Chapter 2
Gia
I can’t believe my fingers are actually shaking as I pull the strap of my closed-toe heel. Well, it’s not mine, per se, but one I’m borrowing to work the VIP area tonight. That’s not the point. I’m rambling, even in my head.
Does Castor make me that nervous?
Thinking back to a time in my teens when I overheard him asking my brother if I should be invited to his eighteenth birthday party makes me forget how to breathe. Imagine—Castor DeMatteo, considering me?My boyfriends were all my age, nerd-adjacent, and not at all daring like the mobster guys. To think an older boy as hot as him even had a thought about me, ugh. That’s what it feels like again, all these years later. Looking in the Bangos bathroom mirror makes me scoff. My face is glistening with sweat from running around all night. It should be dark in that room – like club dark, but still, he’s inviting me to be one of his hot-ass servers. I should play the part a little bit, right?
Dabbing a paper towel over my face gives me some idea of where to reapply a little foundation. Not too much. I don’t want to come off as one of their goomahs… Just need enough to fit in.
As I carefully reapply, I’m lost in a memory of when those two idiots – my brother and Castor – rented a portable hot tub to be delivered to my parents’ backyard while they were away. They invited four slutty girls to join them, and little ol’ me was stuck in her room, peeking through the blinds wishing I was next to him. That was the first time I realized not only did he have a chiseled, perfect face, but his body was rock hard too. That was before all the gold rings and endless tattoos. God, he’s even hotter now.
When I remember where I am, I notice I’m blushing.
What would a top Valentino family earner want with a brown-eyed, run-of-the-mill server at Bingo Bangos? I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe Marco just told him to keep an eye on me or something.
Well, now’s my chance to go find out how my brother is. I adjust my breasts to be perfectly situated, then walk out of the bathroom. The night shift servers are all bright and bubbly in the main dining area, and I do my best to walk right past them, toward the curtained-off section with two bouncers blocking it.
The last thing I need is a gossip train leading back to Stacey.
What am I doing?
I question myself now that I’m face-to-face with a mountain of a man blocking my way.
“Ms. Gia Castellano, Castor is expecting you.” He steps aside and guides open the curtain. “Center table.”
“The one with four gold-plated Dom Pérignons? Typical.”
The bouncer smirks at me.
“That’s Bullion for you.”
“I hate that nickname,” I say.
“Go tell him that.” We share a laugh.
“Maybe I will.” I raise my eyebrows and strut into the VIP room.
The club music pumps through my toes all the way up to my chest as soon as I step foot inside. I can’t believe the level of jitters rushing through me. No. I can’t believe I actually agreed to come in here. There’s an empty stage to my left with gaudy strip lighting illuminating the edges, and to my right sits fifty or so mobsters and their arm-candy, each at marble tables with red-felt chairs and center inlets for their chilled champagne.
A serving woman passing by is almost a full foot taller than me, with double the boobs and booty. It makes me feel like I already don’t belong.
“Hey, hey. Sweetheart. I need a refill here! Move it or lose it, hunnie.” An inebriated man with slicked-back black hair and a long face holds up his empty drink, wiggling the ice back and forth so I’ll help him.
The edgy waitress in me wants to tell Italian Abraham Lincoln to settle the fuck down, but I remember myself. I’m no longer in Marty’s jurisdiction. These aren’t the common-douche folk of Bingo Bangos. These are mobsters. The Extra-douche folk with a capital E.
I lean over and smile as pleasantly as I can while grabbing the glass. One of the men on the other side of the table grunts ‘Minca,’ which I understand to mean he likes the way my ass is shaped.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m having, sweetheart?” Abraham Lincolnzano asks.
I stare at his cup even though I already know what it is based on the distinct smell. “Hendricks Gin on the rocks with one lime,” I say.
Abraham’s jaw drops as he looks to his friends. “Woman’s a fuckin’ tarot card reader or some shit. Tell me, hunnie. What am I thinkin’ right now? I’ll bet you could guess.” That sloppy grin of his makes me want to recoil, but I don’t let it show.
“Oooh, sorry. My talents are only limited to empty drinks.” I frown.
“Mm. Well, I’ll just tell you, then. Hoping to see your fine ass on that stage later. I’ll be lookin’.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat. What the hell is happening on stage later? This isn’t a strip club. We don’t have any of the licenses to even pretend to be one. I’m becoming more uncomfortable by the minute here. I turn away from my original path to Castor and redirect to the private bar across the way.
The last thing I want to see is a bunch of horny men dribbling over strippers and shoving singles into anything with two legs that walks by. It’s not that I’m a prude or anything, I’m just… tired.
Alright, I’m lying.
I’m not tired anymore. I just don’t want the allure of Castor DeMatteo to be ruined.
I tell the bartender the drink I need and become lost in her big green eyes. Jeez, if she’s affecting me like this, I can’t imagine how those dogs over there are going to survive the night. She’s a ten model. What the hell am I doing here?
My eyes flick to Castor about ten times on my way back to delivering Lincolnzano’s drink. He’s guarded by his friends mostly, and still no sign of my brother. It’s time to report to my post – no more distractions.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
My clacking heels are drowned out by the music, so I’m left standing in front of Castor’s table for a full ten seconds unnoticed. One of his friends does a line of coke on the glass, then rubs the residue on his teeth.
Shit. My heart twists at the sight. Is this what Castor does with his nights? Well, of course. But… being away from mob life for so long made me forget how jarring it could be.
The guys laugh when the cokehead comes up for air.
“That’s a new record for Zippy. Nine lines? How’s the bastard even alive? Hah, hah, hah.” A larger man belly-laughs, slaps Castor’s back, then finally notices a hopefully hot waitress is standing there like an idiot. “Oh my, oh me. Hello, lovely. Haven’t seen you around these parts.” The big man with big lips extends his hand, asking for mine. I’d be an idiot to reject him.
I take a second – since they kept me waiting – then lift my hand daintily, and he kisses it a little too slowly. “Participating tonight?” He puckers his lips, then receives a swift slap upside the head.
“That’s Hairtrigger’s sister, you dope.” Castor growls, and the big man drops my hand like it caught fire.
He grimaces. “Ah, um. Sorry, hun. Had no idea. You dressed up like all the others. Wait.” He turns to Castor. “Marco has a sister?”
Castor smirks at his friend, then switches his gaze to me.
I nearly melt on the spot. The club lighting passes through his eyes to show just how light and blue they really are. They’ve seen so much, and mine so little. I feel like a fawn who glimpsed her hunter. If he told me to get on my knees and beg for it, I just might.
“A hidden one, yes. But it seems today, she’s come to pay us a visit.” Castor leans back in his seat, judging me. I guess Marco didn’t tell Castor to look out for me after all. I’m a little sad at that, honestly. I was hoping this wasn’t dumb chance.
He could be lying, though. All mobsters lie. That’s what they do.
A lanky man in a fitted suit brushes by me, and I swear I felt one of his fingers touch my backside. Castor clenches his jaw when he sees my face, but the moment passes.
“Yo, Bull. We got stage set for ten minutes. You good to go?” The man lifts his chin, waiting for an answer. His goatee screams sleaze, almost as much as his wandering fingers.
Castor nods curtly, not saying a word, and I wonder if that’s because his lanky assistant just tried to cop a feel on me.
“So, uh, is Hairtrigger’s sister working? Does she have a name?” the big man asks.
“Go take a walk, Big Ace. I need a word.” Castor tilts his head at me, the knife tattoo on his neck reaching high to prick him.
“You know you’re going to give me a heart attack with all this moving around.” Big Ace squints at Castor, who receives a death stare in return. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” He slaps the table for the other men to get up.
Castor tilts his head again for me to take a seat next to him, so I do, and am draped in his scent from how close we are. The view is nice, actually. The stage seems bigger from this angle, and I wonder again what the hell is happening.
“Didn’t know the Valentinos were into Broadway,” I say.
Castor hoots at that. “Nice to see you, Gia.”
The purr of his deep voice makes my thighs tingle. I’m scared to look over, because I might give in to all those teenage urges I had to suppress.
“You too, Bull.”
“What? Don’t like my street name?” He drapes his big arm over the curved booth ledge, and I catch myself wondering what it’d feel like wrapped around me.
I flick one of his rings to push the thought away. “You really grew into it, huh?”
“Yeah, you remember me when I was a football throwing schmuck, huh?”
“I never thought you were—” I stop myself, feeling my cheeks grow hot.
“Listen, kid, I thought I’d pay you up front for entertaining us tonight.” Castor slides two minted gold coins across the table, so close to his fingers that I’d have to touch them to get my pay.
“Kid? I’m only five years younger than you. You’re thirty, right?”
“Old habit. It’s hard to believe you’re a grown woman now.”
That made me blush harder. I hate that he’s calling back to our past – when I was a stupid girl pretending I wanted nothing to do with him.
“Marco would Tony Montana me if he saw you sitting here right now.” Castor arcs an eyebrow.
Wait… is he suggesting we’re flirting?
“That’s why I’m here,” I lie, voice cracking from nerves. “How’s my brother doing anyway?”
“He misses you… but respects you enough to keep his distance.”
“Where is he tonight? I’m shocked he’s not right by your side.”
“Out on business. He might stop by later, never know with him these days.” Castor’s cheek flinches.
Trouble in paradise, perhaps? It’s not something I want to press. An uneasy feeling crawls around my gut when one of the waitresses walking by gives me a look. A ‘you-don’t-belong-here’ look. I should remember my place, especially considering Castor is sliding my coins back and forth on the table.
“Is that my cue to get back to work?” I ask, daintily going in to get my pay. I’m careful not to touch his fingers, because I’m not going to be the one to start the flirting if—
His giant hand folds over mine – just for a moment, but it’s enough to know a flame the size of Alaska just ignited between us. That look in his eye is back, and I’m not entirely sure what to think. “Stay for a minute. Have a drink.” He lifts his hand, and I find the two gold coins in mine. “Catch up a bit.” He raises his hand for a waitress to come by. “Scotch on the rocks. Blue label, please.”
I eye him, getting a little bit more turned on that he treats his server with some semblance of respect. That’s one in a million in a place like this. Then when his eyes flick to mine, I shrink internally.
“Gia? You are old enough to drink now, aren’t you? Unless my math is all wrong.”
I giggle like an idiot. “Malibu and cranberry, please.”
What am I doing?
I run my manicured fingernail over the gold coin, then pretend to bite it to check if it’s real.
“Don’t trust me?” he purrs.
“Hm. I wonder why you pay in gold. Is it just to short the other side?”
He flashes a grin. “Always the day’s average value. Strike one.”
“Are you goading me to guess again?” I look up at him as if I’m peering over an invisible set of glasses. “Fine. Um… To keep your ugly ‘Bullion’ reputation intact?”
He tilts his head back and forth. “Maybe a little now, but no, that’s not why. Strike two.”
I rack my brain for another reason, but why the hell would someone do that other than what I already mentioned? “I don’t know, I give up. Some sentimental value? Maybe OCD?”
“Strike three and four. It’s to keep my brain sharp.” He pokes his own head. “Constantly calculating. Also, keeps my buyers distracted.”
I nod slowly. “Smart. I’m pretty distracted.”
“See how well it works?”
Our drinks come at the perfect time. I’m positively gleefully giddy despite my nerves, wondering if I should push my luck, then recoiling at myself for daring to even entertain the forbidden fruit. The first sip sends a ripple of energy through me.
“Aren’t you worried people are going to start talking?” I ask, then take another sip.
“Let them talk.” He drapes his arm over the booth ledge again, doubling down on the visual. “Marco knows where my loyalties lie.”
I deflate almost entirely. That’s not what I wanted to hear.
Does that mean I’ve been reading way too much into this whole situation? Am I just wasting my time letting myself enjoy his company? I’m back in goddamn high school again.
No. Screw that.
I inch closer to him, and I can see his brow furrowing at my move. “Funny. I thought the big Bull made his own decisions. Gold, women, and all.”
For the first time, maybe ever, Castor stammers. Then the lights suddenly go out, followed by the music.
I yelp, thinking some rival mob family pulled the plug and is about to mow us all down, Scarface style. “Oh thank God,” I whisper when the dimmers come back on. My hand rests on my chest to make sure my heart’s still beating.
A slow bass pumps through the floor.
“Gentlemen of la famiglia de Valentino, welcome tonight’s prime entertainment!” A man wearing a black suit with purple lapels walks out on stage, mic in hand. His gestures are big and broad as he presents a group of silhouettes standing in the dark behind him. “High-class women of the tri-state gather for a special night with some of the most eligible bachelors on the scene.”
“What the hell is this?” I scoot away from Castor, somewhat disgusted. “Are you assholes trafficking in public bars now?”
Castor snaps his tongue. “Will you cut it out, Gia. Didn’t you hear the man? These women want to be here.”
“I should start my shift.” I wiggle toward the end of the booth, and my breath hitches when his warm hand grips my arm.
“Gia.” His tone is stern, pulling my gaze back to him. “It’s not like that.”
I eye his fingers, and he releases his grip. “Oh? What’s it like?”
“It’s just a date. A little fun we have after big jobs. Keeps the family tight and talking, alright?” He pats the seat next to him.
He’s commanding when he has to be, while somehow retaining an air of smoothness. Then again, he didn’t have to say much to keep me here. Because I want to be at his table.
“Do you participate?” I ask, remaining at the edge of the booth, making him think I can dart away at any second. I’m aware enough of my own pining to like that he wants me to stay.
“Maybe, once in a while. But it’s just because I haven’t found the right girl yet.” His eyes don’t waver, and my throat runs dry.
Another sip of my drink should do the trick. There’s no way Castor is hinting at—no. No way. He’s never even glanced at me wantonly before. His eyes holding my gaze after not seeing him for so long comes roaring back, more than recognition… No, stop it, Gia. Marco would kill us both.
Yet I find myself scooting a little closer to him, unable to deny the yearning I’ve held onto for so many years. When his hand reaches for my knee under the table… I don’t swat him away.