Page 12

Chapter 12

SALVATORE

Half a day spent driving and barely enough time for a brief nap and a change of clothes has the music and lights of the club feeling like some kind of disorienting dream. I’m sure it’s too much to hope that this meeting will be short, and I’ll be able to head home to crawl into bed with my new husband while the night is young. A heavy feeling of need settles in my gut, and I glance towards the stage automatically, even though I know I won’t see Dante there. I didn’t have time to call anyone over to guard him, but there’s no way Don or anyone else could know where he is right now. Tomorrow I’ll work out a schedule to have someone with him at all times. Tonight, he should be safe at my apartment. Our apartment.

My chest swells with satisfaction and I bite back a grin as I approach our usual table, close to the main stage but not obnoxiously so.

“Damn, you’re really back in one piece,” Alessio says, eyeing me up and down like he’s double checking that I am in fact all here.

“Was there some doubt about that?” I pull out my usual chair and unbutton my suit jacket as I take a seat.

“There might have been a betting pool going about whether Dante had actually killed you and was scrambling to find some way to cover it up,” Elio admits while Alessio puts his feet up on the table and nods.

“The fact that I spoke to Lorenzo last night didn’t tip you off?”

“The brilliant idea of an AI voice copying yours was thrown around,” Xaviaro says dryly.

I snort a laugh.

“Shit, the wedding thing was real?” Alessio notices my ring and drops his feet to sit forward so he can get a better look.

Another swell of pride fills my chest. “Jealous?” I taunt, straightening my tie and smirking.

“Confused, if I’m being honest.” He shrugs.

“Why don’t we save planning the seating arrangements at the wedding shower for later,” Lorenzo says. “I have some news about the Fitzpatricks that’s slightly more urgent than speculation as to how Salvatore managed to put a ring on Dante’s finger without getting any of his broken.”

We all quiet immediately. Of course the Fitzpatricks are the reason my honeymoon was cut short. If I get the chance, I’ll be sure to find a way to thank Declan personally. I crack my neck and try to control my scowl.

“Cian Fitzpatrick, Declan’s younger brother.” Lorenzo pulls out his tablet, turning the screen so we can all see it. There are photos of a smug looking ginger fucker with tattoo sleeves down both arms and a cigarette between his lips in almost every picture.

“What about him?” I ask, resting my elbows on the table and tapping the screen to scan through the photos. Pictures of Cian coming and going from Declan’s place, meeting with other known members of the Fitzpatrick organization, and general surveillance.

“He showed up at Declan’s a couple of weeks ago, clearly staying there, so I dug into him a little deeper,” he explains.

Alessio smirks. “Were you worried he was Declan’s boyfriend?”

Enzo’s only response is a deadly look that would have anyone else shitting themselves.

“If Declan is the brains of the family, Cian is the balls.” Enzo goes on as if Les didn’t interrupt at all. “It turns out he just got out of prison. He did ten years for a series of assaults. They tried to tie him to several car bombings, but the witness refused to testify at the last minute, and they ended up having to drop the charges.”

I whistle and lean back in my seat.

“So he’s a bit of a wildcard, is that it?”

“That might be all he is,” Enzo agrees coolly. “But we’re teetering right on the edge of a war and Cian could be the spark that lights it. If he’s in his brother’s head, pushing Declan to act just as recklessly, things won’t end well for the Fitzpatricks.”

“So? Let’s go to war then and get those freckled fucks out of our business once and for all,” Alessio says flippantly.

Again, Lorenzo acts like Les hasn’t said a thing and just keeps talking. “Giovanni’s been watching Declan’s place, and he says Cian has a habit of slipping out at random times and disappearing for hours, sometimes late at night, sometimes gone for days. He might be up to something.”

“Or he might be a guy who just got out of prison going out to get laid,” Elio says with a shrug.

“Maybe,” Lorenzo concedes.

“Okay, so maybe you need to have a meeting with Declan, feel him out, see if his brother is stirring up any trouble or planting the idea in his head to expand their territory into Wildcliff,” I suggest.

“No.” His answer is immediate, and his tone is so icy that a shiver runs down my spine. “If I sit down with him, I’ll have to admit I’m having him followed. Besides, I don’t need Declan thinking his brother, or anyone else in his ragtag family of petty criminals, has the power to make the Morettis nervous.”

“What if I tail Cian when he’s away from Declan’s place and see if I can find a way to casually run into him?” Xaviaro suggests.

Lorenzo picks up the glass of whiskey in front of himself and swirls it silently for a moment, his brow furrowed with thought and his fingers drumming against the table.

“Alright, let’s give that a shot. But I don’t want you to tell him who you are, just find out where he’s going and if there’s an opportunity to run into him and strike up a casual conversation to get a sense of what he’s all about, then do that.”

Xaviaro nods.

“Glad I hauled ass all the way back from Los Vespar for this,” I mutter.

“I need you to meet with every one of your guys, find out if anyone has been getting friendly with the Fitzpatricks,” Lorenzo says. “That goes for you too, Les.”

“You got it, boss.” Alessio gives a flippant little salute, but we both know he’s going to give each and every one of his soldiers a rectal exam if he has to, to ensure their loyalty to The Family.

“I’ll get started on that first thing tomorrow,” I assure him, pushing my chair back and making a move to stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get home to my hus—”

“You boys need any refills?”

I whip around at the sound of the familiar voice over the sultry bass of the music.

An hour ago, I left Dante safely in my apartment. In hindsight, the fact that he didn’t argue or sass me about having to run out to a meeting and leave him at home should’ve been a red flag. He’s wearing the same red lipstick I bought in Los Vespar for him, and a pair of silk panties paired with one of my white dress shirts, unbuttoned with nothing underneath. That primal, possessive feeling pounds at my chest again.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes, but a little smile twitches at the corners of his lush lips.

“Taking drink orders, sweetness.”

DANTE

Salvatore’s expression wars between amusement and something stern that absolutely doesn’t make my dick hard.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Angioletto.” He steps closer to me and lowers his voice, talking only to me in a room full of a hundred drunk, horny people.

My nipples harden but I refuse to shiver or squirm.

“After you left, I got a text from Damnation saying he twisted his ankle on stage earlier and was hoping I could cover the last couple hours of his shift.” I lick my lips and let a slow, teasing smile spread across them. “You're not going to give me some bullshit about not wanting your husband to shake his ass on stage for money? Some macho, possessive line about how I belong to you now?”

A deep, husky laugh bursts from Salvatore's lips, and I wish it didn’t make my heart beat just a little faster.

“No. I’d warn any man who tries to put a hand on you that he’ll end up with his fingers broken, but I think you’ve already got that covered.” He cups my jaw and drags his thumb over the rough stubble I haven’t had the chance to shave yet. “My problem is that you haven’t slept in two days and your stalker might be here.”

His grip on my jaw tightens a fraction and he glances away from me to look around the club, like he’s expecting to see someone holding up a camera and wearing a t-shirt that says “I heart stalking” sitting two tables over.

“That’s the point.”

Salvatore’s eyes are back on mine, dark and intense. My pulse stutters again, but I shake off the weird feeling that this shit I’m dealing with might actually matter to him.

“What’s the point, Angioletto?” he asks, sounding tired.

Even though I just mentally mocked him for it, I glance over my shoulder and let my attention roam around for a minute, hoping to spot anyone who looks like they might be here with the sole purpose of watching me. And not in the ‘hand down their pants’ way. It’s impossible to tell though. Salvatore’s thumb drags absently along my jaw again and I look back at him.

“That he might be here. Then he can take another picture and send this one to Don.” Hell, if I’m lucky, he’ll frame the photo so Lorenzo and the rest of his Mafia cronies are all in the shot. These guys, with their expensive Italian suits and air of self-importance, might as well have a flashing sign over their head that says Mafia.

In my high heels I’m tall enough to just lean forward and meet Salvatore’s lips. A possessive growl rumbles in his chest, and he slides one hand under my open shirt to loop it around my waist, deepening the kiss. His tongue sweeps over mine, reminding me of the way he laid me out on the bed and licked my body until I was trembling and horny enough to beg him like he wanted.

I bite down on his lower lip and he hisses into my mouth. His fingers dig in harder and his hard cock nudges against mine. His lips are bruisingly rough against mine, demanding my submission, the heat building between us every time I bite or teasingly pull back instead of giving in. Is it a power struggle or is this just foreplay? The fact that I’m not sure makes my adrenaline spike and my heart beat faster.

“Unless you want him to get a picture of me bending you over the nearest table, I think that’ll have to do, Angel,” he murmurs, holding my chin and panting out a few unsteady breaths before he pulls himself back into the calm, collected Sal I’m used to.

“Picture…?” I shake my head, dazed by the flashing lights and lack of sleep, not from the kiss. “Right, a picture of us kissing to send to Don.” I swallow and nod, pulling myself together just as quickly as he managed to. “So, drinks? Who needs a refill?” I wipe my chin, sure Sal smeared my lipstick everywhere. I’m even more sure when I see him staring at my mouth with the same intense look in his eyes that he had when he saw me wearing his shirt. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him again. Such a caveman. His dick gets hard at the idea of marking his territory. I swear to fuck, if he tries to pee on me, I’ll shoot him with his own gun.

“Be honest, is he blackmailing you into this or what?” Alessio asks, putting his feet up on the table and rocking back in his chair, more like a misbehaving kid than a mafioso. I’m tempted to kick the legs out from under him just to be a brat—er, wait, no, not a brat… something else, something that wouldn’t mean Salvatore is right about me.

“Nope, madly in love, bluebirds sing every time I look at him, yada, yada.” I wave my hand and then put them both on my hips. “Now, drinks or not? Because I’ve got a lot of tables to check in on.”

“I think I’m done for the night,” Lorenzo says, standing up and buttoning his jacket. Elio and Xaviaro follow suit on either side of him, but Alessio stays seated and Salvatore pulls his own chair out to sit back down.

“I’ll have my usual,” Sal orders. “Actually, make it a club soda with a lime instead.”

From the look he gives me and the dip of his tone, I hear the implication that he wants to stay sober and sharp in case there’s any trouble. Maybe I should actually get this stupid fluttering heart thing checked out. It could be a serious medical issue.

“Coming right up.”

“Another for me,” Alessio calls after me.

“Nope, you’re cut off.”

“Why?” he complains.

I can’t tell him it’s just because Salvatore is making it too hard to fuck with him, and I need an outlet somewhere, so I just turn and give him a level look that I hope he takes as some kind of knowing. I’m sure he’s done something to earn my wrath, even if I don’t know about it.

I weave through the crowd, making my way to the bar, on high alert every second. Whoever’s working for Don, they could be lurking anywhere. But if they think they’re going to get the jump on me, they’re dreaming. Showing their hand by leaving those photos was their mistake. I’m not scared, I’m pissed, and if they make another move, they’ll learn the difference.

I can feel Salvatore’s eyes on me, and unlike the unsettling feeling I had when I thought I was being followed, knowing he’s watching makes me feel safe.

Even if it’s temporary and barely more than a business arrangement, it’s more than I’ve ever had before.