Page 63 of Bene

Bene’s fingers tightened in her fishnets, and he heard the telltale rip of the fabric. Just a little, not too much. Her shiver said she felt it against her skin, and heard it, too. “After that picture you sent, you should have expected me to show up to see what else you had waiting for me.”

“Well, that was the point.”

“So, you answered your own question.”

Vanna smiled slyly when his fingers trailed higher on her thighs, skimming over hot, silky flesh until he was between her legs and found her bare. “I guess I did.”

“You’re not wearing anything under this dress.”

“Nope.”

And she was wet.

“Is that a yes on the date?” he asked, fingers skimming over her waxed, slick sex.

Vanna let out a shuddering breath when his fingertips found her clit as she widened her stance a bit for him. Her words came out trembling, just like those red lips of hers, and her dark eyes danced with lust while his fingers circled faster and faster. “That’s a yes on the date, Bene.”

Good to know.

A black car waiting for Vanna on a Friday when she stepped out of the college after her final classes never meant good things. She only knew the town car idling on the curb was meant for her because she recognized the muscle leaning against the passenger side door. She didn’t call him muscle for it to be derogatory but given his large size, and the job he held for the Detti Camorra as a personal guard for Senior, and occasionally Mario, when the time called for it, the title fit just fine.

His severe features—he didn’t earn his nickname, The Pitbull, for nothing—held no warmth when he looked her way, and without a word, she still sensed his silent command for her to come closer. Better she went to him. It never ended well when he had to go to someone else.

“Dante,” she greeted, “something up?”

He raised one thick, black eyebrow at her question. “Why do you assume something has to be wrong because I’m here?”

She didn’t really have to think about an answer—it was already on the tip of her tongue. He often delivered bad news to people of their clan, a personal messenger from the boss. Besides that, he had been the man standing down the hallway with Senior the day she found out about her father’s murder.

Vanna said none of those things out loud. Instead, settling on, “Why are you here, then? I usually take an Uber home, and no one sends a car for me.”

He smiled thinly.

If that could be considered a smile.

“Someone sent a car today,” he replied.

“Someone as in—”

“Senior, of course. The only one who gets to throw an order at me that I will follow through on. Now, if you’re finished questioning me, because I don’t answer to you and I’m becoming bored with this conversation, then you should be asking what is expected of you, as good clan women do, Vanna.”

Right, right.

She constantly forgot her place.

That despite having a sense of freedom, her own place to live, and a life outside of the Camorra, she was still a part of their world. Still one of theirs—in the clan for life. Once in, born to it or otherwise, there was no out.

Maybe that should have been a sign.

One with a giant red flag.

She didn’t belong.

“Get in the car,” Dante said, “and I will take you to dinner at Senior’s.”

“I have to study for—”

“It’s not a request.”