingers there, like he can see my heart beneath my left collarbone, rumbling like the epicenter of an earthquake, and is fascinated by it. And the longer he stares, the stronger the quaking becomes.

“For Christ’s sake, this is your last warning,” the driver bellows. “Get yourself gone.”

Despite my downward slide tonight, I’m not reckless, and not one to debate with ornery drivers or steal rides from dangerous men who radiate power like a nuclear warhead. Not in less intimidating circumstances, and most definitely not now. I scooch toward the door like the good girl my mother raised me to be.

Except, it’s too late. The intimidating stranger is already climbing into the car.

As he settles into the seat and adjusts his long legs and suit jacket, I don’t say a word. And neither does the driver.

The tension inside the car grows with each passing second while I discreetly inch my way toward the opposite door.

Seconds turn into a minute before he speaks. “This is a surprise.” His tone’s deep with a raspy growl.

I stare at my lap yet still feel the driver’s glare through his sunglasses.

“Drive. Or is there anyone else you’d like to offer a ride?”

Lord. If sarcasm were a weapon, the stranger’s tongue would be lethal. I swallow hard and inch further away. My earlier assessment is correct—he gets off on taking hearts and crushing souls.

“No one else,” the driver replies, unfazed. Far from the man who threatened to toss me into the trunk moments ago.

Five blocks.

Sit quietly. Avoid attention.Survive.

I frown at the thought and shoot a glance at the man next to me. Mercifully, his attention’s turned toward the club.

“Where to?”

I jump at the driver’s question, then blush. I’m the reason the car sits idle at the curb. In a soft voice, I rattle off my address.

The car pulls into the street and then silence descends like a steel trap.

I pretend to study my hands, but this man has enraptured me all night, so instead, I peer at him beneath my lashes. Black shoes polished to perfection. Long legs encased in an expensive designer suit tailored to fit his body. A rich leather belt with a gold buckle. White dress shirt neatly pressed and silk navy tie, both visible beneath his suit jacket. Is he a Wall Street executive? An investor with a stake in the new casino? His harsh manner and authoritative vibe suggest so.

I glance at his profile.

Dark hair. Clean-shaven jawline. Tightly drawn lips, as he thumbs his phone and skims through messages.

Ignoring me completely.

He’s the whole package, a present wrapped in thorns.

I look out my window. What did I expect? Flirtation? An indecent proposal? Look at me. My hair is damp, and my dress reeks of champagne. My makeup is now nonexistent and my mental state questionable. Making it to my apartment without any more issues is the new plan.Be thankful he’s preoccup—

“You’re bleeding all over the car.”

I stiffen with surprise, then spin toward him. He continues scrolling through his phone, as if he didn’t address me.

“No I’m not.”

“I must be imagining it.”

I glance at one bare arm and then the other, remembering the woman’s screech earlier.

Pain shoots through me, and I gasp. He’s poked a fingertip into a gash on my lower calf. I’m horrified as he shows me his bloody finger.