DANTE

I could have easily dodged the slap; I just stood there while the side of my face stung. I glared hard at Sierra.

A long time ago, I would have hit a girl for doing that and taking delight in it.

But it wasn't me anymore.

Besides, it wasn't smart to commit assault in front of a police department.

Sierra flinched, her fingers covered her lips as her eyes grew wide. "Omigod, I'm so sorry!"

I blinked, letting the rage simmer down, and flicked my fingers at Marco the driver—a silent signal not to intervene. 

"Don't tell Santini!" Sierra added.

I rolled my eyes. Of course, that's why she apologized.

Sierra straightened. "I mean, a little 'thank you' would have been nice."

Tilting my head to the side, I said. "You know what? You kind of remind me of an aunt—slapping me around while preaching about'courtesy'.”

Sierra scoffed, eyeing me. "You wish I were your aunt."

Without saying another word, I walked towards the car; Marco already held a door open for me.

"Wait, Dante," Sierra came up next to me. "How do you feel about breakfast?"

I shot her a look. "Doesn't Santini feed you glitter fairies?"

Sierra bristled. "I was just going to buy you breakfast, but never mind."

Then she started to walk away.

Turning to Marco, I let out a bitter chuckle. "Can you believe this chick? She wants to buy me freaking breakfast. Do I look that terrible?"

Marco's lips simply parted, but he couldn't say anything.

Yeah, I wasn't expecting him to compliment me either.

I shook my head. I could go for a damn coffee anyway.

"Yo, Sierra!" I called.

She turned to look at me.

Ten minutes later, we sat at a diner. I had a black beanie hat pulled low over my head.

A waitress slid plates of eggs, bacon, waffles, toast, and hot coffee onto the table.

Sierra looked up from her phone. "So, Gerald Locke's dad owns the biggest private capital firm in the city."

Diving into my food hungrily, I glanced up at her. "Yeah? So?"

"So, why'd you shoot him?"

I shrugged. Why was she interested anyway? I scanned the diner; there was only one other customer.

"Hey, he pulled a gun on me; I shot first. That's how self-defense works, sweetheart."

"That's not what really happened."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did those cops tell you that?"

Sierra leaned back in her seat, her eyes shifted, and she shook her head. "Hmm, no, I just read it...online?"

I didn't buy it, but I'll let it pass. For now. "You shouldn't believe what the media says about me; my business is my own."

"Well, you're a person of interest, Don," Sierra said, lowering her tone. "Like a news magnet, and only twenty-six? That's kind of impressive."

I looked up from my coffee. I was hungrier than I thought; I barely had more than a canapé last night.

"I must be losing my hearing, but did you just compliment me?"

"I just say what's realistic."

"Well, word of advice, and I'm serious, keep your 'realistic' opinion to yourself. And you don't breathe a word about the bail—especially not when you're yapping with your girlfriends.  Capisce?"

Sierra chomped into her bacon. "Once again, Dante, your sexism is loud and clear."

My lips tugged in the corner. "And it's also sexist to say using expensive men's hair gel is bad."

I don't know why I enjoyed watching her flare up; her face turned pink with embarrassment.

"I didn't write that note, and you really need to return it."

Ignoring that. I wiped my lips clean and signaled the waitress. "I'm stuffed."

I started to reach for my wallet, but Sierra held up a hand to stop me.

"I told you, I got it." Sierra handed her card to the waitress.

Honestly, I don't like women picking up the tab. The only woman I'd let pay is my sister, because she's a pain to argue with.

But still, the waitress probably thought I was a cheapskate with low balls.

"Ma'am, your card's been declined." The waitress whispered to Sierra, but enough for me to hear.

Yep, she was onto me.

"That can't be right; try again." Sierra said.

The waitress shook her head. "Yeah, it's definitely declined."

I watched Sierra pull out her purse, emptying cash and coins on the table, counting, and something twisted in my chest. You'd think being in a popular strip group like the Midnight Vixens would come with a lot of money.

Maybe Sierra was trying to embarrass me.

Feeling worse than yesterday, I handed my card to the annoying waitress.

"Hey, I got the complete bill." Sierra protested.

I shook my head, standing up. "Forget it."

Then I walked towards the exit, ignoring her calling me.

"Wait!" Sierra said.

I should have known better than to trust women.

Back at the manor, I took a long nap, showered, and did a quick change of clothes. Frankie was waiting for me by the door leading to the hallway to my father's—

My office.

I'd never dreamed of calling it mine. But here we are.

"How was Monte Carlo?" I asked with sarcasm.

Frankie smirked. "How was jail?"

I glared at him. "Delightful. Locke thinks he's a wiseguy, cheating me out of paying for the cigars."

"I told you to let me handle it." Frankie sighed.

"Yeah, who'd have thought the bastard would try to kill me, huh? The crackhead could barely land a bullet. See, they added a charge—turns out breaking some idiot's fingers, gets you fined. Fix that and the Locke thing too."

"You got it, boss."

I noticed Frankie's demeanor had shifted. "What?"

"You had a scheduled ten a.m. meeting." Frankie informed nervously.

I looked at my watch. "It's twelve-fifteen."

Frankie shrugged. "Well, he insisted on waiting."

Whatever, no one was more important than me.

Then Frankie unlocked the door.

Everything in me froze mid-step. 

Sitting on a bench in the hallway, Roriano Marchesi glanced at me. His eyes were as deadly as a viper ready to strike, while the memory of putting two bullets in his father's chest crashed back.

Rory stood, his voice cold and blunt. "Hello, Capofamiglia."

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?