Chapter 4 If You Were Mine #2
“Take it away, Boy Wonder,” she says, using my DJ name.
She takes her headphones off as I put mine on and we switch spots.
I adjust the levels on the decks to suit the song I’ll start the set with when I notice the crowd below me part like the Red Sea.
I know before I even see her that she’s here.
I feel it like an electric current zipping through my body.
She comes into view, head held high as she calmly and confidently makes her way through the throng of people.
She’s wearing a slinky little black dress that skims her curves, landing mid-thigh to show off her toned legs.
No sign of her plus one. Thank fuck. Didn’t feel like going to jail tonight anyway.
Instead, her best friends Stella and Evie flank her.
The boys and I have always jokingly dubbed them Charlie’s Angels, a name that’s stuck because even though they are still totally inseparable they could not all be more different.
Where Sophia possesses a glamorous European beauty, Stella is tall and curvaceous. Then there’s Evie, petite with a big personality full of sunshine that people are drawn to. Like Seb, she’s entrepreneurial and can’t sit still, hence her nickname “pocket rocket.”
I begin my set relying on muscle memory, so I don’t have to take my eyes off Sophia as she walks towards the stairs leading to the VIP section.
She’s bloomed even more over the last few years; her features have matured, and her womanly body is toned with curves in all the right places.
The dress she’s wearing wraps around her neck and is cut-away at the side of her body, revealing just a hint of her perky tits before it dips down low to the small of her bare back.
I trace the curve of her spine with my eyes, wishing I could do the same with my tongue.
Her dark golden-brown hair is piled effortlessly in a bun on top of her head with tendrils left to frame her face.
Her skin is bronzed and glowing and she’s added winged black liner to her almond shaped honey-brown eyes.
Her pouty lips are painted red, and I can’t help but think about all the ways I want to use that sassy, sexy mouth.
For the next thirty minutes I experience a new brand of torture.
Watching as she wraps her luscious lips around a straw and sips her cocktails while talking animatedly with her best friends and acquaintances who stop by the bar to catch up with her and congratulate her brothers, who are seated nearby sipping scotch.
A pang of longing hits and I realize how much I’ve missed having her in my orbit.
She keeps looking towards the DJ booth, like she’s trying to catch a glimpse of me.
She can’t see me, but I have a glorious view of her.
She’s radiant, the happiest I’ve seen her in a while.
Every time she throws her head back on a laugh, a bolt of possessiveness runs through me.
I want every single one of her laughs for myself.
I’m already texting Trix to come back and take over the decks when I notice him.
Dressed in all black, sleeves rolled up to reveal two sleeves of tattoos.
Antonio John “AJ” Gigioliotti. The son of Gino Gigioliotti, a notorious Sicilian Mafia figurehead, who I escorted to Sicily for a covert operation that required round-the-clock surveillance.
It was intense and exhausting and, ironically, the assignment that made me miss Sophia’s twenty-first birthday.
However, spending so much time with the enigmatic New York entrepreneur, a man as revered for his business prowess as he is feared for his alleged mob connections, forged a bond built on loyalty, trust, and respect.
I keep my circle small because there are very few who prove to have the trifecta.
We’ve remained firm friends and allies since, but we’ve kept the fact under wraps to avoid becoming gossip fodder.
We each deal with enough of that separately without giving the hounds more to write about.
Yet, in this instant I’m seriously reconsidering that friendship and mulling over how to claw out his pretty green eyes glinting with far too much interest as they roam over every inch of Sophia’s perfect body.
He leans down to introduce himself, and she gives him a dazzling smile in return as she offers her hand.
Taking it, he pulls her closer so he can give her a kiss on each cheek, as is customary for Italians, lingering a bit too fucking long for my liking.
I feel like I’m about to black out from…
rage? Jealousy? Both. I know it’s irrational given AJ doesn’t know she’s mine.
She doesn’t even know it yet, a small voice echoes back.
I rip off my custom-made headphones and don’t even bother locking them away before I stride towards the door.
I’ve got a pre-recorded track playing until Trix returns.
I don’t know if it’s long enough, but I’m not sticking around to find out.
I take the stairs two at a time, passing Trix who’s racing up. “Whoa boy! Where’s the fire?”
I school my features and make a conscious effort to calm the fiery combination of jealousy, lust and want surging through me as I approach the bar where Sophia and AJ are still locked in conversation.
I quietly sidle up from behind, lightly touching her lower back to make my presence known.
She jumps slightly, arching her back so her ass grazes the front of my crotch.
Fuuccckkk. She looks over her shoulder but stops when she feels my mouth at the shell of her ear.
“It’s been a while. Looking good, Kitten.”
Turning to face me she places a hand on my chest and beams up at me with genuine pride.
“You did good, Marco-Boy. Congratulations on an amazing five years,” she compliments before adding shyly, “And yes, it’s been a while.”
“Eighteen months and five days, but who’s counting, right?” I murmur, watching her cheeks pinken as my response registers. She quickly turns her back to me and steps off to the side so she can make introductions.
“Ummm Marco, have you met AJ?” she stammers.
“We go way back,” I say before grasping his outstretched hand harder than necessary and pulling him in close to bump shoulders. “Good to see you, brother. But don’t even fucking think about it,” I growl into his ear. “She’s off limits.”
He chuckles knowingly as I put space between us. Then just to fuck with me, he diverts his attention back to the woman I’m desperate to be alone with.
“Sophia, would you like…” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Actually, Sophia and I have some catching up to do. You’re welcome to enjoy our top-shelf scotch on the house.”
“Marc—” Sophia goes to protest but falls quiet when I apply pressure to the small of her back and push her in front of me, signaling for her to start walking.
Staying close to her back, I deliberately brush my thumb across her soft skin and watch the goosebumps dance in response.
She looks up at me over her shoulder, skittish under my touch, but still defiant.
“One. That was rude. Two. I have a boyfriend.”
“You mean your plus one? ’Cause I don’t see him.”
There’s no fucking way I’m giving him that label. The honor belongs to me. She just doesn’t know it yet.
“He plays hockey. He had a game this weekend. He’s probably going to go pro, so he couldn’t miss it,” she explains.
“Good for him.” I guide her towards a private sound-proof booth at the far side of the VIP area and gesture for her to sit on the small velvet couch. I take a seat on the other end and face her. It’s quieter in here, more conducive for conversation.
“What are we doing here? Don’t you want to celebrate with the boys?” She gestures to the main area as she bites her lip nervously. Like she doesn’t want to be alone with me. Or maybe she doesn’t trust herself to be alone with me.
“Sure. But first I want to catch up with you. How are you feeling about exams?”
“How I always feel about exams. Highly stressed,” she sighs. “I’ve got a pretty strict study regimen, so besides tonight, there’s no social life for me for the next few months.”
“You’re going to kill it.”
“So you say,” she mutters looking down at her hands.
I lean forward and gently take hold of her chin with my pointer finger and thumb and lift it.
“Look at me. You didn’t spend all these years away studying to become a doubting Thomas now. You’re going to ace those exams, Soph. I just know it.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence, Marco-Boy.” The way my nickname falls easily from her lips tells me she’s letting her guard slip. “How have you been?”
“Honestly, I’ve been working non-stop. Bella Donna is turning steady profits, and Vault Enterprises is gaining new clients all the time, so I run a team, and Dad runs a team to keep up with demand.”
“So what? No time for a girlfriend or do you prefer to have a few on the hop for variety?” she teases.
“Hmmmm, more like I’m waiting for the right one. Timing is everything.”
“Ha! Timing. That old chestnut, right…”
“You’ll be home in six months.”
The reminder hangs between us. Heavy. Heady.
She shakes her head, like she’s trying to clear her thoughts.
“Oooh, I love this song!” she says, shimmying in her seat in time to the beat.
Standing I extend my arm towards her. “Dance with me.”
She looks at it. Hesitant. Then she lifts her gaze and gives me a coy smile before taking my hand and letting me pull her up to standing.
I spin her around playfully, and she laughs as I drag her back to me before settling my hands on her hips.
Hers automatically go around my neck. The room feels like it gets smaller as we move to the music and the tension grows, crackling like a live wire.
“Marco, I have a boyfriend,” she whispers, but it lacks conviction.
“That’s funny, ’cause I don’t see him.”
I inch my face closer to hers, letting my hands roam over her hips and dipping my fingertips beneath the low-cut back of her dress, grazing the top of her ass. She shivers at my touch, but she doesn’t try to pull away, her body at odds with her words.
“I promise you this, Sophia Rose Princi. If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight—especially in this sexy fucking dress—and the only place I’d want to be is right by your side.”
“Marco. You can’t say things like that.”
“I can and I will.”
Without warning, I cup the side of her face and crash my lips to hers, kissing her hard. She hums softly and parts her lips, angling slightly so our tongues can glide together. Tangling feverishly and unrepentant.
“Fuck!” She pulls away and puts space between us. “I have a boyfriend. I-I-I…must get back to Stella and Evie.”
She turns to leave, but I need her to understand it will be for the last time.
“You’ve got six months to get rid of him. I’ll let you leave this time. Even the score. But believe me when I say the next time you leave, you leave with me.”
She hurries out without so much as a backwards glance and a part of me wonders if I’m too fucking late.