Page 9 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince

"She’s not for you," I say as I finish the last of my whiskey, the smoky burn sliding down my throat.

I set the glass on a passing tray without breaking eye contact.

The man turns, blinks at me as though he’s still computing what I just said.

He’s older, dressed in the kind of suit that’s meant to signal money, but all I see is new wealth trying too hard to impress.

The tie is loud, the watch a touch too bright, and the scent of his cologne announces his insecurity long before he opens his mouth.

His hand is still planted on the girl’s hip, fingers spread in the way men touch things they think they’ve already bought.

"I was here first," he says, puffing up, like that changes anything.

"No," I reply, unsmiling, voice quiet but final. "You were just earlier."

He stares, the tension coiling in his shoulders now, like he’s trying to decide whether to escalate or fold.

He clearly doesn’t know who I am—or worse, he does and thinks I won’t do anything about it.

Marla steps in before the idiot can make the night more memorable for all of us.

"Is there a problem?" she asks sweetly, her gaze flicking between us with the ease of a woman who’s smoothed over far bloodier things.

The man turns to her, clearly emboldened.

"Yes. I was speaking with her first, and now this guy?—"

"This guy," she interrupts smoothly, "is Dante Salvatore."

The man stills.

His mouth opens.

Then closes.

His hands twitch slightly, like he wants to argue but doesn’t know whether his jaw is worth the risk.

I step forward, taking the last few feet between me and the girl.

Her gaze doesn’t drop, not even slightly.

Good.

I’m sick of girls who act like prey. "You ready?" I ask her.

Her lips curve slowly. "I am now."

I lift a hand, which she takes.

The man mutters something under his breath and walks away.

Marla doesn’t follow him.

She just watches us go, a little shake of her head betraying the fact that she’ll probably double his rate next time.

The girl leads me toward the stairwell, and I let her go first.

Not out of courtesy, but because I like the view.