Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Saying yes to tonight was a mistake. I knew that the moment I walked in, but somehow I was talked into joining my friends for a night out.
I say friends very loosely. It’s new and unexpectedly forged.
Yet, I still find myself out with them on a random weeknight, drink in hand, already planning my exit strategy.
There’s a woman sitting on the arm of my leather wingback chair.
She’s pretty enough, with straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and ample cleavage, which she tries to thrust in my face as she laughs over the loud music.
Her manicured nails hover dangerously close to my neck from where her arm is slung over the back of the chair.
Tossing back the remains of my scotch, I glance next to me to where Sullivan Rochester has a similar-looking woman sitting in his lap as he nurses his drink of choice.
Sully is the son of an oil-tycoon and next in line to take over the business, which is insane to me considering the man doesn’t have a serious bone in his body.
He has an affinity for beautiful women, a strong drink, and a good time.
“Remind me why I’m here?” I grumble, the vibration of the bass doing wonders on the headache I’ve been battling since after work.
“It’s boys’ night.” Sully flashes me a shit-eating grin. “And you actually came for once.”
“My mistake.”
Across from me, Enzo Lucchetti snorts but refuses to look at me.
Years ago, my ruthlessly unforgiving father ended the life of Enzo’s father during a business relationship gone wrong.
On the outside, my father had a booming and legitimate business in the coffee industry, sourcing and importing the finest beans.
Coffee beans weren’t the only thing he was importing, though.
He hid behind that facade for decades, becoming one of the most profitable drug smugglers the country has seen.
Enzo’s father was one of my father’s most trusted men—until he wasn’t.
The death ignited a multi-decades-long feud between the Paladino and Lucchetti families, which only came to a ceasefire within the last year, when my sister married Enzo’s cousin, Sly.
It’s taken a lot for our families to learn to bury the hatchet, although, at times, I sense Enzo is still sharpening his. It’s no secret he’s still unwilling to move on from the past, unlike his cousin.
“Not just boys,” my sister quips from where she sits on the leather loveseat with her husband. “I’m here too. So is Raina.”
Ah, yes. So is Raina.
My sister's best friend has been the bane of my existence for more years than I care to track. With more beauty than she knows what to do with, I’ve watched countless men waltz in and out of her life, never sticking around long enough to make it past the first few dates.
Although I’d never let her or my sister know I’ve been observing from a distance.
When you have a little sister who’s five years younger than you, with an inseparable best friend, it’s difficult to only keep your eye on one and not the other as well. It’s not surprising that the protectiveness I feel toward my sister extends to Raina.
Unsurprising, but not entirely welcome, either.
While I’ve felt it was my job to keep them safe, I’ve made sure to do so only from the shadows. I’m not obtuse enough to ignore the fact that Raina has had a school-girl crush on me since she was a teenager, but I am enough of a gentleman to not give her any false impressions or hope.
She doesn’t need to know that there’s been times when I’ve fantasized about her pouty, sexy-as-sin lips around my cock.
She also doesn’t need to know that physically, she’s the type of woman who makes me hard with a simple glance. Raina has the ability to turn my insides, my heart included, into molten if she wanted to, so naturally, I don’t give her the opportunity.
As the multicolored lights in the club filter through the building and the song changes to another fast-paced, insufferable beat, I immediately track Raina dancing with another woman I don’t recognize.
Her arms are in the air, eyes closed as she sways her hips and lets the beat of the music drive her.
My Adam's apple bobs as I swallow, forcing myself to look away.
“It feels good to have the whole gang here,” Sully remarks, slapping my shoulder before placing both hands on top of them and squeezing. “Bros and hoes.”
“Refer to my wife as a ho again, Sullivan, I dare you,” my brother-in-law growls.
“Think of a better word to go with bros, then.”
“How about you just don’t refer to us as bros,” Enzo mutters before finishing off his drink.
A few months ago, I was put into a group chat with the men I like to refer to as the merry band of misfits.
What started as a small chat between Sly, Sully, and Enzo grew from three to five when they added me and another friend of Sly’s named Nixon.
Although he sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of us.
Nixon isn’t from New York, and only came out here from California when Sly asked him for his help in winning the heart of my sister.
Now, the former motorcycle club member has become a private security officer and seems to be creating a life for himself out here.
They’re good men. Even Enzo is growing on me.
“I’m heading down,” Nixon says, tipping his head toward the dance floor on the level below us.
“I’ll join you,” Sully chimes in, standing quickly, which causes the girl on his lap to stumble to her feet. Not even thinking twice about it, he grabs her by the hand and tugs her toward the staircase, following Nixon.
“Assolutamente folle,” Sly mutters in Italian. I look over at him as he reaches for my sister's hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it.
There’s a small pang in my heart at the sight.
I’m happy for her—for them—and despite swearing off the notion of marriage thanks to constantly witnessing the messy side of it, ever since we lost two family members on the same day, I can’t help but wonder if maybe my time to settle down is coming.
At thirty-four years old, the only thing I’ve experienced long term is the professional relationship I have with my secretary.
I’m a workaholic. Committed to my job, which I suppose you could say is a commitment to many women, since I’ve recently been coined Manhattan’s top divorce attorney, officially outranking my partner in that title.
Simon Gamble is a decent man and a good business partner, but watching his bald head turn a lovely shade of crimson when he found out he’d been knocked off his pedestal was a treat.
The song changes again, and I decide it’s time for a refill. “Want another?” I ask the woman still sitting on the edge of my chair.
“Vodka-Cran,” she requests, and I nod, trying to remember her name.
Marie? Maia? Mallory?
Honestly, I couldn't care less what her name is, but Sully seemed eager to introduce us when I arrived.
Standing, I walk over to our private bar, earning a flirtatious smile from the bartender as I approach. She’s petite and curvaceous, with a button nose and auburn hair. Pretty, but obviously has been under the knife one too many times.
It’s a pity what Manhattan does to a woman who doesn’t need to enhance her features.
The look she’s giving me is one of curiosity and intrigue, but it does nothing for me. She’s not my type.
“Hey there,” she greets in a sultry tone.
“Hi.” I offer her a brief smile as I set my glass down on the bar top. “Scotch, please.”
Not in the mood for idle chit-chat, I turn my body, positioning away from her as I look out into our private VIP section.
My sister and her husband are cuddling on the small leather couch, his hand on her newly protruding pregnant stomach as they stay lost in each other’s orbit. Just past them, Enzo leans over the railing, looking down at the crowd below.
When the bartender hands me my glass, I go over to join him.
I’m aware that conversing with Enzo is about as fun as sticking your head into a shark tank, but this is me making an effort. We can call it an olive branch.
As odd and slightly off-putting as I find these men to be, I’ve enjoyed my time getting to know them.
“Not in the mood to dance?” I ask, taking a sip of my drink. Leaning against the railing on my forearms, I sweep my gaze over the crowd.
It takes hardly a breath before my eyes lock with a pretty blonde’s.
Raina.
“No.” He doesn’t offer me more than that.
I should look away from the temptation that is Raina Lancaster, but instead, I smirk as I watch her.
“You’re dancing with the devil,” Enzo mutters over his glass.
“How so?” My eyes are still locked with Raina’s.
Her arms are above her head, locked around the neck of a man not much taller than she is.
A redhead, unless the lights of the club deceive me.
I watch as her ass grinds against him, hips moving in time with the music.
One of his hands slides around her waist, splaying across her stomach.
My jaw tics.
She smiles at me as though the irritation shows on my face, although I know it doesn’t. I never let my emotions show. No good lawyer does.
Beside me, Enzo lets out a clipped, sardonic laugh.
Finally, I rip my gaze from her and look over at him. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Slowly, I take another drink, savoring the flavor on my tongue before swallowing it down.
Turning, I lean my back against the railing and look over at the blonde still sitting in my seat.
Her legs are crossed, and she’s craning her neck to see through the glass barrier below the railing, looking out onto the dance floor.
I should ask her to dance. A better man would.
After another gulp, it occurs to me she requested a drink as well.
Christ, I’m an asshole. Stomping back over to the bar, I bark at the bartender, “Vodka-Cran,” not waiting for her to greet me again.
“You got it, handsome.”
Pouring the two ingredients seems to take an eternity, but once I stomp back over and hand it to the blonde perched in my seat, she smiles widely.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I clear my throat. “I apologize, but it’s been a long day. Please remind me of your name.”
“Maddie.”
“Maddie,” I repeat, hoping this time to commit it to memory. My eyes graze over her once more.
Flowing, pin-straight blonde hair, tight dress, legs for miles.
Quiet.
Polar opposite of someone else with that last quality.
My cock stirs behind the confines of my slacks as I think about her, but I quickly push her from my mind.
“You want to get out of here?” I ask Maddie. She bites her bottom lip and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear as though my question has suddenly made her shy. As though she hasn’t been eyeing the crotch of my pants all night like she’s eager to suck on a lollipop.
“Sure,” she says, and I offer her my hand, pulling her to her feet.
“See you guys later,” I call over my shoulder to everyone up here, the leggy blonde trailing behind me with rhythmic taps of her heels.
She isn’t the exact leggy blonde I’d like in my bed, but for tonight, she’ll do.