Page 27 of Sinister Intentions

The other guy said something, and Vince shook his ass.

Shook his ass…like…I couldn’t even.

What the ever-loving fuck? Who was this guy?

Vince turned and gave his friend the middle finger, and I followed their interaction, completely transfixed.

I would’ve never thought, not in a million years, that I’d ever see Vince Salvini shake his ass for another man, in public and broad daylight.

I chuckled.

This was a rare glimpse into Salvini’s personal life, a side he surely kept well-guarded from prying eyes. At least, I would’ve thought he would. Because how else would he keep his reputation intact—sans the booty-swinging?

Hell. What else didn’t I know about the man who was the biggest threat to my freedom?

What if I could uncover something about him and his mysterious companion, something I could use to blackmail him and make him abandon his ridiculous idea of an arranged marriage?

I grinned and, without a second thought, I started walking, my phone clutched tightly in my hand as I trailed after them at a safe distance.

This was my chance to turn the tables, to gain the upper hand in this twisted game of power and manipulation.

Vince Salvini, you should’ve been more careful.

CHAPTER NINE

Dom swung the door to Casa Cassi open, and my stomach growled as the scent of freshly baked bread, simmering tomato sauce, and the delicious aroma of garlic wafted from the kitchen.

Casa Cassi had been our go-to place after training, even before Dom opened his own gym. It had always been a place where Dom and I could unwind undisturbed.

“Vincenzo!” Carlo, the maître d’, boomed from across the room. “The usual booth for you and Domenico?”

I gave him a curt nod, and Dom and I followed him through the bustling restaurant to our usual spot, a booth tucked away in a corner that offered a clear view of the entire establishment while allowing me to keep my back to the wall.

Privacy and the ability to keep an eye on the whole place—just how I like it.

As I slid into the black leather booth, Dom leaned in closer—kicking off our usual post-training ritual with a wolfish grin. “Ican’t get over how damn fine your ass looks today, baby.” He let out an exaggerated whistle. “So damn sexy.”

A few heads turned in our direction, and I stared into Dom’s eyes, glimmering with mischief. Dom had been hitting on me in public since we were teenagers—in his own words, this was his contribution to changing society. And he was probably right—if you wanted to normalize something, exposure therapy was the way to go.

“I’m not shaking my ass for you again, Rossi,” I retorted, scanning the menu even though I knew my order by heart—pasta alla carbonara—every time. “I’ve told you before, you’re not my type,” I said, loud enough for the older couple sitting atthe table close to us, who looked deeply offended, to hear.

If I couldn’t accept one thing, it was small-mindedness and people thinking they needed to force their beliefs and values on others—which was kind of hilarious given my family background, the culture I grew up in, and the reputation I had.

Dom clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me! And here I thought you would finally fall for my rugged cuteness and my amazing charms.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “Keep it in your pants, Dom, at least in public.”

He sighed dramatically as if he was serious about it all.

Well, he was serious—at least, partially. It still baffled me why he was still pursuing me, even after all these years. We’d had our fair share of threesomes, and I knew for a fact that Dom was open for anything. I was just happy we’d managed to maintain our friendship…despite his attraction.

Our usual playful banter ensued as we scanned the menus even though we always ordered the same thing anyway—the carbonara for me, gnocchi for Dom, followed by steak and salad.

This back-and-forth, this easy camaraderie with Dom…it was one of the few bright spots in my life lately. With Dom, there were no expectations or judgments. I could let my guard down—be myself without repercussions. He knew all my secrets and accepted me for who I was—flaws and all, whether he was hitting on me or pushing me physically until I opened up. It always came from a place of deep affection between two soul mates.

The clatter of dishes and chatter around us faded into background noise as Dom dove into his stories about his most recent escapades and a wild story about how he barely managed to escape a stampede of a group of high-heeled drag queens when the fire alarm went off in one of the clubs he visited.

I caught myself laughing throughout our conversation. This is what Dom’s charm really was. Taking my thoughts off of reality and lifting the weight off my shoulders, if only for a little while.

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