Chapter Two
Matteo
T he door shuts behind her with a loud noise that can only be described as a slam. I wonder if she would be so brazen if she knew who I was.
Part of me can’t help but smirk at her obvious sass. The other wishes she’d had more of a walk before disappearing so I could watch her delectable ass sashay away from me a while longer.
She has no clue how provocative she is with the most mundane of actions. She snapped at me and made me want to bite her lip just to watch it bleed. She narrowed her eyes in anger, making me want to shove her to her knees and drive my cock down her throat just so I could see them widen. She called me pretty boy and made me want to show her just how ugly I am on the inside.
I need to know more.
Like what the fuck she’s doing at Firenze during the day, long before the hedonism of the night starts.
I follow her. She turns left at the end of the hallway towards where I know she’ll find Amadeo manning the host stand.
With my back pressed against the wall just around the corner, I hear her answer a question that I don’t catch.
“I’m here for the dancing job. I have an audition with Guido.”
“An audition?” Amadeo laughs derisively. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
“That’s what it is.”
Based on the frost in her tone when she answers, I can imagine the tension in her shoulders. It’s likely the same I saw when she was verbally sparring with me outside.
I remain hidden from both their eyesights.
“You’re here to shake and eventually bare your ass for him, sweetheart. Let’s not pretend like you’re going to be evaluated on your dancing .”
“It’s a job like any other. Just like, say, guiding people to their VIP tables instead of being able to afford one yourself,” she adds sweetly, that edge of ice still ever present in her voice. “Mine just pays better. Are you going to tell Guido I’m here or not?”
I don’t need to see Amadeo to know an explosion is on the horizon.
“You—”
“I’ll take it from here.”
Amadeo is red in the face, his features contorted in anger, every ounce of his rage aimed at the beautiful woman with a death wish standing in front of him.
When he sees me, he pales, his face losing all color. “ Caporegime —”
I cut him a silencing look. He chokes on whatever nonsense he was about to spout my way.
“Tell Guido she’s arrived but his services aren’t needed.” I flick my gaze over to her, acknowledging her for the first time since I walked in. Her hand is parked on her hip and she looks incensed at my presence. The answering grin that stretches my lips is entirely unfeigned. “I’ll be handling this audition myself.”
“No, you will not,” she answers crisply. Amadeo’s eyes widen comically when she turns back towards him, adding, “Call for Guido now, please. He’s who I want to audition with.”
“Shut up, puttana ,” he hisses at her.
I ignore the way my fists tighten in my pockets when he calls her a whore.
Trying to please me now, Amadeo tells me, “I believe stage one is where Guido usually auditions the girls.”
“We’ll take VIP one instead,” I order. “I don’t want to be disturbed.”
The clear warning in my tone makes him blanche. He nods hurriedly, desperate to please me, and inclines his head deferentially. “I’ll make sure you’re left alone.”
A shard of lucidity pierces through my single minded focus. I didn’t come to Firenze for this. In fact, getting distracted is the very last thing I should be letting happen given the real reason I’m here.
Checking my watch, I see that I have less than thirty minutes before my meeting starts. Spending them judging a stripper’s audition when that’s nowhere near my job’s responsibilities is foolish.
And yet I find that I can’t just let her walk away.
“Good. If Enzo comes looking for me, tell him where I am.” Stopping next to Amadeo, I whisper to him, “ Chiamala di nuovo puttana e ti strapperò il cuore. Capisce? ” Call her a whore again and I’ll rip your heart out. Understand? He nods, white as a sheet. “ Bene .”
I turn my attention back towards the girl to find her watching us both with wary eyes. “Follow me.”
Without looking to see if she does so, I start for the stairs towards the VIP rooms.
Her footsteps don’t follow. Stubbornness makes a home for itself in her voice when she calls from behind me, “I won’t audition with anyone but Guido.”
I’d bet my family’s fortune that she’s never met the man. If she had, she wouldn’t be so eager to be in a room with a locking door with him, let alone spending any unnecessary time in his presence.
“You know where the door is,” I retort emotionlessly, continuing up the stairs.
Her muttered curse is identifiable as a swear word thanks to her tone, even if it isn’t delivered in English. It’s followed by the sound of angry footsteps being intentionally slammed against the stairs. The steps are covered in velvet so the fact that she’s able to pull a noise out of them at all speaks to the force with which she stomps after me.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” she questions churlishly.
“On a Saturday?” I smile to myself. “I don’t, no. Get changed here,” I toss over my shoulder at her, motioning to a bathroom.
She comes to a screeching halt, parking that same impertinent hand on that same sassy hip.
“How do you know I need to change? Maybe I plan on auditioning in what I’m currently wearing.”
When I turn, she meets my hard stare boldly. I stalk towards her, closing the distance between us one deliberate step at a time. A predatory glint shines in my eye as I drop my gaze to her uninspiring hoodie. Only the movement of her throat reveals that she’s affected by me at all.
“This position requires full nudity,” I say in a low voice. “Or were you not informed?”
She swallows and that small, innocuous movement hardens my cock until it’s throbbing against the zipper of my trousers.
“I was told.”
My gaze lingers on her mouth. “And you’re willing?”
Her answer is nothing more than a whispered breath. “Yes.”
“Then you’ll strip for me.” My eyes drag back up to meet hers. “And you’ll do it in an outfit you’d wear on stage for our customers.”
This close, with our height difference, I have a front row seat to watching her pupils dilate at my words. Heat leaks freely into her irises before she blinks, masking the arousal away like it was never even there.
“Who the hell are you?” she rasps.
I run a finger along the line of her jaw until I get to her chin. Tilting it up, I let my eyes roam over her face. “I believe I asked you the question first.”
A tremor runs through her. I feel the weight of her eyes boring into my back as I walk away.
???
This section of the club is off limits to everyone except the one percenters who have been vetted and approved by the Famiglia .
Firenze is first and foremost a nightclub, but for those select few, we offer premium services. While those include classic striptease dances, Firenze isn’t a seedy strip club. The dancers we have on staff here are expected to be beautiful, highly trained, and have a je ne sais quoi quality—an indescribable something about them that can draw our VIP customers in and get them spending cash.
Based on the fact that she’s already managed to completely deviate me off my intended course, this woman already meets two of the three criteria. Her dancing skills remain to be assessed.
I’m seated in one of the plush, velvet chairs in our largest VIP room when I hear the side door open and out she walks.
My chest clenches painfully when I glance up from my phone.
An angel.
A literal , motherfucking angel.
A dizzyingly tall stiletto emerges first, followed soon after by the rest of her.
She’s wearing a white bodysuit trimmed with lace at the hips and wrists, every inch of her curvy body highlighted in the tight fabric.
The real showstopper is the plunging neckline that reaches all the way down to her belly button. Cording along the decolletage is the only thing that keeps her considerable breasts from falling out of the scrap of clothing she’s wearing.
She’s paired the bodysuit with an equally white choker highlighting her slender neck, a floating halo, and a pair of wings affixed to her back.
My throat dries at the sight of her. I’m suddenly parched like I just spent ten days walking through a desert.
I can’t get enough of looking.
In fact, I don’t know where to look at all.
She was mesmerizing in leggings and a ratty t-shirt but she’s sex on legs in this attire.
I clear my throat in desperate search of relief, but none comes.
Her cocky smirk tells me my reaction isn’t going unnoticed. That only further hardens my cock, her confidence likely the most attractive thing about her.
Her hand finds her cocked hip once more. “Seems to me you approve of my outfit change.”
Visions assault me of tying her hands to my bedframe and fucking her slow to punish her for giving me attitude.
“Are you going to tell me who you are?” I ask.
“I’m a stripper looking for a job.”
My gaze hardens on her. “Tell me your name or this audition ends now.”
Her tongue plays in her cheek as she considers me for a moment. “I’m Misty.”
“Misty,” I deadpan.
“That’s right.”
“I didn’t mean your stage name. Give me your real name.”
“How do you know that’s not my real name?”
“Unless the plan was always for you to be a stripper, I highly doubt your mother gave you that name at birth.”
“Maybe she did,” she quips back. “Maybe stripping is the family business. Maybe I’m a third generation stripper and you just insulted my entire family.”
I chuckle darkly. My hands clutch the ends of the armrests as I lean back and get comfortable, the tension easing out of my body.
With a wave, I indicate the stage.
“Then show me.”
The first hint of indecision shadows her eyes. I’ve watched enough dancers walk through these doors to recognize the real from the fake.
That’s the confirmation I was looking for.
“Excuse me?”
I know two things for sure.
One, this girl isn’t a fucking stripper. In fact, she may not even be a dancer.
“Show me how good you are at the family business, Misty.” A rumble rolls lazily up my chest and I tip my chin at the stage with a growl. “ Strip .”
And, two.
She doesn’t fucking remember me.