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I take my time pulling off my wet clothes and stuffing them in the dryer. Then consider putting on the golden bikini outfit, but when I go to look for them, to my dismay, they’re all gone. Dante must have executed his plan to get rid of the entertainment and everything connected to it pretty swiftly. Now that I think of it, I’m pretty sure when we walked through the main floor, the cages weren’t hanging off the ceiling like they usually do.
Whatever, as long as everyone still has a job, I’m okay with them being gone. I dry and style my hair, not really caring that Dante is probably losing it outside because I’m taking so long, before walking barefoot back to the laundry room to look for a clean uniform to put on. With all my clothes still in the dryer, I’m only wearing my white panties and a small towel as I rummage through the cupboards, not finding anything clean. Monday must be laundry day because the clothes bins are full to the brim with discarded items waiting to be washed. I sigh, pottering back to the main room, looking around for something I could put on, my eyes landing on a white shirt with Benji’s tag attached to it. I have no choice. The shirt will have to do until I can find Martina, who hopefully will have something stashed away.
Dropping the towel to the floor, I pull Benji’s shirt on, starting to button it up before I take care of the tag.
“What the fuck is taking so lo—”
Facing the door, I have the perfect view of Dante storming in, looking down at his phone in his hand, his words cutting out as his eyes lift to search for me. His adam’s apple bobs before his lips part as his gaze drops to mybreasts. My nipples instantly pucker, poking at the thin material like beacons as he takes a step toward me, his tongue darting out to wet his full lips.
I fight the pull. It is absolutely imperative that I remember this man is a dickhead, and when his eyebrows draw into a frown, his face rearranging from curious to angry, it’s enough to bring me back to a place where sanity regains control.
“What the hell do you think you’re wearing?” He’s staring at my left boob. I’d like to think he’s looking at my nipple, but I have a feeling that’s not what he’s focused on.
“The only clean shirt I could find,” I reply. “Must be laundry day.”
“Take it off,” he says through his teeth.
I blink at him in confusion. “What?”
“Take it the fuck off, or I’ll do it for you. And I won’t be gentle.”
“There’s nothing else—”
“Take. It. Off. Or I swear, Alessa.” The absolute indignation in his voice makes me spring into action. My shaking fingers fly to the buttons of the shirt, undoing them one by one. When I’m down to the last one, I hesitate.
Dante’s eyes are focused on mine, unwavering. I swallow, and undo the last one, then turn around, facing the lockers and slide the shirt down my back until it hits the floor.
My skin pebbles with anticipation as I stand there, my back to Dante, in nothing but my white panties. Although muffled, I can hear his footsteps as he walks from where he was and stands directly behind me. His hot breath on my shoulder. An involuntary shudder escapes me as something soft and silky hits my bare shoulders. I close my eyes as he drapes his suit jacket, still warm from his body, around me. Then, his hand touches my neck as he sweeps my hair to the side and out of the way. I need more air. I need more of histouch. More of the softness. More of everything that is happening because my body has never reacted like this before and I need to know what else it can do.
“That’s better,” he grumbles. “I’ll get you something proper to wear. But this will do for now.”
I nod, unable to turn around to face him, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just run a five-minute mile. I listen as he taps away on his phone before silence engulfs us.
“You can turn around now.”
I ignore his words, not sure if turning around is such a good idea. His jacket is big enough that it covers most of my upper body, even with my arms not in the sleeves. Holding onto the lapels, I pull them together and take a big breath, trying to figure out my next step.
When I don’t move, he clicks his tongue then walks around me until once again we face each other. I don’t know what’s more confusing, the smell of his oddly familiar cologne that surrounds me, or the outline of his perfectly sculpted chest, covered in black ink I can clearly see through the thin button down he’s wearing. I take a step back as my eyes travel down and settle on the gun grip sticking out of a holster attached to his belt.
Dante sighs, shaking his head, before walking over to the vanity table I used when I was drying my hair and sitting down in front of the light up mirror. He’s so big he barely fits in the chair as he starts investigating the golden eye shadows and highlighters. He picks up the bronzer, taking the top off and twisting the bottom until there’s a large brown stick sticking out. As I watch him examine it, his eyebrows drawn as the stick pops up then disappears again each time he moves his hand, the whirl of the tumble dryer filling the otherwise silent room, I have this urge to walk over and crawl onto his lap. Curl into him, and just let his strong arms protect me. Because as ruthless and angry as heis, he is also trying really hard to make me feel at ease, and that’s something. Plus, no matter how much I dislike him, I can’t deny that he’sreallynice to look at.
Taking advantage of the temporary change from an angry douchebag to whatever he’s trying to be at the moment, I walk up behind him and meet his eyes in the mirror.
“So, what’s the plan, boss man? Am I just going to stand here in nothing but your jacket until someone comes to do the laundry?”
“We’ll wait as long as we need to. I told you I’ll sort something out for you.”
“We? Don’t you have likemafiastuff to get to?”
He stands up abruptly. The chair clattering to the floor as he whirls around to face me. “What did you say?”
I swallow as I watch the knuckles on his clenched fists whiten. “Uhm… Mafia?”
“What do you know, Alessa?” His voice is controlled, but I know better. I’ve seen how quickly he can switch from one mood to another, even if his control never slips. Anger and cruelty are his default settings.
“Just that… You run this town, I guess? You’re some sort of a big mafia boss. Or you’re going to be?” I take a step back.
“And how do you know this?”
