Russu was my flagship nightclub. It had funded my war against the Fieri Famiglia and would continue to be a mainstay of my income stream.
The place had earned me two million legitimate dollars last year, had laundered four, and had helped me outsource over six million in coke to the crowd of city slickers who needed some white powder to help them enjoy their evenings.
Fools.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" Jen snapped, all sass and vinegar.
"I thought an orgasm would sweeten you up," I half-crooned as I brought us to a halt beside the windows that overlooked the club floor.
She scoffed, "I’m sweet enough considering there’s gunfire outside—"
I waved my free hand. "No gunfire in the club. See? My security is good."
"So good that we heard the gunshots over the beats the DJ is pumping?"
"They can’t hear a thing," I assured her calmly. "It’s soundproofed."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because I like to control what my patrons hear and see."
The pucker in her brow deepened as she looked up at me. "Why aren’t you running out there to defend yourself? Guns blazing—"
"You Americans. So obsessed with John Wayne movies and guns."
"I’m not obsessed with either," she snarked, tugging out of my hold, but I snapped my fingers around her arm, holding her against my side.
I was used to people tensing up around me. It went with the job, but something wasn’t right here.
The night I’d met her, the night we’d danced, she’d been like fucking putty in my hands.
Then she disappeared.
In this very goddamn club.
"What happened?" I rasped, peering down into those gorgeous cocoa bean eyes of hers that were raging with defiance.
"When?"
"You were coy and shy. Now, you’re growling and bristling like a cat who’s facing off against a dog," I told her smoothly, but I added a bite to my next words as I enunciated each one clearly, "What. Happened?"
I saw the flexing of muscles in her cheek as she clenched her jaw. "Nothing."
"Do you know what’s gone down between then and now?" I reached up and traced a finger over that ticking muscle in her cheek.
"What?" she asked warily, tugging away from my affectionate gesture.
"I went from the man who was trying to become the Don of the Famiglia, to ascending."
I saw her flinch as she registered the title and what that meant.
I winked at her. In part, to reduce her fear, in part, to hide my rage at what might have caused her to pull away from me like she did. I knew firsthand now the havoc her ex had wreaked.
"If someone has hurt you, duci, tell me. I might be able to—"
"What?" She sniffed. "I’m only someone you agreed to fuck."
"Those were your terms," I said calmly. "I neither accepted nor rejected them, I just fucked you in the ass."
"Agreed. That’s exactly what you did. You fucked me in the ass, and now it’s time for me to go home because, apparently, I’m capable of making the worst mistakes imaginable." She stomped her foot like a recalcitrant toddler, and while it should have irritated me, mostly I found it amusing. "Fucking mobsters. I’m a moron."
My eyes narrowed at her. "You fuck mobsters on the regular?"
She grunted. "No. I don’t fuck them. I make it a point not to because I like to stay alive. The gunfire makes it clear that I really am an idiot."
I tipped my head to the side as I looked down at her, recognizing I’d misunderstood what she meant.
"You’re not an idiot."
I’d seen her test scores; her CPA results had set a record within the NY testing branch for a hundred percent mark on one of the most difficult sections of the exam.
Jennifer frowned. "I am. I know what you are, and I still fucking came."
"You came quite loudly."
"Are you trying to piss me off?"
"No, but apparently you’re trying to piss me off."
"See, with ordinary men, that doesn’t matter. With mobsters, you have to think about getting your throat slit when they have a temper tantrum—"
"Who said I’d slit your throat?" I rumbled, tugging her into me. I slipped one hand between her shoulders, then arched her back as I used my arm as a supportive band to keep her upright. When I dipped her down, she gasped, hair tumbling in a fall of waves that made me want to gather it in my fist, curl it about my wrist, and tilt her head more. "Hmm, cara mia? Who said I’d slit your throat?"
She narrowed her eyes at me, evidently hearing the threat. "I told you I’m Irish. I met you with Aidan O’Donnelly Jr. at my table. You know I know more about the mob than those fools down there—"
"Maybe the mob, but not the mafia."
Her mouth gathered into a tight purse. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, Valentini?"
"Such venom—" I rasped, hauling her back into me with a snap that had her squealing, her hands coming up to my chest. The second they collided, she shoved away, but I dragged her deeper into me, banding that arm tighter around her, not letting her worm away. "—when I just made you purr."
I twisted her around in my arms, much as I’d done on the dance floor the other week. To the sounds of techno and EDM, I’d treated her like we were back in the forties, dancing as my Nanna taught me and as she’d been taught by her grandmother.
With her arms crossed against her belly, the wrists on her hips, I held her in place, held her firm and tight, close to me as I pressed my face to her throat. She shivered as I kissed her there, trailing my tongue along the arch even as I shuffled her into a two-step movement that had her ass grinding against my dick.
The exquisite torture had me growling under my breath, as did the reflection of her face in the glass.
Beyond, there were five thousand patrons, each of them dancing and partying hard as they celebrated the start of yet another fucking year, but all I saw was her.
The way those almond eyes were dazed, the thick lashes fluttering in response. How that full bottom lip, so pouty and plump, was tucked between her teeth, white shards of enamel against bright red lipstick that I wanted staining my dick.
For a moment, the tension that had invaded her at the sound of the gunfire was gone. Her earlier anger as she stormed through the office door, demanding to be seen, had dissipated.
She was putty in my hands again.
This was how I wanted her.
This.
I growled as I pressed my lips to her nape, then I moved down, taking advantage of the fact the woman seriously had no self-preservation if she could wear handkerchiefs in sub-zero temperatures.
Sliding my mouth along her spine, circling each nodule, spreading up and along her rib cage, kissing everywhere I touched, teasing everywhere I tasted, moving along the curve of her waist, I savored her like she was a treat. She pressed her hands into the window, the tips streaking the glass as she arched back, and I carried on.
Down.
Down.
Down.
The handkerchief-like skirt floated around her legs, revealing streaks of cum that had seeped from her ass. My tongue flattened against the strong muscles of her thighs, tasting myself, tasting us as I moved down and along the length, cleaning her up.