Page 2 of The Mobster’s Secret

“Vincent’s upset. Says you’re keeping him waiting,” Tom, my second in command, my consigliere, whispers in my ear. Tom’s been loyal to our family since my father was alive. He was like an uncle to me growing up and the only man I’d ever fully trust with my life.

“And they can keep waiting,” I reply.

A war broke out between our families after my father’s assassination. It lasted five years before a truce was called. Both sides lost countless men. Now those deceitful bastards want to do business with me. They want a piece of my money-laundering operation in exchange for some of their connections on the West Coast. I sent word to Vincent that the answer was no. He didn’t appreciate that, so he asked for a sit-down. Now I’m here to tell him in person to fuck off.

Vincent is now the head of the family who killed my father. And he thinks I’ll do business with him? Not a chance in hell. Some people might forgive and forget, but not me. It’s only a matter of time before the Messina family pays for what they’ve done. And when that time comes, I’ll rain down hell upon them.

Chris, the club’s manager, comes out from the back and raises his arms like he’s praying to me.

“There’s the man! Welcome in, sir. Great to see you here. Right this way, everyone. They’re upstairs waiting for you.”

Chris immediately starts sucking up in all his typical ways, offering free drinks to the boys, giving them the lowdown on all the new girls as he leads us up the stairs to the VIP section.

“Ivan. Finally,” Vincent says, feigning respect as he gets up from his seat. “Shall we get started?”

I’m about to reply when a loud voice blares suddenly from the main stage. A thick Brooklyn accent comes over the speakers. “And now, gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to our newest dancer! She’s only nineteen, and for those of you who like ‘em nice and tiny, she’s for you. Welcome to the stage, Willow!”

I throw a casual glance down at the stage, but when my eyes land on the wispy little beauty as she steps into the light, balancing on her heels like a pair of stilts, something moves in my chest.

Something I thought was long gone. Dead.

Countless women have come in and out of this club. Men bring them to the house parties to show off and compare the way they would compare watches or sports cars. They’re window dressing mostly. I’ll toss a glance here and there, but that’s it. I’m about business, not pussy.

But the way this girl moves has my attention. It’s like she just stepped out of her bedroom back at her parents’ house. It’s like she’s never even danced before. She may have the outfit on—the heels, the tiny red lace lingerie, and the garter belt, but she looks as out of place as a juicy prime rib at one of those vegan restaurants.

Her song starts as she takes two tentative steps toward the pole, and my heart starts pounding so hard I can hear the pulse in my ears over the sound of the music. My eyes won’t leave her. Try as I might, I can’t pull my gaze away. The sound of Vincent’s voice is muffled and dull, irrelevant, like the sound of a buzzing fly. Time seems to slow down as I watch her willowy legs move.

Christ, she’s blond too.

I’ve lost count of the number of women that have thrown themselves at me since I took over the family. They’d leave their numbers in my coat pocket, try to add me on social media—whatever the hell that is. But they just want to reap the benefits of the empire I’ve maintained with blood and terror. I’ve never once let any of them through the wall I’ve built around myself.

But fuck me if I don’t feel something for this girl I haven’t felt in forever.

Desire. True, actual desire, all the way down to my bones.

The way I figure, I’ve got about five seconds before she grabs that pole and starts moving her hips, shaking her ass, and every man in here will be gooning over her like the scumbags they are. Five seconds before every eye in this place scours her body. Before ones are being thrown at her and men are paying for extra attention.

And why do I give a shit? It’s a strip club. That’s what happens here.

And normally, I wouldn’t care. But a primal instinct is raging through me, causing my hands to clench and my muscles to tense.

No. Not Willow.

“Sorry, Vincent, the meeting’s gonna have to wait.”

I don’t even look at him, but I can hear the disbelief in his voice. “You can’t be serious.”

I motion to Tom. “Bring her to me. Now.”

He nods and whispers something to Chris, who quickly runs downstairs. I still can’t take my eyes off her. It’s like some unseen force has a hold of me.

“The rest of you get out,” I say.

Vincent starts to protest but stops himself. He knows better. My reputation for violence precedes me, and he’s not gonna challenge me on my own turf.

My blood flows hot as Chris takes Willow off the stage, accompanied by jeers and boos from the audience. Fuck, I can barely stop myself from going down there and cracking every one of their skulls open.

The Messinas and my crew go back downstairs, leaving me alone on the balcony. My hands clench into fists as I watch Willow move through the crowd on her way to me. Every head that turns, every eye that follows, every smart-mouthed comment nearly sends me into a rage.