Sasha worked the top tier where the family could better protect her. Like the VIPs she served drinks to, she was protected from the others in the club. Giovanni wanted her sitting at the table with the family, but his woman was stubborn and very determined to work in order to pay for the care of her brother on her own. He could see he was going to have to choose his battles with her carefully.
He enjoyed watching her. It no longer mattered if everyone saw him. Their engagement had been announced and his ring was on her finger. She had the protection of the Ferraro family, and that made him happy. Still, he couldn’t help but be on edge. The feeling of dread persisted in the pit of his stomach and kept him on alert.
Sasha came to their table often and each time she came up to his side, her body subtly brushed up against his. He was careful, knowing others watched, to not touch her where anyone could see, but it was easy enough to drop one hand below the table and stroke her leg, up her thigh, taking in all that smooth skin.
Sasha did small things to make him aware of her. She dropped a napkin in his lap, and when she retrieved it with a small, shocked apology, her fingers slid over his cock. She didn’t need to touch him for his body to react to her presence, but when she did, it wasn’t just about the sexual response, it was the fact that she was playing. Teasing him. Making him the center of her attention without seeming to do so. He had never had that before, the way she made him feel as if he really were the center of her universe, and he looked forward to each time she came to their table.
The club was in full swing, packed with people dancing and drinking. Midnight had come and gone. Giovanni wanted the night over so he could spend time with his woman.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Francesca said. “I need to use the ladies’ room and then I would very much like my husband to dance with me again.”
Stefano kissed her hand and rose with her. At once, all the men stood. Two tables away and below them, Emilio and Enzo came to their feet. Francesca looked at Emmanuelle and rolled her eyes and laughed.
Salvatore held out his hand to Emmanuelle. “Dance with me, cousin. I’m not in the mood to hold women at bay.”
Emmanuelle stood and gave him a little curtsy. Giovanni glanced at his watch. His woman would be on her break in another five. He rose to his feet and stretched, wishing the metal was out of his leg and he could accompany Stefano. His family would be exacting payment for what John Darby had done to Sasha. He wanted to be there. He needed to be there, but those pins, bolts and plates that had saved his leg also prevented him from doing his job.
Emilio stepped in front of Stefano and Francesca as they started down the stairs. Ricco and Mariko followed. Emmanuelle and Salvatore were right behind. Giovanni’s other brothers, Vittorio and Taviano, all but prowled down the stairs. Geno and Lucca followed them. Enzo closed in behind them. Giovanni turned toward the bar that was set up in between the two tiers. There were two of them, one serving the upper level and the other the bottom row.
He watched as the Ferraro family captured the spotlight as they moved together, the men as well as Mariko and Emmanuelle wearing their signature pin-striped suits.
Francesca wore a little black dress that hugged her breasts and flared at her hips, the hem short. She wore heels and sheer stockings, her thick hair falling free to her waist. She was beautiful, and flashes went off, capturing every movement. Stefano walked with her, his arms around her, his mouth on her neck, then her shoulder, one hand sliding over her hip. Stefano was rarely with Francesca without touching her. Giovanni knew what that felt like. The moment he was with Sasha, he wanted his hands on her.
Stefano nuzzled Francesca’s neck as they threaded their way through the crowd. “You look beautiful tonight.”
She put her head back and smiled at him, her eyes warm and loving. “You picked out my dress.”
“It isn’t the dress.” He ran his hand over her hip. “I like touching you.”
“I like you touching me.” They were nearly to the ladies’ room, and he spun her around and took possession of her mouth. Francesca did what she always did, no matter where they were, no matter who was around, she gave herself to him, kissing him without reservation, trusting him to control the situation if they were in public.
Stefano loved that she gave him that control and trust. He spent a few long moments indulging himself. He loved her beyond everything and everyone in his life. She was his entire world and if anything happened to her—if anyone threatened her the way Giovanni’s woman was being threatened—he’d lock her up so fast her head would spin. Then he would go hunting until he found the culprit. He knew how frustrated his brother was, frustrated and angry. He couldn’t imagine being sidelined while his woman was in danger.
He watched Francesca disappear behind the door and, as always, when she wasn’t directly in his care, hard knots of tension developed in his gut. Mariko sent him a small smile and followed his woman in. Emmanuelle was added protection and then finally Enrica, Emilio’s sister. Emilio had trained her and she was a damn good bodyguard. That meant with Mariko, Emmanuelle and Enrica with Francesca, he could breathe easier.
He stepped into the men’s room, his cousins and brothers moving in a tight group after him. The lights threw shadows in all directions. He stepped into one and was instantly pulled into the tube, his body feeling as if it were flying apart. Somewhere behind him, he knew Vittorio had also chosen a shadow. They moved from shadow to shadow, unerringly seeking one house.
John Darby resided in an upscale community. Everyone knew where he lived because the parties were endless and his neighbors reported him often to the police in hopes of some relief from the continual noise and drunks vandalizing their neighborhood. Security gates were closed tight, presumably to keep out anyone who would protest the wild party going on.
Stefano blew past the gates and went straight to the two-story house. Wide, open balconies provided space for the men and women spilling out of the house. Glass broke as drunks smashed bottles and glasses against the walls or tossed them over the railing. Music blasted from somewhere inside, the sound reverberating through the entire valley. It was no wonder the neighbors complained. At one o’clock in the morning, they would want sleep, not to listen to John Darby’s particular brand of shrieking guitars.
Stefano moved unseen through the house, seeing the smashed furniture, the drugs and the half-dressed women and men as they wound themselves around one another. Cameras were mounted everywhere, so many in each room that every angle of the interior was being recorded. On the outside, each balcony had been given the same treatment.
Not seeing Darby anywhere throughout the house, Stefano caught another shadow and rode it to the master bedroom. The room was dark and Darby was alone in his bed. Porn was on the huge screen taking up one wall of his room. He was lying naked on the sheets, alternating looking between the screen and the mirror above his head while he frantically worked his very soft and uncooperative cock.
Vittorio emerged in the mouth of the shadow tube beside Stefano and pointed to the cameras that were set up to catch bedroom activities should a woman be so foolish as to join Darby in his room. The reports Stefano had read on Darby’s reality show proved more than one woman had made that mistake. The cameras were off, all four of them.