9
Dante
It’d been hell trying to get into the party. The DeLuca’s didn’t want me to attend the soiree, and while I didn’t have an invitation, I was hoping they’d be accepting of a little green.
Boy, was I wrong. Their soldier guarding the entrance had recognized me the moment I stepped foot inside.
With a gun poised at the back of my head, he alerted Rafael of my presence, which brought out Gino to give me a word of warning to leave.
The problem is that I don’t take direction very well.
Especially from a thug like Gino.
After mincing words and getting a few blows to my face and chest, the boys opted to let me stick around to take my dough.
One look at her in that sheer pink ensemble, and my cock hardens.
Fuck.
I don’t want to think about her. Not like this, and certainly not now.
She looks sheepish and concerned that I might betray her. She has no idea what I’m capable of and what I’ve done.
Around her neck is a collar. It’s leather at the edges and metal in the center. I’ve seen something similar used to control prisoners and imagine it’s a torture device of some type.
I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
She stole from me.
No one steals from Don Ricci. Ever.
She made me look like a fool in front of my second, Moreno. Thankfully, he kept what happened to himself, and we never spoke of it again. Well, almost never.
Does she know the police showed up at my door?
She brought the fucking cops to my house!
“Sit down,” I command her.
There isn’t anywhere for her to run or flee. Dozens of DeLuca’s men control the facility. My men are on standby outside of the perimeter, in case I don’t come out alive. They have their orders.
She shivers like she’s cold. It’s impossible not to let my gaze rake over her body. Her rosy nipples are hard and puckered through the thin, flimsy fabric.
I don’t want to stare. I have no desire to be like the men here, wanting a taste of flesh for a few dollars.
I’ve never needed to pay for sex. And these women aren’t prostitutes, that would imply there was consent on their part.
They were prisoners.
“Daniel,” Nicole’s soft whisper and long eyelashes bat up at me as she sits back down in the booth.
I try not to let my head grow cloudy with memories of the last time we were in a booth together. Her body writhing above mine, clenching onto my hardened cock.
The room feels several degrees warmer. Did they crank the heat in this place?
“It’s Dante,” I say. My gaze never wavers or falters. “Dante Ricci.”