Page 14 of Owned By the Italian Mafia Don

Chapter Four

Ari

I came to Amor to tell Bianchi that I hadn’t heard anything in the small amount of time that had gone by since I had seen him. I wanted him to know I was taking this seriously when I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to waste my energy unless this gem fell into my lap, but it’s good to keep enemies close and all that other bullshit.

“I appreciate you coming to tell me.” He glances at his watch. “I have to go. I have a drop I need to be at. Enjoy the club tonight. On me, Mr. Milazzo. I appreciate your alliance with me.”

“Glad I can help,” I lie, lifting my glass of scotch as he and his guards leave me alone.

My interest is peaked in this gem. I want to see what the fuss is about. I want to know why he wants it so badly. A man of Bianchi’s status should be able to get gems at a snap of a finger. Black market gems, the kind that are forbidden to have, are the best to own and for some reason, he is fixated on this one.

Why?

I am going to find out, even if it means playing friends with my own worst enemy.

“Another drink, Sir?” the waitress asks, holding a tray full of empty glasses.

She’s wearing nothing but nipple pasties and a thong. Any other day, I might be interested, but my mind is focused on too many other things to be interested in sex.

“Please,” I tell her, handing her my glass. “Make it a double.” It’s been a day.

One of the businesses that had an agreement to pay in monthly installments for the loan they borrowed tried to ghost us today.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end well for them and now I’m a proud business owner.

Again.

When will people realize they can’t fuck me over? I always find a way to get what is mine, no matter the cost to others.

The door opens and the woman who enters has me leaning forward. She’s beautiful. Her curls bounce with every step she takes. She assesses her surroundings, and something tells me she isn’t here for a good time. It’s how she’s presenting herself. If she isn’t careful, this place will eat her alive because men like us feed off curious, questionable, and all too eager people.

It’s our job.

And she just became prey.

I’m all too curious about her though and I find myself watching her from the darkened corner. She turns around, brows drawn as her eyes skirt across the room trying to find the source of her discomfort.

Can she really feel my gaze from over here?

“Here you are, Mr. Milazzo.” The waitress hands me my drink and even as she saunters away, her hips swaying back and forth more than necessary, showcasing her round ass, my attention still isn’t on her but on the mess of curls sitting at the bar.

It’s dark in here and only the strobes of light give me glimpses when the purple hues land on her. I can’t see her eye color from here, but I can see the elegant curve of her jaw and the fake pout on her lips as she tries to play one of the Bianchi men.

She’s really bad at this and I’m amused.

Even with my lighthearted nature, when I love to tease and joke, being genuinely amused takes effort these days.

“Oh, Tesoro,” I say to myself while I watch her. “What are you up to?” She tosses her head back and laughs at something. I know it’s a fake laugh, something she’s forcing herself to do. I want to hear the real thing. I want to know if her curls bounce as real, stomach-aching chuckles grip her.

I appreciate her bravery. Perhaps that’s why I’m so intrigued by her. She waltzed in here as if she owned the place but it’s clear she has no idea what she’s doing. When she stands, the light hits her just right and I’m able to see the smile fade from her face, the actress vanishing, and the unamused, annoyed expression takes over.

Taking a sip of my scotch, she stares into the corner where I’m sitting and I know she can’t see me, but my fingers grip the glass in my hand the longer our eyes are connected. Bianchi’s brother places his hand on her lower back, and I have to take a larger swallow of my drink to wash down my envy.

I want to grip those curls while I lift that tight dress to her hips and fuck her wildly on any surface she’d allow. My cock stirs at the thought. I’ve always had a thing for daring brunettes and, right now, she’s checking every single one of my boxes.

The fake smile is back and as they walk down the hall, I stand, tossing a large tip on the table. I’m going to take a stroll, that’s all. I keep to myself, my drink in hand, mastering the pissed-off look I’m sporting right now so no one talks to me.

When I get to the other side of the room, I catch a glimpse of a door shutting, and I wait a few minutes, throwing a hundred-dollar bill on the stage as the dancer begins to strip. I’m not interested. My focus is on the woman behind the door.

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