Page 63 of The Enforcer's Revenge
“A little sugar with a lot of spice. She’s naughtyandnice. Get your money out and welcome Calypso to the stage!”
Some of the men whistled as the low pulse of music started playing. It was different than typical strip club music, an Enigma mix that was slower and much more seductive. It also required quite a bit more skill to pull off. A slow song meant the performance better be pretty fucking captivating.
Tino turned, seeing a stream of mist flood off the stage, and he glanced away rather than watch when he lost his nerve.
“Cazzo,” Nova grunted next to him.
He sounded equally enthralled and disgusted with himself, like he wanted to look away but couldn’t.
That was different.
Nova didn’t lose his game too often, especially for something as simple as looks, but then this was no ordinary stripper. Tino knew it because he knew who that woman was. Even with the stage name, it was obvious.
He didn’t have to watch.
Nova’s reaction said it all.
If she threwhimoff, these motherfuckers stood no chance.
Tino glanced back to the woman they both knew was Carmen. Arms folded, annoyed, he reluctantly watched what every other man felt lucky to see.
Tino flat-out hated pole dancing.
He would bite off his own tongue before he told Nova why, so he just stood there, forcing himself to see it. He was used to watching it done by soul-dead participants, but Calypso was into it.
Big time.
And that changed the whole fucking game.
Her hair was wild, with curls that framed her face in a way Lola would’ve never done. It was shorter than Lola’s too, well above her shoulders, but that wasn’t the shocking part.
Carmen was blonde.
Natural blonde.
More honey in hue instead of platinum like her father, but it was still clear where she got it.
Tino wanted to hate it, but the effect was startling because Carmen was stunningly gorgeous. Thicker than Lola had been, Florida tan, with all those soft, pretty curves rather than runway-slender like Lola. If it wasn’t for her hair, she’d actually look more Dominican—but there it was. She didn’t even fucking dye it, which was crazy.
Worse, she had Lola’s eyes, that hauntingly ethereal gaze that stood out under the stage lights, making it very hard for most men to look away from her.
Tino could barely watch for the exact same reason.
She was wearing one of those form-fitting, thin, almost see-through dresses that were common for strippers. The simple blue cotton stretched across full tits, displaying tight nipples before she grabbed the poll, sliding down, showing off a full, firmass that was without a doubt her best asset, and that was saying something.
The men all shouted because she did have a great ass, and when she turned back around, Tino finally accepted why his mind blanked the moment Carmen rose out of that mist. He didn’t want to see this, not in person, and certainly not while holding the bomb he was about to help Nova drop.
Watching her now, with the haunting, sexual music playing—he got it. All the rumors. All the drama.
Shewasgorgeous.
And confident.
And mysterious.
Good looks were easy. Beautiful women were everywhere in Cosa Nostra, but this was something else. Tino glanced at his brother again, seeing the way Nova watched her, even when he didn’t want to—he just couldn’t help himself.
This was a woman used to making powerful men want her, and she wasverygood at it. That was all it took for survival to sink Tino’s PTSD like a stone. He was suddenly in full enforcer mode.
