Page 3 of He Should Be Mine

Most of the letters are in silver. Theanalis in red. And in a feat of perfect engineering, it’s right on his crack. Right above…

With a growl, I spring into motion. I shove my way through the crowd and jump up onto the stage. Molly’s beautiful blue eyes widen at my sudden appearance, and then I’m throwing him over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift. He knows better than to try to kick me.

Getting back off the stage is a little more awkward than I would like, thanks to my stupid knee, but once my feet hit the floor, the crowd parts like the red sea.

I carry Molly through them and out the door. The cool night air is a blessing. As is getting that thumping bass out of my ears.

We are nearly at my car when I hear running footsteps behind us. I spin around to face them with Molly still on my shoulder. I hate how much I’m giving these people a view of the,‘Psychoanalyze Me,’but it can’t be helped.

It’s the bouncer, and someone who has to be the club owner, along with a handful of lackeys. They look more worried than angry. Thank fuck. This is going to be easy.

I lift up my suit jacket and flash my holster at them. They all pale and step back. God, I love England. Everyone is so scared of guns. Most people have never even seen one in real life.

I turn my back on the idiots and dump Molly onto the back seat, slam the door shut, jump into the driver’s seat and speed off. Thank fuck I never fixed the internal handles on the back doors after last time Molly tried some stupid shit.

After five minutes, my sense of calm returns.

I glance back at Molly through the rear-view mirror, and find his sapphire bright eyes staring right back at me. With not a flicker of remorse. Only defiance and a deep, teasing amusement. He is such a fucking brat.

His blond hair looks extra soft tonight. Flowing maddingly loose around his face and down to his jaw. My fingers always itch to push it back and tuck it behind his ears. It drives me mad.

The tips of his hair are currently a baby pink. Who knows what color it will be tomorrow. It’s infuriating. I hate everything about his hair.

“You’re so gay,” drawls Molly.

“What?” I bark out before I can stop myself.

“Going to a gay bar. Loving the show. Stealing the dancer. Gay. Gay. Gay.”

I inhale deeply through my nose. “I had to get you before Riccardo found out.”

Molly rolls his eyes. “He’s in Italy for the weekend.”

“You’re not supposed to know things like that,” I growl.

For a brief moment, Molly pales. Fear flashes in his blue eyes. Then he laughs and all his teasing mirth comes flooding back.

“Pillow talk, Daddy. Pillow talk.” He grins widely. He gives his plump lips a long, lascivious lick with his too-pink tongue. “This mouth can make people sing.”

“Don’t call me Daddy,” I snarl.

He chuckles and finally tucks his hair back. He does it carelessly though, and I know from experience it won’t last long. It will escape and fall forward. It will conceal his beautiful face and hide the dusting of freckles over his nose and under his eyes.

“But you are a daddy. A big gay daddy.” He says with an utterly filthy wink.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. I force my eyes to stay on the road. Ignoring him is the best course of action. It always is. Rising to his childish teasing is a waste of time. It never ends well.

He can say what he wants. The words of a whore do not matter. I know the truth.

I know I am Dario Bianchi, a respected soldato of the Ajello family. Mafia men are not gay. They are not made that way. And if they are, it’s a death sentence.

It’s why Molly is Riccardo’s deadly, dirty little secret.

I’m not like Riccardo. I’m not gay.

Not even for Molly.

Chapter two