Page 3 of Unhinged Little Angel

“Yes, sir. But if you want a private dance or anything, I’d be happy to help you out with that.” He cocks his hip, and I take a second to look him up and down.

He’s a pretty thing, the glitter on his skin twinkling under the club lights, a sweet little blush already creeping into his cheeks in spite of the confident promise in his eyes. Part of me wants to take him up on that, to drag him to a private room and let him grind that pert ass up on me until my dick is hard and thoughtsof that mouthy, gorgeous brat are nothing but ash. But no matter how hard I try to get excited by the idea, nothing inside me stirs.

“No, thanks.” I sit up and reach into my suit pocket, tossing more than enough cash onto the table to cover the two drinks I had and an extremely generous tip.

His eyes linger on me for another second before he nods.

“Dante’s next shift is tomorrow night. He’ll be on stage at eight, then working the floor until close.”

I know. I hate that I know, but that doesn’t change anything. Maybe one of these nights I’ll find a way to bleed him out of my veins, but not tonight. Until then, I guess I’m as pathetic as the rest of his fans who press up against the stage with their tongues hanging out and their dicks in their hands, hoping to catch a droplet of his sweat or a few seconds of his wrath.

Dante.

Dante.

Dante.

Chapter 2

SALVATORE

I pick an imaginary piece of lint off my emerald suit jacket and shift in my seat to cross my ankle over my knee. Half my attention is on Lorenzo’s low, authoritative drone and the other half is focused onnotwatching Dante dance. The hypnotic bursts of movement I catch out of the corner of my eye test my self-control. This song is one of his favorites to dance to—“Dirty Thoughts”—with a sultry pulse and suggestive lyrics that leave just enough to the imagination to invite a barrage of fantasies, and Dante knows exactly how to stoke them with the sway of his hips as he slowly peels the tight clothes off his temptingly smooth skin.

Alessio’s seat next to mine has a direct view of the stage and he doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not looking. His eyes dance with mischief as he interrupts Lorenzo’s briefing about the most recent surveillance of the Fitzpatricks’ slowly expanding organization, irritatingly skirting right along the edges of the city of Wildcliff, which the Morettis have laid claim to, with a wolf whistle.

“Damn, Dante is in rare form tonight. He looks like he wants to tear someone’s throat out with his teeth.” Alessio leans his elbows on the table and whistles a second time.

I shift in my seat again, my cock perking up immediately and a crick forming in my neck with the effort it takes not to turn my head and see for myself. I can picture that feral, violent look in Dante’s eyes easily, I’ve imagined it too damn many times late at night, with my hand around my cock and his name on my lips. Seeing it again would only make me crave him more, and this obsession I have with him is already well past anything reasonable.

Lorenzo stops talking, clearly unamused by the interruption. He pins Alessio with the threateningly stoic look that makes most grown men piss themselves. Of course, none of those other men know Enzo the way any of us do. Would he put a bullet through Les if he absolutely had to? Most likely. But it would take a hell of a lot. It would take Alessio doing things I can’t imagine him ever doing, like betraying The Family or Lorenzo in particular.

On Lorenzo’s right side, Xaviaro’s lips twitch with an almost-grin before his expression melts back into his usual stoic impassiveness.

“Interesting kink, Les,” Elio, Lorenzo’s brother and second-in-command, teases from his other side. “Is it the biting or the rage that’s doing it for you?”

“You’re one to talk.Yes, Boss,” he mimics the breathy, submissive voice we’ve all heard Elio use around his fiancé when he thinks no one is paying attention. Alessio reaches for the drink in front of him, bringing it to his smirking lips and taking a sip.

The humor on Elio’s face disappears immediately. “Don’t make me order Xaviaro to shoot you.”

Les gasps dramatically. “Would you shoot me, Xav?”

“Eagerly,” the trigger man deadpans.

“And here I thought yourlittle Sparrowwas softening you up.” Les purrs Sparrow’s name in the same tone Xaviaro always does when talking about his beloved little vigilante psychopath.

“Nothing soft over here.” Xav even manages to return the teasing innuendo in a bored tone.

“Is it too much to ask that we get through a single meeting without it devolving into a discussion of everyone’s kinks and a series of juvenile dick jokes?” Lorenzo asks with a long-suffering sigh.

“Hey, you’re the one who bought the strip club and decided we should do most of our business here,” Elio points out, joining Alessio briefly in looking towards the stage for the end of Dante’s performance.

“Mm.” Enzo drums his fingers on the table. “I thought we could all enjoy the view, but maybe I overestimated your ability to stay on task with so many tempting distractions.”

I stifle a snort at how formal he sounds, like a professor with a major stick up his ass. It’s hard to reconcile the stoic, commanding Mafia Boss Lorenzo with the goofy cousin I grew up with, climbing trees and catching toads to sneak into each other’s lunch boxes as a prank. The shadow of exhaustion constantly smudged under his eyes tells me all I need to know about how stressful it must be to be in his position—essentially running a multi-million-dollar corporation where the retirement plan is a car bomb or a bullet in the back of the head more often than not. He’ll never admit it, but I think that’s why he holds our meetings here. He likes that even now, with all the weight on our shoulders, we’re still the same horny idiots we were before he became the most feared man in the city.

The music fades briefly and the swell of cheers signals an end to Dante’s performance. My shoulders sag with relief and I letout a slow, steady breath. I made it the full hour without looking. Much, anyway. A few quick peeks hardly count.

“Sorry. We’ll behave.” Alessio holds up his hands in surrender.

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