His whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. His face turns all red. “Your loss, bitch,” he spits out, before stomping off like a rejected teenager.
My bitch mode is indeed activated, my current resting face would make the Sanderson witches proud, but damn, I’m pretty even when I’m mean. I move a blond lock of hair off to the side, as a long sigh leaves my lips.
“Now what, Arturo Enzino?” I ask my reflection.
I roll my shoulders, letting the red top collar show more of my chest, more skin out means more eyes on me.
I danced already, though only a few minutes compared to the long time I spent in the club’s office working. Should I go shake my ass again? The prospect doesn’t thrill me as it should. Perhaps a little fresh air before going back to the sweaty, testosterone-filled atmosphere. That always makes me feel better. I push the bathroom door open just as one of my phones starts vibrating—the burner, which I slid into my panties tonight. A little extra bulge can turn a few guys’ heads. Marco “Knuckle” Moretti’s number is the one I see on the screen after I stealthily retrieve the cell out of my lace underwear. He is the right hand of the Leone’s boss and the broody fiancé of my dear friend, Fly.
I haven’t seen Fly since the day he was kidnapped—the wounds on my back have just healed. The usual shiver of disgust runs down my back when I think about the person who caused them. My half-brother. Mario.
I managed to keep my friendship with Fly a secret for as long as I could, but he found out somehow. Thankfully, Fly is under the Leones’ protection now. Even my nutjob of a half-brother wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to hurt him.
Still, I decided to keep away from Fly and to accept this marriage proposal—not that I had a real choice. Hopefully, this will assuage my father’s greed and put an end to Mario’s insane obsession with me. He’s lying low, but I’m sure he’ll show the weight of his displeasure soon.
Arturo Enzino. Married. To a woman. A Mafia princess at that. Sounds like the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. For starters, I’m as gay as a male thong on a beach and as promiscuous as a rabbit on amphetamines—my old man pretends not to know, but he knows. On top of that, I’m not really part of the Enzinos. My father has forced me to do things related to the family only twice in the twenty-five years of my life. He has Mario for that, and my half-brother is only happy to dirty his hands every single time.
Another shiver filled with repulsion hits me as I think about him. And in an attempt to stop remembering, I pick up the call.
“I can’t hear you!” I scream over the booming music coming from the club. “Wait!”
I reach the back door and move outside to the smoking area.
“Don’t shout, I can hear you,” Fly screams back. Fuck, the lungs on him. “Are you at a club? Without me?”
He’s practically married already. Plus, Marco would gun down any guy standing less than four feet from him—rumors say.
“Where? At Big’s? The Smooth Cactus?”
“I’m at Red Tape. What do you want?” I ask, using an acceptable voice volume now that I’m out.
He huffs. “Is that how you greet all your friends?” I can hear thepoutingin his voice.
“I don’t have other friends.”
He snorts at my answer, but it’s the truth. Bob, the guy who lives in an alley near my building, is the only one I talk to regularly. I give him food and drinks on my way back from the clubs, but he doesn’t even know my name. I can’t have people close. I don’t want them to suffer because of me. That’s why taking his calls is risky, but I can’t seem to stop.
“Why are you calling again? Are you wallowing in loneliness? Where’s Mr. Popularity, Marco bulldog-face Moretti?” I taunt him. His fiancé is sexy as fuck and just as rude.
I lean against the wall and take a pack of Reese’s Pieces out of my purse. I toss some in my mouth as I hear him say, “Jeez, even all that sugary food you stuff yourself with can’t sweeten your forked tongue.”
“That same forked tongue has been called legendary by more than one man,” I counter with a sniff.
“I bet, you tramp!” he teases me.
“Oh, I’ve missed this,” I confess, earning anawwfrom him.
“Being reminded how whorish you are?”
I hum. “I like these secret phone calls between us; they make me hard.” And now I get anughfrom him in return.
“Stop it. I only have a few minutes. Marco went to buy me ice cream.”
“Your madman of a fiancé is so sweet.” The sarcasm is dripping out of my mouth as I check my nails. I need a manicure pronto. “Since you have only a few minutes, let’s talk about serious stuff. Would you rather trust an alien with waxing your asshole or Captain Hook?”
Fly doesn’t disappoint. “Are they licensed cosmetologists?”
“The Captain is, but he probably bribed his way through the academy,” I reply quickly.