Page 39 of Giovanna

Stefan sits down and rests his arms along the booth behind him, like a cheap, beta version of Elio who for all his faults, looks the part of a mafia boss. “You sure you don’t need to check with your brother first, princess?”

My hand goes to the gun shoved in the back of my pants and the biggest of Stefan’s goons, an oafish bloke I don’t recognise, steps towards me. Instantly Matty and Bluey have their hands on their weapons too.

Stefan laughs and it is unpleasant and cold. His beady eyes narrow at me and I’m struck by how unlike his beautiful sister he is.

His arm shoots out and he hooks an arm around the waist of a passing topless stripper. She squeals in surprise as he hauls her small body onto his lap and paws at one of her boobs.

“All of this is unnecessary,” he gestures to our hands resting on our guns, ready to draw at any second.

“What’s your name, babe?” I ask the dancer. She is shaking, well aware that she has been yanked into a situation that could end in bloodshed. I need to keep her calm. She is a distraction and I don’t want her to become collateral damage.

“Ash,” she squeaks. Stefan has her arms pinned to her sides with his forearm across her body, restraining her.

“Let Ash go, Stefan. In Sydney, we don’t mess with women and children.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here, little lady? Don’t you have some sandwiches to make? Eating pussy doesn’t make you a man,” his mask slips and falls off completely as venom pours from his mouth.

Sighing and rolling my eyes, I finally draw my gun and walk calmly to stand in front of Stefan. I give Ash a quick reassuring nod and then extend my arm past her to press my gun to the forehead of the pretender. “I would prefer not to shed blood in our club, but you push me much further and yours will paint the floors,” I growl.

“Time to go, Rossi,” Azarro speaks up, standing to move so that he is angled more on my side of the conflict and I raise my eyebrow at him in question. Fair weather friend. It is a wise move and one that will save his life, but I will never trust him again.

Even the wasted La Paglia brothers are looking uncomfortable now. The wind has changed and they realise they are about to be guilty by association.

“Last chance, all of you,” I look at the entire posse. “Get out.”

All bar three of Rossi’s men scurry off, no doubt hoping that I will forget their faces and their betrayal.

“Santoro,” I address the man who remains in his seat next to Rossi. “You are a captain for our Family, I believe.”

He nods sharply and looks to Rossi for reassurance or instructions.

“I suggest you run. Do not come back to Sydney. Your lack of loyalty will be remembered and I will never again grant you the reprieve that will allow you to walk out that door right now.”

He hesitates and then pushes up from his seat and leaves Stefan, still holding a terrified Ash, with only his hired muscle.

“Matteo, get the snake out of my sight,” I command without moving the gun from Stefan’s head.

Matty signals to Fat Tony’s son, a massive young guy, to assist him. As they approach, Stefan lets go of Ash and she throws herself behind me, clutching at my back. Stefan’s narrow, pointy nose and gaunt angular jaw tilt upwards in a display of misplaced haughtiness and he reluctantly allows himself to be escorted out of the club.

“Do not waste my time again, snake,” I call after him. “Go back to Melbourne.”

Adrenalin continues to surge through my veins as I sit in the dark office above the main floor atPeacocks. Spinning my whisky glass on the worse-for-wear wooden desk in front of me, I review how I handled the situation downstairs.

The only reason Stefan Rossi doesn’t have a bullet in his head is that his father was my father’sconsigliere, but his parentage won’t protect him next time.

I pinch the space between my eyebrows and can’t decide if I’m angry or relieved that Elio didn’t handle the situation. It makes him look weak that his sister is acting as his proxy, but he doesn’t have the same stomach Matty and I have for violence and I’m not sure that he would’ve been able to show the same strength.

There is a soft knock at the closed door and I call out for the person to enter, assuming it will be Matty or Bluey.

“Hi,” a soft, breathy voice says and Ash appears around the door. “I just wanted to thank you for saving me.”

I beckon for her to come in and she closes the door behind her. She is wearing marginally more clothing now; she has added a bra and hot pants to her ensemble.

She’s hot. Banging body, petite, and pretty. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a voluminous ponytail that reaches mid-way down her back and I imagine wrapping it around my hand.

She approaches me, swaying her hips and telling me with her eyes that she has plans for how she would like to thank me.

“I didn’t really save you,” I state blandly, leaning back in my chair, knitting my fingers together on my stomach, and resting an ankle on the knee of my other leg.

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