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SASHA
What the hell is this shit?
I eye the message on my cell again, thinking I read it wrong.
Tony:You’re in charge of Sienna’s bridal shower. Make sure it’s a week from tomorrow. Here in New York. Make it happen. That means invite people.
He can’t be serious.
Did he accidentally text me when he meant to text someone else?
Aren’t bridal and baby showers supposed to be the best friend’s duty? Clearly, Sienna and I aren’t even friends. Hell, we don’t even like being in the same room as each other. Besides, I’m the last person that knows anything about brides or babies.
He definitely texted the wrong person.
Me:Wrong person, Daddy-O.
Oh, to be a fly on the wall when mister badass mafia boss reads that text. Maybe I should use that on my dad too. Why the hell have I not thought of it before?
This is too good to wait. I come out of the text from Tony and start one to my father.
Me:Yo, what up, Daddy-O? What’s poppin’?
I die out laughing, keeling over and slapping the top of the bar counter. I took up residence on a barstool when the club opened two hours ago and haven’t moved since. I’m nursing my third water and pissing the bartender off at the same time. Ren must have done some marketing this week, because judging by bodies—both men and women, but more heavily on the male gender—we have to be near capacity, and it’s not even midnight.
Success can’t be judged on opening night, but I know this place is going to stay packed. We’re only opened from nine at night until three in the morning. That’s six hours of the hottest entertainment you’ll find down here. Last week I scoped out some of the top-rated competition in the area, and it was good, just not as good as what you’ll find here.
The girls still have a lot to learn, but they are all putting on a show for the clientele tonight, no one will leave unsatisfied. Of course, that’s if they didn’t come here looking for a little something extra. This won’t be that type of establishment if I’m involved. I’ll walk if Domenico orders my ladies to take their show down a level, and I’ll take them with me.
But I don’t see that happening. He’s a hard-ass, comes off mean even, but so does my brother. I can handle alphaholes. It’s the ones that get off on the evilness of hurting and humiliating others that I won’t take shit from, and I will not let them do it to someone else either.
Fuck that shit.
I sip my water, continuing to stare at the mirrored glass behind the assortment of liquor that lines the back wall I’m facing, ignoring the parasite that decided to wedge her body between a stranger trying to enjoy himself and me.
Sienna perched her elbow on the bar with her head propped against her palm about the same time I sent that last text to my father. She hasn’t budged once and the heat against the left side of my face is getting too much for me to bear.
Setting my glass down, I click my tongue and swing my head toward her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to look at you long enough that the first thought that comes to mind is not me wanting to throat punch you.” Her lips are pursed like that’s exactly what her intent is, to stand here until the desire fades. Good luck with that.
“Could you do it a few stools away from me then, you fucking creep?” Jeez, is that how she used to stare at Matteo? I heard stories; mainly whining, bitching, and moaning from Kennedy. Her grandmother was my father’s cleaning lady until she retired. Kennedy’s parents used that to try to forge a friendship between us. It was never going to happen. I saw through her bullshit from day one.
That bitch got everything she deserved. And as much as it pains me to admit anything positive about Ren’s sister, her future stepdaughter is far better off with the type of bitch Sienna is versus the one Kennedy was. One, you have to give some respect to her because she is not a bitch that would cower down in a fight or expect a man to rescue her. The other one I don’t even have to comment on. She showed her true colors. I’d choose Sienna to have my back way before I would Kennedy, and that with knowing Ren’s sister would be waiting for me to turn around so she could stab me with a knife.
“Nah, it’s too dark to make out your entire face anywhere else, and I promised Ren.”
“Promised him what?” Is this bitch high? Did they smoke some bad shit or something? “You know what, I don’t even care. Leave.”
“I’m good, but thanks for asking.”
“Wasn’t asking. Wasn’t being polite either. Plus, I’m working, so bug the fuck off.” I face forward to go back to watching each performance through the mirrored glass behind the bar.
“You’re taking baby sips from your third glass of water. You aren’t even watching the show, which, by the way, I actually like. It’s not trash like I’d imagined it would be.”
Was that a compliment and a slap in the face at the same time? Only a Caputo. “You’re a world-class stalker, aren’t you? That’s what you get paid to do? Keeping track of my drinks. And furthermore, all dancing is beautiful, provided the talent and passion are present.”
“I’m observant. It was bred into me from an early age. I can’t turn it off.”
