Page 36 of Third Degree

“Elio?” one of my security guards called from the other side.

“Si?” Most of the men working for me were part of Ricardo’s crew. Either different family members proving their rank in the system or lower men needing extra punishment or guidance.

“Your son’s date is making a mess down there in the VIP area. She keeps drinking, and her friends are trying to get her to stop, but it’s becoming… an issue.”

I immediately looked back at the security footage of the VIP section and noticed that Gianna kept darting her eyes around while trying to take care of her friend.

My two sons were nowhere to be seen… of course.

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath and then looked over at the security guard.

“I’ll go down there now. Tell Jimmy he has to take over the rest of the night and close up for me.” I had watched the cameras so intently all night that I didn’t know how I missed this. I was mad at myself for being too absorbed in my own thoughts to see this happening right under my nose.

When I finally reached the floor, I made a beeline to the VIP section where Gianna was. She was in the tiniest black minidress that barely covered her and high, chunky heels. She was a perfect match for my Armani suit. My sons were no longer around the VIP section, and it was only Gianna, her drunk friend, and another of their friends.

When I finally reached her, I grabbed the drunk girl from Gianna’s arms and laid her on the black leather couch in the VIP section.

“What are—” Gianna looked up and saw my face. The way her amber eyes held a sense of sadness and longing made me want to reach out to her and hold her deeply. “Elio.”

Her voice still had that familiar, breathless whisper, and my heart skipped a beat.

Time had etched its marks upon her, but the aura of innocence still enveloped her presence, beckoning me to gather her in my arms once more and prove that I was still here for her. That I could be there.

“Let me help you,” I insisted, my voice laced with a mixture of concern and longing.

“How did you know…?” Her voice trailed off, curiosity mingled with a hint of surprise.

“I own this club,” I revealed, gesturing toward the discreet office nestled atop the pulsating dance floor. “I was up there, watching.”

“They told me you weren’t coming,” she confessed, her gaze fixed on the floor as her friend moaned softly on the nearby couch.

“I wanted you to have this time with your friends,” I admitted, my voice tinged with vulnerability. “I didn’t want to intrude or give you a reason not to come.”

She glanced up, meeting my gaze with something more profound. Words hovered unspoken between us, heavy with the weight of our shared history.

“It’s your son’s wedding.” She looked down uncomfortably, shifting beneath her feet. “Don’t let this stop you, please.” This time, she was begging, and hearing the words leave her mouth made me want to take her mouth with mine. This uncomfortable air between us was starting to make me pissed.

“You’re the hot dad,” the drunk girl shouted from the couch, and we both turned in her direction. A smile turned up Gianna’s lips, and it was hard to miss.

She leaned over to me so her warm lips were only inches away from the shell of my ear.

“Hot dad, huh?” Her infectious laugh reverberated against the walls of the loud nightclub. I turned toward her, seizing her lower waist without a care for the prying eyes around us. Fuck anyone who dared to judge.

“Remember what happened last time you called me Daddy, rosa mia?” I teased, watching the blush creep up her cheeks as she squirmed away, a mixture of embarrassment and delight playing across her face.

“I’m going to puke,” the drunk girl practically screeched from the couch. Gianna rushed to her side without hesitation, holding back her hair with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“We have to get her home,” I asserted, concern coloring my voice.

“I don’t know where she lives,” Gianna replied, her brows furrowing with worry.

“Do any of your friends know her address?” I inquired, hoping for a solution.

Gianna shook her head, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “She’s very private,” she explained before a sudden realization dawned on her. “Wait, Alex picked her up this morning. He must know where she lives.”

“I’m on it.” I swiftly texted my son, explaining the situation and pleading for the girl’s address. He responded promptly, providing an address in La Jolla.

“I’ve got it. I’ll drive her,” I declared, determined to take care of the situation.

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