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“Dante, no! Help me!” I say, panic flooding me.
That’s all it takes.
Four words before the spell is broken.
Dante’s eyes leave the drunk groom, meeting mine and probably seeing a million and seven emotions there.
They shift to the left, and I follow their path, watching Marco jog to us, the crowd parting the same way it did for Dante.
“You were supposed to be watching her,” Dante booms, his voice sailing over the loud music still blaring. Roddy comes up behind Marco, takes in the scene, and instead of looking nervous, anxious, or even shocked, he looks . . . annoyed.
“Goddammit, Boss man, couldn’t have just shoved the kid aside?” he says, and I widen my eyes at the words.
One, shock at the way he’s talking to a clearly infuriated, potentially unhinged man who just broke another man’s wrist for touching me
And two, the words he used.
Boss man.
Boss man.
Oh, Jesus fuck.
Romano.
“Boss?!” I scream. The remaining girls on stage are back to dancing, carrying on like business as usual, and I have to wonder what kind of crazy fucking place am I working at?
“Delilah, not now,” Dante says, eyes glancing at me for a second before looking back to Roddy and Marco.
"Not now?! Are you kidding me?"
“Where the fuck were you?” he yells to Marco, ignoring me. Somehow, the words are crystal clear over the music.
“There was a drunk. I had to escort him out. His buddies were giving us a hard time. Roddy came with.”
“So you leave the girls unattended?” He glances at me, then at the man who is now sitting on the floor in tears, his friends around him. “You leave her unattended?” The word her holds a weight that I don’t quite understand.
Her.
What does her mean?
Obviously, "her" means me, but what does it mean in the grand scheme? Who am I to Dante? To Marco and Roddy? Does it just mean Turner’s daughter, or something more?
The groomsmen work to help their friend up and eventually succeed when his feet are planted on the ground and steady. His wrist is limp, and I wonder how he’s going to explain that to his fiancée. If the wedding is soon, I wonder if they’ll cancel it. Or maybe she’s like my mother, desperate for an escape and willing to take that in any form.
“You. Stay,” Dante says, pointing to the men, and they stop moving.
“Man, we just want to—"
“Yeah, well, you’re not going to.” Dante’s eyes move to Marco and Roddy. “Rod, take them to the back room. I’ll be there soon.”
“Got it, boss,” he says, his voice gruff from way too many cigarettes and late nights, but he moves, the crowd parting for a third time as Roddy leads the group to one of the unmarked doors. A new one that I’ve never been through.
“Candy, you good?” Dante looks at the woman behind me, eyes locked on her face.
Despite the many, many cons I’m quickly finding with this man, that’s a pro. A sign of respect, a kindness.
“Yeah, Boss man.”
