Chapter Nine
Matteo
T he day after my conversation with Emiliano Marchesani, Enzo and I meet with Patrick O’Shea, the longtime Police Commissioner for the Met. He’s been in my father’s pocket for ten years and has only him to thank for his ascension to the highest rank in the service.
His loyalty should be ironclad. Convincing him to join forces with me shouldn’t be easy, but like many other things, my father has let the relationship slip over the few years.
Where it used to be a mutually beneficial arrangement with O’Shea receiving monthly bribes in exchange for directing his men to look the other way when it came to our business, my father decided to withhold cash payments and instead started resorting to good old fashioned blackmail to get what he wanted out of him.
Consequently, getting O’Shea to align with me is far easier than anticipated. His newfound hatred of my father means that he readily agrees to my terms and the meeting is over in under thirty minutes.
We’re in the car on the way to Firenze when Enzo asks, “Do you think he’s actually trustworthy?”
“No, but he’s as trustworthy as anyone else we’re getting over to our side,” I muse. “Wire him a payment as a show of good faith that we’ll keep our promises.”
“Got it, boss. Thirty?”
“Fifty,” I tell him. “The only thing I trust is he’ll be motivated by greed. Fifty should help solidify him to our cause.”
He nods as we walk into the club, then frowns when he sees me head in a direction other than my office.
“You don’t want to have a drink?” he asks.
“I do. I’m going to VIP for a while. It’s important that I start spending more time with the rest of the crew,” I explain. “I’ve been on the sidelines for too long. That needs to change.”
Enzo crosses his arms. “Is that the only reason?”
“What other reason would there be?”
As always, my cousin sees too much.
“Guido told me the new girl is in the rotation tonight.” He looks down at his watch. “Coincidently, her set appears to be starting in just a few minutes.”
“That is quite a coincidence,” I reply steadily. “Any reason you seem to have memorized the dancers’ schedule?”
“Yes. Looking out for you, as I always have.” Enzo clasps my shoulder, his face devoid of any expression. “Remember that once Marina comes into the picture, there won’t be room for anyone else. There can’t be.”
I shake him off, annoyed. “I’m well aware of that. You’re worried about nothing, I’m only going for a drink. Unlike you, I have no idea who dances when.”
“Of course not.”
I leave him without another word and head for the main room. There’s a buzz in the air as a few girls mill around the area, entertaining the various men in attendance.
They quiet as I walk into the room.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve come here before, and my sudden appearance makes the staff and customers apprehensive.
Taking no further notice of it, I head for one of the available velvet chairs facing the stage and get comfortable. A waitress in a barely there outfit immediately appears and takes my order, coming back seconds later with a finger of scotch and a bowl of mixed nuts.
The lights dim further, the music starts, and out she comes, the object of my fixation. Unlike the last time I saw her dance, Melody isn’t in a themed costume. She’s in a pink bodysuit that fuses delicate fabric with expertly placed mesh cut outs that reveal almost every inch of her skin. Her tits are entirely out except for two strips covering her nipples. An equally tiny triangle covers the line of her bare pussy. A vein pulses dangerously at my temple.
She reaches center stage and leans against the pole, reaching up and behind her to grab it with both hands as she gets into starting position for her set.
Her eyes immediately find mine and I see something flash in them.
Something like a challenge.
The music starts and Melody turns, revealing the back of her bodysuit. I suck in a strangled, angry breath. It’s a thong and it bares her entire ass to the crowd, leaving nothing to the imagination because her plump ass is entirely on display for their fucking eyes to feast upon.
She flicks her hair over her shoulder and stares insolently back at me, an arrogant smirk curling her lip when she sees the tortured expression on my face.
My stomach tightens, my fists clenching painfully at seeing her body on display like that. She’s found a way to skirt around my no nudity rule. Glancing around me with sharp, murderous eyes, I see that I’m not the only one who’s taken notice of the goddess occupying the stage.
She starts dancing, shaking her ass to the beat of the music, and my anger rises until I’m sure steam is billowing out of my ears. I’m usually expertly controlled, proud of my inability to be rankled or goaded into reacting. It’s a skill honed by the years of torture at my brother’s hands and it’s been unfaltering since.
Until Melody.
There’s something about her that makes me lose my fucking mind.
Fuck the consequences.
Fuck what it means.
And especially fuck that outfit. I’ll be using it as kindling once I rip it off her backstage.
I wave to Guido and he comes trotting over obediently. “Yes, boss?”
“Tell her to come down,” I demand, barely able to get the words out through my tightly clenched jaw.
His eyes fly to the stage. It takes everything in me not to grip his face and turn it away.
Or tear it clean off.
How dare he look? Did I say he could look?
“Come… down?” he asks, unsure. “I can, boss, but I thought you liked her.”
The more time he wastes questioning my orders, the more time she spends up there shaking her ass for a dozen other men to see. That makes me want to unholster my gun and shoot up the place.
“Get her the fuck down, Guido.” I blow out an angry breath through my nostrils. I’m struggling for control. “She can do table service tonight.”
Her eyes never leave mine as I tilt my head to speak to Guido. My vision blackens with every sway of her hips.
She’s running her hands brazenly down her body as her eyes challenge me. It’s almost like she’s dancing just for me. It’d be unbelievably hot if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m far from the only one with eyes on her.
Not for fucking much longer.
“ Guido ,” I warn.
Her eyes flash when she sees him leave my side and come towards her. She lowers herself down to her knees, her head tilting to the side as she listens to whatever he whispers in her ear, and then she shakes her head.
She shakes.
Her fucking .
Head.
I’m out of my seat and storming down to the stage before I can second guess the wisdom of my decision. I’ve taken three steps when a hand clamps down around my elbow and stops me.
Enzo appears, the congenial smile on his face meant to signal to everyone around us that nothing is wrong. He must have been keeping an eye on me from the shadows, intervening when he saw it was needed.
“If you cause a scene, you’ll be painting a target on her back. And yours,” he whispers, that performative smile still on his goddamn face. “ Think .”
I’m fuming, my nostrils flaring as I stare her down. But she’s still dancing, ignoring my obvious rage.
“Get her down from there,” I repeat for the third time, as irate as I’ve ever been that she’s still on that fucking stage.
If he doesn’t do what I ask, if he makes me repeat myself a fourth time, I’m going to fucking explode. No one wants to see that, I guarantee it.
His grip on my shoulder tightens painfully. He tries to reason with me but I’ve had enough. “Matteo, think about what you’re doi—”
The words claw past my throat. “It’s her , Enzo.”
His brows knit together, his face twisting in confusion. It takes him a second to process and then his features smooth out in understanding.
“It’s her,” I repeat, somehow out of breath.
He looks at Melody for long seconds, grimaces, then turns back towards me.
“I’ll take care of it,” he announces, abandoning his previous rationalization tactics. “You sit back down.”
Without waiting for an answer, he saunters to the platform and jumps onto the stage. He faces the audience with a cocky grin on his face and wraps his fingers around Melody’s wrist.
“Sorry boys,” he swaggers arrogantly. “Think I’ll keep this one for myself.”
The men erupt in raucous laughter and bawdy cheers as he tugs Melody off the stage.
She resists, tugging against his hold. Enzo wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her backstage. Just seeing his hands on her makes me want to pummel his face in, a reaction that’s doubly concerning for its very existence and the fact that I have absolutely no right to be possessive of her.
I should be thankful that Enzo pulled the attention away from me and over to him. Instead, seething, primal jealousy slithers into my chest.
I drop into my chair and down my drink, motioning for another. The waitress sets it on my table just as Melody reappears and heads for the bar. She’s in a new outfit that covers all the important bits except for a plunging neckline, but I consider it a win.
With her clothed and back under my watchful gaze far from Enzo, I feel my pulse settle, my anger slowly dissipating. It’s replaced by hot, sizzling excitement as she storms my way with a tray in hand and an expression on her face that suggests she might attempt to beat me to death with it.
Gladly. If she does, I’ll use it to spank the ever loving shit out of that tight ass of hers.
“What the hell is your problem?” she hisses, electrified by her anger. Her lips are a dark shade of red, the color of spilled, drying blood.
The waitress who was previously serving me appears and politely tries to point out that this is her table.
“I’ll take care of him,” Melody snaps at her.
I wonder if she has any idea how much those suggestive words heat the blood in my veins. I dismiss the waitress with a flick of my hand and focus on the furious brunette.
“You can dance once you’ve figured out how to dress appropriately,” I announce.
Her mouth parts, indignation coloring her features. Both of her hands go to her hips. “I’m sorry, is this or is this not a strip club? It’s my literal job description to be inappropriate.”
My eyes narrow on her. “I was very clear about the rules if you wanted to work here.”
A distressed breath slips past her lips. I want to smother them with my own, to suck that sound right into my mouth and make it mine. Raw, aching need barrels through me like a category five hurricane making landfall.
“And I followed them,” she argues.
“You really think having your ass out is in line with the no nudity rule?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “There was fabric.”
My upper lip curls back over my teeth in displeasure. “See through fabric.”
“You should have been more specific with your rules,” she quips back insolently.
I laugh at that. A hint of a smile curls the corner of her lips before she smothers it.
“It’s not a laughing matter, Matteo.” The way she rasps my name sends a painful pang straight to my cock. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m finally hearing her say it. “Just because you auditioned me does not mean you get to dictate what I wear and how I dance. I have a living to make and you’re interfering with it.”
“You report to me, you work for me ,” I remind her. “That means I get to tell you exactly what I want.”
A deep blush creeps steadily up her neck at my words. Something dark and unidentifiable stirs behind my ribcage. It feels like a hidden monster of mythical proportions.
“From what I understand, I work for your father, not you.”
My face hardens, my features turning black. Melody takes a step back but I reach out and wrap my hand around her wrist, tugging her forward until she’s bending over me.
“You work for me , pavona . And you should thank your lucky stars that you do, because—” My mind goes lethally quiet when I notice faint bruising along the line of her throat. “Did someone try to fucking choke you?”
The theory that she’s here to escape an abusive boyfriend is starting to firm up, and I’m going to string his fingers together on a necklace for laying a hand on her.
Melody tugs at my wrist, in vain.
“Let me go,” she urges.
“Answer the question.” I squeeze her wrist, forcing her eyes to meet mine. “I’ll kill him, pavona ,” I vow softly.
“Who?”
“Whoever laid a fucking hand on you. Tell me.”
A vulnerable look crosses her face and her lips part. I lean forward in my seat slightly, already hooked before she’s even said a word.
There’s a flash of hair and then a statuesque blonde drops into my lap. Her arms wrap around my neck as she looks at me flirtatiously from beneath her lashes.
“Matteo,” she purrs.
I frown, my lips flattening in displeasure. I don’t know who she is. Judging by her lack of outfit, I’d guess she’s another one of the dancers. Why she thinks sitting on me is a sane idea and why she chooses this very moment to test out said hypothesis is beyond me. I’m about to show her just how much of a failure her little experiment is.
The momentary distraction gives Melody the perfect opportunity to wrench her wrist free from my hold. She deftly evades my immediate attempt to recapture her.
Her eyes glare daggers first at the blonde, then me.
Then she walks off.
My anger comes flaring back, this time with a brand new target as I watch Melody disappear backstage. I turn slowly towards the intruder.
“Get the fuck off me.” I shove the blonde off my lap and she falls to the ground with a loud, satisfying thunk . I stand, towering over her, and she glances fearfully back up at me. “Do that again and I’ll be the last person you ever touch. Are we clear?”