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Beneath a long coat, she wears a black dress that looks like it was made for her, one that hugs her curves and sets off her perfect tits and ass. My mouth waters at the sight of her lush beauty, and my hand begins creeping up her thigh before I can help it. Not that I could if I tried.
“Your sister insisted I buy it,” she tells me, looking down at herself like she’s still unsure.
“My sister has good taste.” Finding Saks bags in the bedroom after their shopping trip earlier this week was a relief. I was half-convinced that she would refuse to buy anything out of guilt or fear of repercussions. No doubt my sister bullied her into it, though Emilia didn’t share too much about the trip when I asked her. Guilia knows how to get her way.
“So you approve?” she asks, sounding full of doubt.
Rather than provide a verbal response, I take her hand and place it over my erection. A smile stirs her lips, and her fingers move ever so slightly, teasing a groan out of me. “What do you think?” I ask with a growl that makes her giggle. At the same time, every possessive instinct I have rears up at the idea of other men seeing her looking like sin on two legs. That’s the peril of being in love with a beautiful woman.
Especially when you’re a man like me who would gladly cut the hands off anyone who dared lay a finger on her.
It was either bring her with me during my first night back at the club or leave her at home. I can’t stand the idea of spending time without her, and we could use an evening together that doesn’t involve a family dinner or hanging out around my house.
It’s clear she likes getting dressed up. She’s been smiling ever since we left, and her excited energy fills the car along with the sweet, floral perfume she wears. It’s a combination that leaves my head spinning in the best way.
In the couple of weeks since she was shot, her arm has healed at least cosmetically. There’s little more than a couple of scars to mark where the bullet entered and exited. Her leg is much better, too, with barely more than a faint shadow of a bruise left to mar her otherwise creamy thigh.
This is her first night out since everything went down. I want it to be good for her. On the other hand, I also have work to do. Niccolo has stepped up to keep an eye on things in my absence, but there’s a reason he isn’t more active on the business side of things. He’s not a numbers man. He’s a killer, plain and simple.
Even with the prospect of a mountain of shit to work through, I can’t pretend there isn’t something exciting about arriving at the club, stepping into the familiar atmosphere once we’ve parked, and I’ve ushered Emilia past the crowd on the sidewalk that parts as if by magic. There’s a pulse in the air, like a heartbeat, and I didn’t know until now how much I thrive on it.
At the last second, she looks up at me, eyes wide. “You’re sure this is safe?” she whispers. “There’s nobody here who might recognize me from my old job?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure her. “Craig has it worked out. I made sure first. Any reports on club activity go through him before they reach his superiors, and for the most part, it’s cops on the payroll who patrol the area. We’re safe.” I want to give her a reassuring smile, but she still looks troubled. It’s probably because she’s still learning how much corruption went on around her.
All eyes turn our way as revelers notice us cutting through the crowd with Vinny leading the way. The bartender snaps to attention and begins working faster. The bouncers stand a little straighter, too, and the girls running bottle service smile brighter when they notice me. There’s something to be said for the boss showing up. All the while, Emilia walks beside me, my arm around her waist to keep her close.
Entering the office, Nico sits back in my chair and heaves a sigh. “Thank fuck,” he groans out, scrubbing both hands over his face. “I am not cut out for this shit.”
“If I find out you fucked up, you’re dead.” I give my cousin a narrow-eyed stare, then smirk like he does as we trade places behind the desk. We know each other too well. “The building is still standing, and everybody’s spending money out there.” Still, he winces. “I’m going to remind you of this moment once you take a closer look at things and decide you want to kill me.” Niccolo looks toward a grinning Emilia. “I have you as a witness, don’t I?”
“No worries,” she assures him, her grin widening. If she’s put off by being here, she doesn’t show it. There’s no shadow over her face, no uncertainty, and no memories of what she saw the night we met.
“Are you going to stick around?” I ask as he moves toward the door. I imagined we’d spend time with him catching me up on what I’ve missed, but he’s acting like he set a fire in one of my drawers and wants to leave before it engulfs the room.
“I would,” he tells me, his hand grasping the door knob. “But to be honest with you, if I never hear dance music again as long as I live, it will be too soon. I’ve never craved peace and quiet like I do now.”
I can’t blame him. The walls are soundproofed well enough, but there’s still a constant pulse reverberating in the walls and floor, thanks to the volume of the music blasting out there. “Fair enough. Get the hell out of here.” Just as he’s leaving, I add, “Thanks. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Again, I’m going to remind you of that.”
He leaves, and Emilia giggles. “I like him. Is that weird?” she asks.
“Depends on what you mean by the word ‘like,’” I point out with a growl.
Her smile turns to a knowing smirk as she rolls her eyes. “Give me a break. You know what I meant.”
“If anything…” I point out while pulling her into my lap, “… that should tell you something. None of us are monsters out of a horror movie.”
“That’s true.” Yet something washes over her lovely face. Uncertainty? Conflict? Whatever it is, I hate seeing it.
“Come on,” I decide, easing her off me only moments after pulling her close. “Let’s get out of here and have a little fun. You deserve it.”
“You have work to do, don’t you?”
“That can wait. Besides, more than half of this job is showing my face, bullshitting with customers, and I haven’t done that in too long. And maybe…” I continue while running a hand over her ass on our way to the door, “… I want to show you off a little bit just so everybody knows you’re mine.” My fingers press against her flesh, and her eyes darken in understanding. One thing I never have to worry about is whether or not we’re on the same page physically. We’re a pair of magnets drawn to each other.
Emerging from the hall, I signal for the server closest to us, then survey the dance floor while Emilia orders a drink. I never deviate from my scotch, so I trust it’ll be taken care of as I assess our surroundings. It’s still early in the evening, but already the floor is full of writhing bodies belonging to people who want to forget for a little while. Forget what? It doesn’t matter. Wanting to escape is one of the few truly universal human experiences, and people like me provide that escape at a nice markup.
