Page 1 of A Virgin for the Mafia Daddy

Chapter One

Bianca

I’m not a lucky person.

Some people can step out of their office on a rainy day without an umbrella and find that the rain stops for only the two minutes it takes them to walk to their car. Me? I’m the person who gets caught in pouring rain on the two-minute walk to my car, only to be met with sunshine as soon as I’m safely inside.

I rub my thumb over the rabbit’s foot keychain my older sister Olivia gave me a couple of years ago. It doesn’t help, mind you. But it reminds me of my sister. My guardian angel.

And right now? My angel needs someone to save her… and unfortunately, all she’s got is me. The unlucky heroine.

Outside, I look up at the club. Even though it's unassuming—no strobe lights or lit signs decorate the facade—the low pulse of music thrums to where I’m standing on the sidewalk out front. It’s after midnight and when Olivia hadn’t come home yet, I knew something was up.

I felt it in my bones.

Sisterly intuition, I guess. So when Olivia’s boyfriend, John texted to tell me she’d been swept away by some guy at this club, I had to come save her. God knows, John isn’t going to.

But as I walk up to the front door, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that this is a bad idea.

A very, very bad idea.

I gulp, ready to back away and go home when the door swings open and a bouncer walks up to me, almost like he expects me to be here. His gaze sweeps my body, pausing briefly at my hand-me-down slightly too-tight jeans and flip flops.

“First timer?” he asks, voice gruff.

What gave it away, Einstein?

I bite back the snarky retort. My mother always says my smart mouth gets me in trouble… and she isn’t wrong.

“ID?” he asks, holding out his hand.

I shove my rabbit’s foot keys in my purse and hand him my driver’s license, doing my best to peer around him, hoping I might get lucky enough to spot Olivia right here at the entrance.

But as we covered before? I’m not lucky.

He hands me my ID back, then opens a wooden box holding a bunch of different colored bracelets. “Which one?”

I stare at him, blankly. “Uh, aren’t you supposed to tell me which one is for under 21?” I assume they’re drinking bands, though I have no idea why they’d need so many different colors.

With a sigh, he points to a chart posted beside the door.

Black – Dominant

Red – Submissive

Yellow – Switch

Purple – Unicorn

White – Voyeur

Pink – Virgin

I gulp and with wide eyes look back up at the seemingly bored bouncer. It doesn’t matter if I wear a bracelet or not. I just need to be in and out as fast as possible to grab my sister and go. A pink flush that matches the bubblegum hued bracelet stains my cheeks as I admit, “Virgin,” aloud to the bouncer.

He literally couldn’t care less as he grabs a pink bracelet and snaps it onto my wrist.

Huh. It’s heavier than I expect it to be. Made with nice crystals and beads, not plastic, cheap ones from Michael’s like I had expected.

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