Lust for Danger: A Mafia Romance -- Book One: The Family [Erotic Mafia Romance Book] (6 page)

“What!?” cried Jessica, digging for her purse. “No! Please, I insist!” But he’d already stepped back from the bar, and put up his hands in front of him indicating that there would be no more discussion on the matter.

A little reluctantly, she took the glass. “Well, thank you,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate that.”

“Certainly,” he said. “Enjoy yourself, with the compliments of Terrazza.”

She turned back out to face the room, sipping her drink and surveying the scene in front of her. The atmosphere was electric with possibility, but she still felt a certain sense of reservation. She knew from past experience that a little liquid courage would help get her moving, and she hoped that once she was out there dancing all her cares would be shed away. After all, she was here for herself: not to pick up guys, but just to enjoy herself and have a good time. And as she pensively twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, she felt that familiar warm flush tickling her forehead – the “Champagne buzz,” she’d always called it – and somehow she knew that everything was going to be all right.

“And how are you tonight, miss?” came a voice from her left, and as she turned to face the speaker she saw a tall, muscular man in a sharp-looking V-neck t-shirt and blazer. He stuck out a hand, in a businesslike gesture. “I’m Dominic,” he said, in perfect English. “I’m the owner of this club.”

Instinctively, she reached out her own hand to meet his in a handshake. “I’m just fine,” she said.

“Have you been treated well so far this evening?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said politely. Something about his demeanor was putting her on edge, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the super-confident way he’d approached her – or maybe it was the slightly arrogant tone she’d detected when he’d said he owned the club. In any case, she didn’t feel too interested in conversation just now. “I was actually just going to check my coat,” she said, and began to turn away.

“Ah!” he said, putting a hand on her arm. He flashed her a big grin as he did so, and she knew now beyond a doubt he was being flirtatious. “But please, won’t you join me at my private table upstairs? You can leave your coat there, and we can talk for a while. You’re from America, yes? I’d love to hear about your country.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling away from his touch. “Well, in
my
country,” she said, “men don’t put their hands on women they’ve just met. Thanks but no thanks, Dominic. Excuse me.”

Dominic looked a little surprised at her reaction, and the smile dropped from his face. But to his credit, he pulled his hand away immediately.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, miss. Please, enjoy yourself tonight. ” And with that, he receded into the crowd, leaving Jessica by herself again at the bar.

She picked up her glass and walked over to the coat check, replaying the conservation in her mind. Was that all right? Had she been rude? She didn’t know why she’d rebuffed him so strongly – after all, his behavior had been completely normal by Italian standards, and there was nothing wrong with a little harmless flirtation. She’d thought she’d been ready to receive some male attention, but as soon as she got some – from an Italian hunk, no less, who looked to have the body of a god – she’d run away from it. If that’s how she reacted to a hand on her arm, what was she going to do out on the dance floor?

But she shook her head, pushing away those thoughts. She wanted to do things on
her
terms tonight, not anyone else’s. And just because the club owner thinks he’s some big-shot, it didn’t mean she had to come join him at his table or play his game if she didn’t want to. She thought back to how gentlemanlike and well-mannered Carlo had been, back at the café – compared with that treatment, this guy Dominic had come off as borderline rude.

She had to smile to herself, actually, at the way she’d handled the situation.

You don’t mess with Jess,
she thought to herself – a saying she’d had since she was a teenager.

She dropped her coat off at the counter, drained the last of her Prosecco, and headed back to the bar for another drink.

“Another Prosecco?” asked the bartender.

“Vodka soda,” she replied, smiling devilishly. “And make it a double.”

She made sure to pay for her own drink this time, and by the time she’d slugged it down she was ready for anything. The music sounded perfect, and her body was alive with a restless energy – she needed to get out there and move her body to the rhythm of the beat. It was her night out, and damn if she wasn’t going to make the most of it.

Let’s dance,
she thought to herself.

Chapter Nine

As he walked back to his private table, Dominic had to laugh to himself. These American girls were so damn…
presumptuous.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been rebuffed by an American woman before he’d even had a chance to ask their name.

He couldn’t fathom what it was about them, exactly – it was probably just a cultural difference. But in Dom’s mind, some harmless flirting was nothing to get offended over. After all, he’d just asked her to join his private table… she would have been treated to a nice cocktail on the house, some conversation, and a lush, VIP-lounge environment.

What was so wrong about that?

He waved off these thoughts with a brush of his hand. No matter. He wasn’t the type to have his confidence shattered just because an American girl had told him to leave her alone. Dom knew he could have anyone he wanted, with the snap of a finger – and indeed, back in his twenties he’d been quite the playboy, taking full advantage of the status his name conferred to him.

But that was a long time ago. These days, Dom wasn’t interested in the type of meaningless one-off fling that might end with neither party even remembering the other’s name. He’d been yearning for something very different lately… something that a part of him was afraid to even admit to himself. But he wasn’t getting any younger. For all his life, Dom had known two families: his immediate family, and the mafia, and the line between the two had always been blurred. And when his parents had passed, the mafia had stepped in to fill the void. But by now, he’d seen too much shit, too much violence, to maintain the belief that the mafia was enough of a ‘family’ to sustain him. Dom loved his business, that was true, but that was exactly what it was: strictly business, nothing more. And love and business just didn’t mix.

Forget it
, he sighed, and went about his rounds in the club, making sure everything was running smoothly while successfully distracting himself from this train of thought. Too much self-reflection was a dangerous thing, and Dom had never been the type to waste time wishing for things he didn’t have. Too many people were counting on him. Too many guys put their lives on the line for him, every day, for him to let himself slip up for even a moment.

In truth, the mafia
was
his family – and right now, it was the only family he had.

“Vinnie,” Dominic called out, waving his cousin over from his post near a corner of the room. “Status.”

“Bar’s packed, cousin,” he replied. “Things are picking up. There’s a small line outside, nothing major. Pretty good for a Thursday.”

He nodded. “Any problems?”

“Nothing serious,” he said. “There was an argument near the bathrooms between two drunk college kids, but we sorted them out and sent them home.”

“Hmm. American?”

He laughed. “No, boss. Italian. Why would they be American?”

Dominic looked sideways at his cousin, who had that same jovial smile that he always wore on his face. “…No reason,” he said after a beat. “No reason. Listen, Vinnie, I’m going upstairs to my table. Can you send up a glass of Scotch? Make it a double.”

“Sure, cousin, no problem. You want ice in that?”

Dom sighed, rubbing a hand on his forehead and shaking his head. He had to smile.

“Vinnie, you ask me this every fucking time.”

Vinnie’s face clouded over. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. From his face it was obvious he had no clue what to say.

“Vinnie, goddamnit,” he laughed. “No ice, okay? No ice!”

Vinnie’s wide grin came back in an instant. “Got it, boss!” he said cheerfully, and sped off to the bar to place the order.

As Dom climbed the stairs to his private table, he suddenly realized he was in a very good mood. Despite the guilt he felt about Carlo, and the looming mess with the Berlottis, Dom could put all that aside for now and just enjoy himself.

Even the American girl wasn’t bothering him – although Dom had to admit, it was strange that he’d had Americans on his mind during the conversation with Vinnie. But no matter. Dom had always been a sucker for beautiful women. And by this point, he’d seen it all.

A few of Dom’s associates were already seated around the table. There was Carmelo, a member of the family who was one of Dom’s trusted informants; Alexei, a Russian immigrant who was the family’s main source of weapons; and Salvatore, another Pirelli who helped oversee the docks down in Fiumicino. They were all good people, and Dom had known all of them for years. He hoped tonight’s conversation could be a mix of business and pleasure.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Dom said, as the three of them stood up to greet him. “How are we doing? Alexei, it’s a surprise to see you down here in Trastevere.”

“Carmelo called me down here,” Alexei replied. “He said you were needing some extra firepower.”

Dom raised an eyebrow. “Carmelo?”

“Boss, it’s getting hectic out there,” Carmelo replied. “Drugs are changing everything. Small-timers are getting dangerous now, and the Chinese are moving in. Some pistols for our guys in the street would help them stay protected.”

Dominic’s face darkened into a scowl. “I don’t want any guns for our small-timers,” growled. “It’s too big a liability. They shoot the wrong person, we’ve got a war on our hands. Carmelo, you know this.”

“But boss—” Carmelo began, but Dominic cut him off.

“We’re not moving into the drug trade,” he said firmly. “That shit ruins families. We’re sticking to what we know: goods, gambling, and the protection racket. Carmelo, just look at this club. We built all this –” Dom gestured his hand toward the massive nightclub space – “without a dime of drug money. And I’m going to keep it that way. Tell your guys to stay the fuck out of the drug business. They stay away from that, they won’t need any guns in the first place. You got it?”

Carmelo was sullen. “Yeah, boss. I got it. Sorry.”

There was a long, silent moment. Alexei coughed. “Perhaps I should go,” he said, rising slightly from his chair.

Dom put up a hand. “Hold on, Alexei. As it turns out, I may need to speak with you about placing an order very soon. A rather… large order.”

Carmelo and Salvatore looked at each other.

“Of course, Dominic,” Alexei replied. “Anything you require, I can get it. You need pistols?”

Dom smirked. “No, no… Bigger than that. But Alexei, let’s discuss this later. Can you come to my office tomorrow?”

“Certainly.”

“Excellent,” Dom replied, flashing a bright white smile and ignoring the quizzical looks of his assistants. “Gentlemen, how about a drink?”

Chapter Ten

Two hours of dancing and about four – or was it five? – vodka-sodas later, Jessica was feeling
fantastic.

All her problems seemed small and far away, lost in a haze of booze-fueled dancing under the bright flashing lights of the dance floor. She couldn’t remember exactly who she’d danced with, or to what songs, but all she knew was that she’d been tearing it up out there, and that there had been no shortage of sexy Italian men vying for her attention. She hadn’t paid them much mind, though. She’d danced with a few, but hadn’t let things get too physical with any of them. She was here to dance, and that was it – and after two hours of revelry, she was on top of the world.

She was feeling so good, in fact, that she didn’t notice the thinning of the crowd around her as she spun around to the beat of the music – she didn’t notice that she was approaching the edge of the dance floor, and that there was a small step leading down to the bar area.

Down she went, falling somewhat less than gracefully, but catching herself with surprising agility and bouncing up again as if nothing had happened. “Fuck!” she cried out, and burst into laughter. It all seemed just like one big game. She looked around for someone to share the joke with, but it suddenly dawned on her that she was alone. Just then, the lights flicked on, and the music softened to a volume that could only mean the club was closing.

A bouncer walked up to her; she recognized him as the same guy who’d helped her when she entered. “Are you all right, miss?” he asked her. “I saw you take a fall just now.”

“Are you kicking me out!?” she yelled at him, her voice sound oddly shrill now that the dull roar of the music wasn’t masking it.

“No, miss, but the bar is closing. Let me bring you some water and call you a cab,” the bouncer replied.

“I’m
fine
,” she said, with drunken indignation. “Hey, you’re the same guy from before. What’s your name, anyway?”