Don Rory

DANTE

"Marchesi, I wish I could say this little ambush was a pleasant surprise." I said coolly. "But I'm not really in the mood for a meeting."

Who the hell let him into my house? I shot Frankie a glance; he wouldn't meet my eyes.

Rory leaned back, maddeningly relaxed. "You don't return phone calls, and I've been waiting two months to set an appointment. I believe common courtesy says to hear me out."

I frowned. What's with everyone and courtesy today?

Out loud, I said, "After you."

Frankie hurried to unlock the door. Rory walked inside.

When his soldados moved to follow, Frankie blocked the doorway with an arm.

Rory looked at me, and I could tell he was dying to have his men with him.

I shrugged, pretending not to notice. "My home is secured, so we don't need them."

Rory nodded and waved at his soldados to step back. Frankie slammed the door shut and waited.

I sank into the chair behind my desk. My hand brushed under it, making sure the gun was still there.

"I have to say congratulations on your new position." Rory scanned the office, before looking back to me. "It's not easy to be Don."

Praising me while reminding me he's the new Marchesi boss?

Smooth.

I stared at him. "Get to the point, Marchesi." I said flatly.

"Alright, I get it. You're the one in charge now," Rory began. "But taking fifty percent of my territory is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" I spat. "No, I'm being generous."

"You've made me the laughingstock of Boston. As if Giovanni hasn't humiliated my family enough for decades!"

At the mention of his name, rage surged through me. "Don't you dare say his name!" I shouted. "You knew they were going to murder him, and you let it happen!"

Rory blinked, unmoved. "We both know Vincenzo was the brains behind that operation."

"Yeah, well, Sebastian shouldn't have been so greedy and left himself wide open." I leaned forward, keeping my voice low and lethal. "You get to keep fifty percent because I said so."

I stood, my voice thundering. "AND YOU'RE GOING TO BE FUCKING GRATEFUL, RORIANO."

Rory's teeth flashed, but his eyes grew dark. "I want my territories back."

He didn't understand who was in charge here.

"No," I said firmly.

He rose to his feet. "This isn't over."

"No," I glanced at my watch. "But this meeting is."

When Rory finally left, I reached for a bottle of beer inside the fridge.

"You know he's going to the Senate, right?" Frankie asked.

"Yeah, what's more embarrassing than admitting your dad was a shady crook before all the Dons in the country?" I said, drinking the beer. "He's lucky he gets to keep that title."

Frankie looked at me. "So, who bailed you out? I know your sister couldn't have."

I narrowed my eyes on him. "It was a performer from Santini's place. Doesn't matter."

Frankie started to smile slowly, shooting me a knowing look. "Yeah, that's actually smart, Dante; keep your loyalists off the record."

My heart started to beat faster; actually, it galloped. Yeah, maybe that was the plan. One thing for sure. I hadn't seen the last of Sierra.

* * * * * * * *

SIERRA

"Alright, who told him?" I demanded.

The girls in the dressing room, who had been rushing to finish their makeup and slipping on their outfits, all turned to me.

I wagged my fingers at them. "Who told the Mafia guy that they were so jealous of the Vixens?"

An arm wrapped around my shoulders. "Uh oh." Lilith, whose real name was Betty, sighed. "Who pissed off Odette over here?"

I gave her a playful push. Apparently, they would never stop teasing me about ballet.

"Hey genius, half the guys who walk in here are in the Mafia." Someone called out.

"Mobsters." Brittany spat as she applied silver eyeshadow. "Doesn't matter where they're from, they're all dirtbags."

"And also our biggest tippers." A smooth voice said.

The entire room grew quiet.

Everyone rushed back to their mirrors. I turned to see Scarlett, whose real name was, well, Scarlett. She didn't believe in stage names.

She'd been working for Santini since the day she turned legal, and was good.

So good, in fact, everyone was a little scared of her.

"Which means whatever money you get from the 'dirtbags.'" Scarlett looked at Brittany. "Pays for your bills and that limited edition eyeshadow."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She tossed her hair and turned away.

"Maybe don't gossip so much before Santini takes a cut out of our paychecks." Scarlet said.

Speak for yourself. I thought. I was basically working for free.

She turned to me. "So, what, Sierra? Do you own every man that comes in here?"

I raised my palms in defense. "I'm trying to keep my reputation clean here."

"Don't remind me about that little show you threw." Scarlett said with a scoff. "He's Boston top dog, which means he owns Santini's ass and ours. Next time you want to throw a 'feminist speech, save it for a church or something."

I tried to laugh it off. "Scarlett, you're still mad about that? It was ages ago."

"It was three weeks ago." Scarlett commented and went to sit in front of her mirror.

One day, I'm going to walk out of this club, and no one will ever speak to me like that again.

I heard my cell phone ringing. I grabbed my purse and pulled out the flip phone Seth had given me for contact.

Shoot.

I snuck into the bathroom and answered the call.

"Tell me you made progress." Seth said.

"Um...we had breakfast. And you're probably not going to like this-he got pissed off because I couldn't pay the bills fast enough."

Sure, I'd purposely handed the waitress a bad card-a little test. Dante fell for it. But he was still mad.

"What?!"

"Well, I warned you."

"We cannot afford that, you understand? Talk to him again; be direct. Guys like it when you're upfront about that stuff."

I bit down on my lower lip.

Apologizing to that jerk would be the lowest I've ever gone. I glanced at my stiletto heels.

Okay-maybe second lowest.

"Except he's not just a guy." I muttered.

"When he comes to the club, talk to him."

"Sure thing."

When Seth hung up, I threw my head up and groaned heavily.

When the club was in full swing, an hour later, I waited for Dante.

I had to perform for a CEO first, ignoring his devious grin.

"You want to work for an extra tip?" He kept asking.

It was a common phrase here. Like I'd ever stoop that low.

As I swung on the pole, imagining I was doing a pirouette, I'd found a way to mix ballet and exotic dancing. It always kept me in focus.

A hand grabbed my leg.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" He called.

The music blared too loud for anyone to notice us-everyone was caught up in their own conversation.

"Let go." I warned, kicking his face; he grunted, swearing at me.

He stood, full of anger. "Why you little-"

He lunged for me.

I froze, just for a second.

Suddenly a hand grabbed him from behind, a fist smashed into his chest with a crunch, and I heard his breath leave him.

Who the hell?