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I tip my head over, smiling at my friends, and Marty smiles back. “Have you seen this? Your boss and Angela Sigano out last night?”
Your boss and Angela Sigano out last night?
The words vibrate in my mind.
The girls don’t know that the man the rest of the world knows as Junior Carluccio is Mr. Romano, the secretive man who spent weeks paying for my time, having me dance for him for hours on end.
They don’t know that the owner who insisted I move to start working as his assistant isn’t just a kind man who realized the stripper was a shitty dancer and offered her a different job she was much better at—the story I spun for them.
They sure as fuck don’t know that he comes into my room each night and fucks me sideways. They don’t know I’m a Russo or that, in some way, Dante thinks he’s going to help me take his family down without tearing down the house of cards we’re standing on.
“Let me see,” I say with an easy, practiced smile, trying not to tip into psycho-girlfriend territory.
And that’s the fuck of it, isn’t it?
I feel this possessive control over a man, and the rest of the world doesn’t even know he looks my way other than to tell me to add snacks to the break room.
Is Dante my boyfriend?
Am I his girlfriend?
It shouldn’t be this hard, this confusing, the voice in my head whispers, telling me to run.
But instead, I take Marty’s phone and stare at it.
Acid crawls up my throat.
There stands Dante—my Dante, the handsome man who has me questioning everything—in a black suit with a black button-down, ever the dark prince. His hair is combed back, that hunk that falls out meticulously secured with some kind of hair product, I’m sure.
He’s staring directly into the camera, eyes dark, no smile.
He looks like a god.
He takes my breath away.
But that isn’t what has me sick to my stomach.
She’s touching him.
There’s a hand on his shoulder, the other on his abs, her smile tipping up to his face like they’re some kind of happy couple that has been together for decades.
And then the caption tips me into the lava of anger flowing around me.
Junior Carluccio and Angela Sigano attended the heart foundation gala last night. Rumor has it that Carluccio was seen at a jewelry store shopping recently. Are wedding bells in the future for this gorgeous couple?
I want to vomit.
“Cute!” I say happily before Marty takes her phone back to examine the photo again. Conversation continues, but I can’t hear a single word through the buzzing in my ears, the fire burning in my veins.
I need to be calm, I tell myself as I finish stocking snacks.
I need to be reasonable, I think as I wipe down a mirror.
I need to refocus on my mission, I remind myself as my jaw aches from clenching.
And then that photo pops into my mind again.
Then his text flashes across my eyes.
