Page 13 of Ruthless Boss

I have to say—a glorious, girthy, long cock that deserves a holiday named after it. DC day. Dante’s Cock Day.

I chuckle and finish tidying up AJ’s room.

When I met Ciro, he acted like he was a good guy. I grew up without responsible, caring male role models, and I believed him. He was my stepbrother… the son of the guy my mom married after a quick courtship.

Aroldo didn’t seem like he was the creep he turned out to be—but silly me, I should have known he was just waiting for the marriage certificate’s ink to dry to start taking control of my mom’s hard-earned money. She was so delusional, smitten by him, desperate to fulfill her dream of a perfect family.

I made the same mistake as her.

I didn’t have money, so Ciro couldn’t take that from me, but he stripped me of much more valuable things.

This sour experience helped me wise up and open my eyes and observe other men around women that I knew—most of them gaslit their wives, cheated on their girlfriends or were deadbeat dads.

Dante hasn’t pretended to be a good guy. He’s a good dad, and I can vouch for him.

Why am I still attracted to him, even though I’m fully aware that he’s not a good person? Am I that damaged? That lonely?

When Dante rushed into my bedroom and demanded I touch myself, a silent threat laced his voice. What would he have done if I’d said no way? I tried to—but he didn’t acquiesce. What did that mean?

He’s not a good guy. He’s killed people.

I have, too, but in self-defense. He’s done horrible things for money, power, and family loyalty. That’s how it rolls in the mafia.

Who’s to say Dante wouldn’t slit my throat if I represented a threat to him? To his money? To his family.

I shake my head.

Staying in Dante’s home has been a pleasant haven for me. I can’t fuck it up. I’m making good money, away from Ciro, and safe.

My phone buzzes, and I recognize Tara’s picture. Since that weird phone call the other day, I’m on edge when my phone rings.

I pick it up. We haven’t chatted since I left the strip club weeks ago. “Hello.”

“Hey, girl,” she says on the other end of the line. “How have you been?”

“Can’t complain,” I say, opting not to add details. When I quit, I told her a lie about leaving the exciting world of strip clubs for the steadiness of housekeeping private homes. I’d never tell a soul I work for Dante Gallo. “You?”

She chuckles nervously. “Good. Listen, someone came over today looking for you. A dude.”

My bloodstream turns into pillars of ice. This isn’t good. “What did he look like?” I ask, my heart beating in staccato. Deep down, I already know the answer, but I need confirmation.

“Tall, fit, blond hair. Wore a patch over his right eye.”

I plop down on the rug as beads of cold sweat form on my forehead. Holy shit. Ciro is in Chicago. He made it here. He was the one who called me and didn’t say anything. He… found me?

He must have checked the air tag when I first arrived in Chicago. A sense of dread falls over me; my lungs constrict like an invisible dark force squeezes me. “What did you say? What?—”

“He came in, asked if I knew you, and showed me a pic on his phone. I could tell from his vibe that he wasn’t your friend, if you know what I mean. My sister dated a lot of abusive jerks, so I learned a thing or two. Anyway. He talked to Chevy first, so I figured Chevy already told him he knew you. You never told me your real name was Gia.”

Oh great. Now Ciro also knows the fake name I’ve been using.

The security blanket that cloaked me a minute earlier has now vanished. I try to swallow, and my tongue gets stuck at the roof of my mouth. Takes a longer clearing of my throat for the lump of panic to go down. “Tara. What did you tell him?”

“I told him that you never said much, but you mentioned you found a job in Nebraska. It was the first state that came to mind.”

“Do you think he bought it?”

“I don’t know, but I figured that would throw him off a little.”

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