Page 45 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

In a flash, Lark barreled at me like a freight train. My back slammed hard against the wall, the impact echoing through the room. I retaliated with a flurry of elbows driving into his back, then lifted my knee into his chest. His fists began to pummel my sides as though we were locked in a brutal boxing match. I arched away and connected my fist with his temple.

He staggered, swaying as I thrust my foot into his chest, sending him crashing to the floor. Leaning over him, I grabbed hold of his white dress shirt. My voice was low and lethal: “You will tell your boss never to enter Romano territory again.” With each swing of my fist against his jaw, the anger—bottled up since I’d learned about Claire’s ex and Polina erupted like wildfire.

“Next time, he’ll hear from the four families,” I roared, letting his limp body fall like a discarded rag.

Stepping back, my chest heaving, I called out, “Xavier.”

The door burst open as he strode in. “Yes, boss?”

“Make sure Lark gets back to his boss and delivers the message loud and clear,” I ordered, before moving to the sink to rinse the blood from my mouth. “Understood,” Xavier confirmed.

I stepped out of the restroom and paused at the bar. I glanced up at the V.I.P. section, and Vix gave me a nod. He understood my worry about Claire.

Glacier stood behind me and said, “My boss will have a top-shelf Scotch, neat.”?But my focus was elsewhere on my men watching the exits and the people dancing. It was only a matter of time before whoever came with Lark would be searching for him. I pulled a fifty-dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to the bartender as he placed a drink in my hand.

“Thank you,” I stated, before walking upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, the scene unfolded in a haze of pulsing lights and pounding bass. Claire was leaning back in the center of the dance floor, her body swaying with a playful defiance, as if ready to limbo. A stranger clearly not part of her crew had the audacity to pour Louis XIII straight from the bottle into her waiting mouth. Rage flared, hot and unyielding.

In a flash, I lunged forward, wrenching the bottle from his grasp. “Back the fuck up,” I barked, my voice slicing through the music.

The man only chuckled, his smirk defiant as he retorted, “Or what, Vino?”

I felt the weight of my men at my back, their presence a silent promise of retribution. “Or what happened to Lark will happen to you too,” I growled, each word laced with cold menace.

His smirk twisted into a sneer. “Not sure which hot piece of ass is yours yet, but I’ll find out,” he taunted.

Before he could reply, the bottle crashed down onto his head, amber liquor splattering across the floor.

Screams erupted around us as Marty stumbled backward.

I grabbed his shirt and punched him repeatedly in the face.

“Vino!” Claire’s urgent shout rang out above the chaos.

Another voice familiar and exasperated cut through the noise.

I turned sharply to see my brother, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Hey, you don’t want to freak people out more than you already have,” he snapped through gritted teeth, then bellowed over the music, “There’s nothing to see here drinks on me.”

The V.I.P. crowd cheered, as if I hadn’t just beaten the guy’s face in right in front of them.

CHAPTER NINE

CLAIRE

Everything unfolded in a flash. The opening notes of my favorite song ignited me, and I leaped onto the dance floor with my crew in tow. As the pulsating beat of “WAP” by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion filled the air, a guy approached with a charming smile.

“Hey beautiful, having fun?” he asked, his tone casual and inviting.

I met his gray eyes with a mischievous smirk. “I am,” I replied, snapping my hips to the beat.

“Let’s show everyone who the star is tonight,” he continued with a grin, then commanded, “Lean your head back.”

Buoyed by the lingering buzz of my last glass of Louis XIII, I arched my neck, ready for a playful limbo. He tilted the amber liquor over my open lips. The smooth cognac slipped down my throat just as a surge of tension swept over us. Vino appeared out of nowhere, snatching the bottle from the man’s hand. The cool liquid slid down my cleavage, jolting me upright. Vino’s roar cut through the music: “Back the fuck up!”

Vix slid in front of me, forming a barrier. “Get back,” he ordered.

Nearby, another man, strikingly similar to Vino, yelled, “There’s nothing to see here. Drinks on me.” His words somehow calmed the murmuring crowd.

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