The Mafia's Bride
one of them said, eyes glued to the counter.
"I know, right? They're all fire, but the dark angel? Her legs are something else," the other chimed in.
Giovanni's brow twitched, irritation flaring as he processed who they were talking about.
He leaned forward. "Which one?"
"The dark angel," the man replied, grinning. "I swear, if I could take her home, I'd—"
"You try," Giovanni cut in coldly, his voice low and sharp, "and you're dead."