Page 15

Chapter 15

DANTE

I step over shards of brown and green glass littering the pavement just outside the employee entrance. Dancers or bouncers having a few drinks and acting like hooligans before or after their shifts? Maybe. Or a drunk, delusional customer having a few more while he waited for a dancer he was sure was madly in love with him. Also very possible.

“I’ve got it from here, Kevin Costner.” I give Luca a little wave with one hand and reach for the door handle with my other.

“Who?” He reaches over my head and pulls the door open wider, ruining my plan to slip in through the gap and quickly close it behind me. Not that it would keep my bodyguard from following me. It’s not like Wild is the Pentagon, the back door stays unlocked any time the club is open. It’s the social conditioning of the Employee Entrance sign that keeps most people out.

“Kevin Costner,” I repeat, stepping into the hallway that’s only lit by the green glow of the exit sign, the smell of cigarettes and body spray burning my nose before I’m anywhere near the dressing room. “ The Bodyguard .” I glance over my shoulder and see absolutely no recognition on Luca’s face. I roll my eyes. “It’s a movie from the nineties.”

“Huh,” he hums, only a step behind me.

“Seriously, are you going to hover over me while I change and do my makeup?” I arch an eyebrow.

For all the mess my intruder caused, my makeup bag was dumped out but mostly intact, and some of my clothes were trashed, but mainly they were just torn off the hangers and left strewn around my bedroom. Between the three of us, it didn’t take long to clean up and for me to pack a bag to take to Salvatore’s. By the afternoon, Sparrow had other places to be, but Luca has remained firmly lodged up my ass the entire day.

“Yeah, the whole point of a bodyguard is staying close to guard you.”

Lucifer stops rubbing bronzer into his pale thighs and looks up with a smirk.

“Get tired of breaking bones and decide to hire out for it?”

I give him the finger and a toothy grin in response. “Nah, just saving my energy for the most irritating cunts I can find.”

“Hold up.” Sin grabs my wrist, my middle finger still proudly erect.

“Back up,” Luca barks, reaching for his gun.

Sin pulls his hand back immediately and holds them both up in surrender.

“Jesus, chill,” he huffs. “I was just going to ask about his ring.”

“Yeah, you’ve gotta take it down a few notches, sugar.” I pat Luca’s chest. “If you start waving a pistol around back here it’s going to ruin the whole vibe.”

‘The vibe’ of course being a baffling combination of weed, blow, and boner pills.

“You think we’re going to attack him or something?” Lucifer asks with a throaty laugh.

“I got orders to make sure no one lays a hand on him, that’s all I know,” Luca says with a crease in his forehead and a frown on his lips, one hand still hovering near his gun like he’s not quite sure yet that this very dangerous situation is resolved.

“Well, he’s fine back here with us,” Sin assures him.

“Yeah, go find Sal and relax. No one is going to do shit to me while I’m here.” I make a shooing motion, and he hesitates for a few seconds before he huffs and leaves to make his way to the front of the club.

Lucifer and Sin watch him go and then turn back to me.

“So, seriously, what’s the deal?” Sin eyes my ring again.

The instinctual urge to tell them it’s none of their fucking business rises in my throat like bile, burning my tongue. Except, the whole point of marrying Salvatore was to spread the word and use my association with the Morettis as a shield.

I roll my shoulders and turn towards the mirrors, feeling their eyes on my back is a hell of a lot easier than looking at their faces and waiting for a reaction.

“I married Salvatore Moretti.”

The bass from the music pounds in my chest and I can hear the muffled sounds of the crowd on the other side of a couple of curtains and doors, but the silence that falls for a few seconds in response to my announcement feels deafening.

“Ho-ly shit,” Lucifer mutters after a minute.

“That explains the jumpy bodyguard. If Salvatore finds anyone else’s fingerprints on you, is he going to shoot the kid?” Sin chuckles, and I snort.

“Maybe. The bodyguard thing is just temporary though.” As is the marriage, but I’m not about to tell them that.

“Well, good luck with all that.” I glance in the mirror to see Sin shuddering dramatically. “You couldn’t pay me enough to get mixed up in that Mafia shit.”

A slow, devious smile spreads over Lucifer’s face. “I don’t know, Alessio is pretty fucking hot.”

Alessio? Please. I don’t know how you could notice anyone else with Salvatore sitting at that table with his designer suits and calm, take-no-shit energy. Of course, if any of them so much as look at him, I’ll fucking cut them. The thought startles me and I pull the eyeliner pencil away from my eye for a beat. I definitely mean it though. The thought of anyone else even breathing the same air as Sal has my fingers twitching into fists and my pulse spiking.

I shake my head and re-focus on my makeup. It’s been a long fucking week and it’s messing with my head, that’s all.

The conversation around me devolves into white noise as I tune it out and get dressed in a black lace thong, fishnet stockings, and a red corset that has been gathering dust in the back of my closet for months. That asshole who broke in thought he was intimidating me; he was just helping me make the most out of my wardrobe. Dumb fucker.

The music changes and I hear my cue. It’s only been a week since I’ve been onstage, but it feels like a lifetime ago. The last time I stepped out under these glaring, hot lights, I was blissfully unaware I was being followed. I was still sure that Don wouldn’t have the guts to do anything more than send a stupid letter just to get under my skin. I was still Dante Torres instead of Dante Moretti.

My heels click against the stage, both the lights and the music starting low and slowly building, just like the existential panic in my chest. It’s not just my last name, I’m not sure I know who I am anymore. Confident, feisty stripper, raging vigilante with bloody knuckles, bored, sexually unsatisfied Dom, dangerous, violent, unafraid…

I don’t feel like I’m any of those things now.

Just as my heart starts to race and my knees start to quake, the spotlight lands on me. The swell of the music reaches its peak and breaks into a fast, energetic rhythm. There’s one thing Don didn’t manage to quietly strip from me this week, so I start to dance.

My body moves to the rhythm automatically, as natural and simple as breathing. I don’t have to tell myself to dance, I don’t even have to consciously remember the moves, I just have to give in to the surge in my muscles that knows exactly what to do.

I shimmy and strut, turning my back to the crowd to show off the fishnets cutting a diamond pattern over my bare ass and give them the tempting jiggle they’re looking for. The whistles and cheers are as hollow to me as they’ve ever been. I spin around and my eyes move automatically to the Morettis’ usual table. Luca’s there, but he’s alone.

Annoyingly, my heart sinks, but I’m not sure why I care. Salvatore is a busy man. Just because he’s been sitting at that table with his eyes glued to me every night I’ve worked for years doesn’t mean he doesn’t have better things to do. Watching me dance was only exciting because he couldn’t have me, just like the rest of these slobbering jackals. Now I have his ring on my finger and his last name crossing out my own, where’s the thrill in watching me spin around a pole? By the time this is all sorted out, he’ll be more eager than I am to sign the divorce papers so he can go find the next flashy, new thing to amuse himself with for a while.

I dance faster, the music raging the same way my mood is, pounding with the injustice and rejection I’ve woven together in my head into some kind of beast I can bare my teeth at and snarl. My corset comes off, but I don’t toss it into the crowd, it’s too expensive to become someone’s jerk-off rag. I toss it farther back on the stage, towards the curtains so I can grab it when I’m finished, and I spin towards the edge, towards the crowd, so I can entice them to open their wallets for me.

As always, there’s at least one idiot in the club who doesn’t know my reputation or can’t read the ‘no touching’ signs, or both. A hand reaches out and I raise my heel, ready to deliver the small amount of justice that he deserves, but before I get the chance, the hand disappears. I drop to my knees for the part of the dance where I writhe around on the stage, and my gaze cuts through the crowd to the man who tried to grab me. His eyes are wide with fear as he stumbles away with both hands raised in surrender. Huh, usually that doesn’t happen until after I’ve broken a finger or two.

And then I see him. Not as his usual table, but right there in the throng of bodies near the stage, in a royal blue suit with a dangerous scowl on his face as he watches my would-be-groper back away.

Salvatore .

SALVATORE

It’s been a long goddamn day away from my Angioletto. Leaving him asleep in my bed this morning was almost unbearable when I could think of a hundred different ways I wanted to make him moan in a sleep-rough voice. But here he is now, within touching distance but still untouchable for a few more hours of delicious fucking torture. I don’t think the spark of heat and something sweeter in his eyes when they land on me is wishful thinking, but it’s gone too fast for me to know for sure.

He arches his back and slinks across the stage on his hands and knees, drawing horny groans and cheers from the men around me. One of them clearly didn’t learn the lesson I just finished imparting to the last asshole who tried to put his hands on my angel, reaching out with the clear intent to get a handful of Dante’s ass cheek.

Dante turns a snarl on the man at the same time I reach him, wrapping my fist around the collar of his shirt and yanking him back roughly. The man yelps, barely audible over the music, and Dante blinks in surprise. Like he’s not used to being able to count on anyone. Like he can’t believe I want to spend my night making sure no one touches him so he can focus on the thing he loves, the reason he’s on that stage to begin with. Dance.

“The ‘no touching’ signs aren’t there for decoration,” I growl in the man’s ear. “And I’d hate for something terrible to happen to you if you were to ignore them and make the mistake of touching Dante Moretti.”

“Mor—” He swallows hard. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do,” I say coolly, and, just like the last one, he scurries off like the spineless mouse he is, disappearing into the crowd as I turn my attention back to my husband.

His eyes are on me again, still down on all fours, somehow managing to look graceful even on his hands and knees. He’s a goddamn wet dream in those fishnet stockings, the lights dancing over his skin, that lace thong delicate enough to tear apart with my teeth if I wanted to. I’m expecting to see frustration, maybe rage in his expression. I can hear the tongue lashing he gave me a week ago still echoing in my ears, the words “I can take care of myself” hanging between us. But he doesn’t look pissed, he looks… confused. His lips soften and I want to drag him right to the edge of the stage, shove my tongue into his hot, sweet mouth, and tell him that he can uncurl his fists and lower his shields.

I’m here to protect him now.

He rises to his feet again in a fluid movement that I can’t take my eyes off of. Bills litter the stage at his feet, but over and over again his eyes come back to me as he dances, like he can’t look anywhere else even when he tries. A greedy, possessive feeling beats like a drum inside my chest. I lose track of time watching him dance, memorizing the way his muscles move and salivating for the beads of sweat that glisten on his bare skin.

When his stage time ends, he stoops to gather up the cash cluttering the stage. Most of the crowd moves away, ready to refill their drinks or take a piss before the next dancer arrives, but I stay close, keeping an eye out for anyone whose attention is lingering too long, anyone who looks suspicious enough to be involved with Don.

Dante kneels down and crooks his finger, beckoning me to lean closer. Heat radiates and underneath the faint scent of cigarettes, I can still smell my expensive bodywash on his skin from last night. My cock hardens and I grip the edge of the stage to keep myself from giving in to the urge to drag him into my arms and put my greedy hands all over him while he’s working.

“Meet me upstairs in ten minutes,” he says, then he winks, stands up, and struts off stage, leaving me with my mouth hanging open and my cock hardening rapidly.

He might just want to tell me off for interfering with his customers, but he usually prefers an audience when he’s chewing me out, so I don’t think that’s it. I adjust my tie and back away from the stage, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips as I turn and head for my usual table where I know Luca has been sitting for the last half hour.

“How did things go today? Did he give you much trouble?” I ask when I reach him.

“He’s feisty,” he says with a chuckle.

With Dante that could mean a lot of things, from giving Luca a hard time to bodily harm. But I don’t see any visible injuries, so I’m guessing my Angioletto behaved himself.

“He is,” I agree, not bothering to suppress my grin. “You can take off for the night. I’ve got him from here.”

Luca nods and moves to stand, then hesitates. “There was just one thing. He wanted to tell you himself, but…”

“What?” I bark, my heart rate spiking instantly.

“Nothing major.” Luca puts his hands up and takes a step back, realizing a second too late that there’s a chair behind him. It topples and he swallows hard.

“Relax,” I say, letting out a breath. “What happened?”

“We went by his apartment to get his clothes and stuff, and someone had broken in again. They trashed the place and left photos of him, like surveillance photos. He said they were all older, from the past few weeks, and that the break-in probably happened while you guys were in Los Vespar. But I figured you’d want to know anyway.”

I want to fucking end whoever’s been following Dante and trying to intimidate him. I want him to be right, for my name alone to be enough to make these pieces of shit turn tail and run, but I’m not as optimistic about that as he is.

I nod and pat Luca on the shoulder.

“Thanks. Now go. Get some sleep, get laid, whatever you do to recharge. I’ll see you in the morning at my place again.”

“You got it, Uncle Sal.”

There’s nothing I can do about the break-in or the pictures tonight, and I already have Sparrow digging into Don, so I’m not going to dwell on it right now. I take another breath, shake the tension out of my shoulders, and let it go for now.

Luca disappears into the crowd, and I make my way towards the stairs that lead to the private rooms on the second floor. Does my little angel want to fight, or does he want to fuck? I can’t wait to find out.