Dark Mafia Heir: Chapter 23

Athrong of people, specifically the male folk, gyrate on the floor, spreading green mint bills on the pole dancers. The music is loud, throbbing hard enough to pound on the walls of my chest, and the moving stage lights are brighter and almost more blinding than usual.

Someone shouts, more like cheers loudly, and there are concurring whoops and shrieks. Champagne bottles are popped, a group of girls laugh, and a bunch of young-looking crazy men join the strippers on the lit rotating stage. Is this even allowed?

The juveniles get even crazier, forming a PG-13 orgy, groping, kissing, making a mess. The scene is slightly nauseating, far from fun.

Looking away from their lustful eyes, cheeky grins, and the semi-nude strippers who appear to be enjoying themselves, I turn around, facing the broad back of my husband.

For a flashing moment, I’m stunned by his biceps flexing underneath the burgundy t-shirt that clings to his body like second skin. The expanse of his shoulders calls to my fingers, tempting them to touch him, to hold him.

When I stood in front of my mirror earlier this evening, after rummaging through my closet for the perfect outfit for tonight, I promised myself that I would relax and enjoy the night, without thinking of pouncing on him every minute.

I seriously have to work on getting my head out of the gutter. It is the first time he’s willingly requested my company to his club, and it might not be a big deal, but to me, it is.

After the surprise bouquet of roses and a huge human-sized teddy bear a few days ago, I wasn’t sure what to think of Antonio Mancini anymore.

It was all very confusing; first, he locked me in, then ambushed me with the most unexpected gifts.

What was I supposed to do?

I froze on that bed, sensing a wave of shock ripple through my entire body. I had tried to process it, imagined what he’d looked like, searching through the aisles, picking the gallant bouquet, and dragging the items through the doors.

My heart melted that afternoon and turned into a puddle when he crowned his efforts with an actual, purposefully articulated apology.

There was nothing else to do but forgive him and leave the whole thing behind as swiftly as he wanted to, because whatever unexplainable insanity was going on between us, was affecting him too.

Shaking my head, I’m back to the present, where my hand is tightly linked with Antonio’s as he leads me away from the noise and sweaty bodies.

His little finger locks with mine, and the thrill is like electricity, traveling straight to my toes.

Biting down on my lip, I disperse the image of dragging him to a corner to put that naughty finger of his between my legs. Not tonight.

“This is unusual.”

I practically have to shout over the noise to get Antonio’s attention. He glances over his shoulder at me.

“What?”

Green light pours on his face, flashing against his schooled features before swirling into a fade. My heart skips a beat at his heightened level of attractiveness, and I clear my throat before asking again.

“I was saying, tonight feels a bit unusual. It’s a bit louder, somehow. Or maybe it’s just me. But why’s everyone jumping around?”

“Unusual?”

He’d only heard that part. The rest got lost in juvenile shrieks. Chuckling, I don’t bother repeating.

“Yeah!”

We’re both shouting above the noise and smiling at how ridiculous it sounds. Finally, we get to a private VIP section. Security guards stand on either side—more like secret bodybuilder soldiers— and nod in acknowledgment when we pass the lush red ropes.

Antonio guides me forward to a velvet sofa, placing his large hand on the small of my back. I’m wearing a red halter dress that stops mid-thigh, and the back is cut low. The warmth radiating off his palm scorches my skin, and I am hyperaware of how close we are sitting together.

“Some kid’s twentieth birthday,” he says after we settle comfortably beside each other. “Father’s a politician. He rented out the club for tonight.”

That explains it.

A dark brow raises on his face. “Does it bother you? If it does, we can go elsewhere. I have a couple more places you haven’t seen yet.”

I smile at him, shifting closer to bask in his scent. It makes me heady and weakens my knees, leaving me wanting to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

Instead, I focus. “It doesn’t. But is that why you brought me here? To eat some cake?”

“You know that’s not why. I thought you should come out of the house, see a bit more than the four walls of the bedroom.”

“How thoughtful.”

He leans forward and kisses my nose, and by the time he pulls away, I know I’m blushing red like a tomato. My heart is hammering so loud, that I forget to breathe.

What’s wrong with you, Vi?

He starts talking about trying different ways of living with me, twirling a strand of hair around his finger, but I get distracted by a movement near the security guard.

It’s a woman. She’s blonde, with shiny straight hair, skinny with long legs, and smoky eyes. There are barely any clothes on her body, except for the gothic lingerie-like contraption that narrowly covers her breasts and glides down to the valley between her thighs.

She’s looking—no, glaring at me. As quick as a flash, she walks past some guy and disappears.

“Are you listening to me?”

Antonio’s voice reels me back. “I’m sorry you lost me for a minute there. What was that?”

“Is there a problem?” He tries to look over his shoulder, tracing my line of sight with narrowed eyes. “Someone irritating you?”

“No, no, everything’s good. I’m fine. Just those crazy youths doing more weird stuff there.”

That’s what comes out of my mouth, but my pulse is racing with uncertainty for a different reason. The mysterious woman managed to leave an impression that had nothing to do with the effects of a strip tease.

“Sure?”

I manage a smile at Antonio. The concern in his eyes is a big distraction, and soon enough, I forget the stripper with the killer eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Something about sharing this moment with him reminds me of the first time we met, at the club, when he was the pretend gentleman.

Only now, it feels better, more real, and intimate. Like a promise of something that might just stand the test of time.

Antonio kisses me on the cheeks, standing up to leave after he receives a phone call. There’s a grave expression on his face after the call ends. For a week now, I have had the feeling that there is something else going on. Something serious enough to rattle Antionio. But he doesn’t tell me, and I don’t ask because it’s clear he doesn’t want me involved.

He has a meeting to attend and will have to leave me shortly.

Shortly, he says. Yet, it sounds like I’ll have to wait for an eternity until he returns. When he pulls away, like a force of magnets, I rise on my feet, too. When did I become this clingy?

“Promise you won’t stay too long.”

Antonio’s gaze softens, and he wraps me in his arm, dragging me close enough to suffocate me with all that manly cologne. “Gattina,” he murmurs under his breath and utters a string of Italian. “If I could take you with me, I would.”

I breathe him in before pulling back. “You haven’t promised.”

A sigh leaves him before his lips come crashing down on mine. Automatically, my eyes flutter shut, and I allow myself to fall deep into the maddening desire that overshadows reasoning.

When my fingers curl into his shirt, he has to let go.

“I promise.” He sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls out a phone. “I thought you should have this.”

My jaw falls open as I take the phone from him. “Wait, is this my phone? You’re trusting me with this?”

His lips curl with a smile. “Yes. Don’t get any ideas, though. I won’t let you off if you do. Here…” He takes the phone from me and types in his number. “Call me if you’re bored or need anything.”

My attempt to fight back my smile is useless. It just breaks through me effortlessly. I can’t believe he’s starting to trust me. “Thank you.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Watching his back as he retreats, there’s a painful tug on my chest, and I collapse on the sofa with an annoyed huff. This man had officially turned my brain cells to scrambled eggs, because how is it possible that, one minute, I hate him, and next second, there’s a possibility that I may or may not be able to live without him?

The hands on the clock are ticking, I’m sinking deeper into the arms of boredom, and there are no signs of him. Even the juvenile party appears to have dulled considerably. Most of them are worn out, while a few others, hurdle at a corner, grunting and cackling as they engage in—I’d honestly rather not say.

“Ma’am.”

My eyes snap away from the wasted youths and turn towards the intruder. It’s one of the security guards, and I glance at what he’s holding. A tall glass full of what appears to be wine.

“The boss asked us to give you this. A small entertainment to keep yourself busy before he returns.”

How so thoughtful.

I smile at the man and politely dismiss him after I grab the drink from the tray.

I take a swig, and then another, only stopping when the entire content is almost gone. It’s nice, sweet, and fruity. It fizzles in mouth, and… a certain pressure in my bladder alerts me that I need to use the bathroom. Even before I entered the club with Antonio, the pressure had been there for a while, but I ignored it.

Can’t evade nature’s call for too long, can I?

Grabbing my phone, I ask for directions to the ladies’ room, and make my way there. It’s bright and quiet when I go in. The place is clean, too. After knocking on the doors, I go into one of the empty stalls to handle my business, and that’s when the eerie, calculated clicking of shoes clicking on the marble tiles echoes around the bathroom walls.

My heart catches in my throat, and I’m not sure why I hold my breath, but I do. Crouching low enough to peek through the gap underneath the door, I spot a pair of glossy leather boots.

I arrange myself, stand to my feet, and take a few seconds after flushing down before I leave the stall.

When I see the owner of the glossy leather boots, the blood in my veins turns to ice.

It’s her.

The stripper with the killer eyes.

She stares at me through the mirror, patting down her blonde hair after washing her hands. Glaring, I fold my arms across my chest and step away from the bathroom door. “I’m starting to believe this meeting is more than just a coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s not.” She laughs, baring pearly teeth. “It’s perfectly planned, Vivienne.”

So this one knows my name, and thinks she’s smart and intimidating. I smirk. “The last time I checked, I didn’t have a stripper on my contact list. Who the fuck are you?”

The blonde shrugs, turns off the faucet, and spins around on the heels of her boots. She crosses one leg over the other and leans back against the porcelain sink. “No one of importance. Or maybe I am just a girl who’s trying to get back what rightfully belongs to her?”

That stuns me for a moment, and I try to think of all the possible ways I could have established any link to this psychopath. It isn’t through my father, not Harper either, and nothing else I can think⁠—

When it clicks, I almost can’t wrap my head around it.

I take a good look at her again. Her eyes glower with undiluted hate, and there’s a small crack in her false smile that makes me see right through her innocent sexy girl bullshit.

No way.

No fucking way this childish ambush is about Antonio.

I burst out laughing, and her smile wobbles. Of course, it is. She’d passed by us only a few hours ago, looking like she wanted my head for dinner.

“You think this is funny, don’t you?”

“I don’t think it is, sweetheart. It is not only funny, but also fucking crazy that you stand there and lay a claim to someone who doesn’t give even half a fuck about you. You, my dear, are sick in the head if you think you can intimidate me with your Hades Halloween outfit and vampire eyes. My advice, even though you’re not worth it, go back out there and shake your booty. I’m sure there are more than five nineteen-year-olds that would gladly make you theirs.”

Anger flashes through her eyes, and the crack in her calm composure stretches. “Such a pity that you’re a foul-mouthed bitch. My poor Antonio married a piece of trash.”

Playtime is officially over. In seconds, I’m ready to show this crazy slut who the piece of trash really is, after I put my foot in her mouth.

“What did you just say to me?”

“You think I’m scared of you?”

“If you’re not, you should be. Get out of here and leave me the hell alone. It’s not a plea, but a fucking warning. I’m willing to put this stupid conversation behind me and move forward like I never encountered someone so desperate and insignificant.”

She’s quiet for a moment, considering whether or not to match my words with hers. Just when I think I’ve finally baited her into a fight, I know she’ll terribly lose. She flashes an overly confident smile and flicks her hair behind her shoulder.

“Who gets scared of a dead bitch anyway?”

Now, I’m more certain that I’m going to kill this stupid, motherfucking— “Is that a threat?”

“A threat? I see you haven’t heard.” She cackles like a fucking witch, eyes glinting wickedly under the lights. “Dear Vivienne, I’ll be attending your funeral.”

I start to lurch forward, willing every fiber of my being to reach for her stupid hair, and drag her down to her knees until she begs for mercy. However, my body fails.

Sudden weakness cripples my knees, and the world sways around me.

What the hell is happening?

The ground feels like it’s giving way under my feet, and I flail my arms for the nearest support.

The stripper’s laughter rings in echoes, amplifying as it fades into the distance, like a sound from a million miles away.

“I hope you enjoyed your drink, because it’s the last one you’ll ever have.” She sneers, rolling her eyes contemptuously before she turns around and starts to leave.

A gasp chokes in my throat. The boss asked us to give you this. A small entertainment to keep yourself busy before he returns.

A growing fog takes over, weighing heavily on my brain. I grip the vanity, and tears well up in my eyes when I hear the harsh pounding of my heart beating like drums in my ears. I struggle to breathe, gasping for air.

Warm tears spill on my cheeks.

Antonio.

My phone. I remember, my phone.

It’s in my grasp, but my sight blurs, so I barely see the contact that pops up on my screen when I hit the message box.

But I type anyway, even as the black stars dot my vision.

Before my strength fails, and the bright world I once saw turns to an empty black hole, I hit send.