Page 37 of Vito

"Let me help you out." He grabs the box's other side and tries tugging it from my arms.

My brows lift nearly to my hairline. "Did you regularly carry things for Aiken?"

He tugs harder on the box, frowning. "Just trying to be a nice guy, for fuck's sakes, Ed."

I let the box go—because it's heavy and awkward as hell, and Dom doesn't look like he'll move without taking it. He walks backward down the hall since there isn't room for him to turn around.

"If you're being a nice guy, Dom, then do something that's actually helpful and tell your new recruits to back off my female staff."

He frowns again. "I thought that issue was resolved."

"Oh, they're trying to cop a feel when they don't think I can see, and I haven't caught them red-handed. However, I can show you the video feed from earlier today if you need the visual proof."

"No," he growls. "I'll deal with it."

He backs out into the barroom carrying the box. I motion to the kitchen, gritting my teeth that people will see him carrying it for me.

It's just one box; fucking relax already, will ya.

Relaxing my clenched jaw to save my teeth from grinding to dust, my eyes immediately sweep the barroom over a certain table in the far corner. Vito's table still sits empty and disappointment blooms within me. And that makes me grit my teeth harder.

Vito coming in at least once a day—if not more—has become my fix. And I crave the next hit like he's a potent drug.

My cooch throbs and aches the whole time he's present, my mind filled with filthy thoughts. It's distracting and bothersome, but I still want that hit.

It's almost midnight now, and he still hasn't come in.

The level of disappointment I feel almost staggers me. And pisses me right off.

Dom is looking at me, and I realize he said something. I pray that I wasn't staring at Vito's empty table. I'm fairly sure I wasn't, but a prickle of fear dances down my spine.

"What?" I demand, more snarky than usual, and stalk into the kitchen.

"It's just one box,bonita." He smirks, putting it down on the counter I pointed to.

I get in his face. "Enough with the 'pretty' bullshit,cabrón."

I curse my big tits, curvy hips, and round booty. I know I have a very Marilyn Monroe-like body. I do nothing to accentuate it—drawing attention to it is a downfall, especially in this place.

Dom holds up his hands, looking contrite. "I meant nothing by that, Ed. I swear. Honestly, you remind me a bit of my younger sister, Nina, and I call herNiña bonita."

I didn't know Dom has a younger sister, nor do I care.

"Remember who you're talking to, Dominic," I warn, then stalk out of the kitchen and toward the bar.

Andre has been covering for me, mixing the drinks while I restock everything. He glances at me as I lift a heavy crate of hard alcohol onto the back counter.

Dom rests his elbows on the counter, close to where I work. "I want to apologize, Ed. I truly didn't mean how that could've been taken. I want you to know I'm not trying to capitalize on you being a woman. I respect you and your role here."

"Don't let it happen again," I say stiffly.

"I can live with that." He smiles. "I thought you might bust my balls."

"Forget the line again, and your balls won't be the only thing I bust."

He nods but continues to look at me.

"What?" I stare at him, flat and coolly, while handing Andre the hard alcohol bottles we need immediately.

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