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Though lately, I’ve been wondering if mistake number one was walking into this club in that red dress that spoke volumes and making that deal with the devil.
With the name, the fire flares in Paulie’s eyes, and he pushes off the wall he was leaning against, taking one step toward me. The corridor is narrow, with barely enough room for two people to walk side by side, so the single step closes the gap between us quickly.
I step back, trying to avoid him, but my ass bumps into the counter where we keep the snacks.
“I don’t give a fuck about what my uncle wants. His fucking morals, stupid fucking safe spaces.” He glances down the hall and then the other way, like he’s looking to see if anyone will catch him in the act.
But in the act of what? I think, my pulse racing.
It’s then, I understand.
Paulie Carluccio is dangerous. Not the kind of dangerous you might expect, where he’s in an organized crime family happily and is willing to do whatever it takes to uphold that standard.
But in the way that he’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.
And right now, I worry that what he wants is me.
“Fucking Dante, fucking up my plan,” he says under his breath, and that fire has shifted, changed, and now the look in his eyes is unhinged. Crazy. “Always getting in the way. It can’t be him, Lilah. In the end, it will be me. It would do you well to remember that.” The blood in my veins goes cold.
He doesn’t know who you are, fiorella.
Dante’s words are a small condolence, a comfort, but truly, nothing about where I am right now is comfortable.
His hand moves, tipping my chin up with a finger in a move so similar to what his uncle loves to do, but it feels so incredibly different. The hand is too smooth, too cold, and makes me nauseous.
“We could be good, you and I.”
“Paulie—"
“What’s going on with you two? You and my uncle?”
“Nothing,” I blurt quickly. Too fucking quickly. I continue to talk to cover myself. "Nothing, Paulie. I’m working for him. Taking care of the girls. Paying off my dad’s debts. You know the deal,” I say, trying to remind him of why I got here in the first place.
Bad move.
His eyes go cold.
“You know, when you first came here, I had plans. Plans to use you to prove myself. You’re a pretty thing, Lilah, got the sex appeal and that body, but you’re a terrible stripper. But I knew if I waited, got the word out quietly, men would come. The right men.” The finger moves hair behind my ear, and the trailing sensation of his touch is like that feeling when you think a spider is crawling on you. I fight the urge to swat at it, letting the feeling seep into my bones.
“Paulie, I don’t think—"
“There are men who would pay a pretty penny to fuck a mayor’s daughter, Delilah Turner.”
I stop breathing.
The words ricochet in my head, piercing me as they do, tiny pinpricks of pain.
There are men who would pay a pretty penny to fuck a mayor’s daughter, Delilah Turner.
Either he doesn’t notice my shock or he doesn’t care because he keeps speaking.
“Do you know my uncle and I are in a quiet battle, vying to be next in line? It was supposed to be my father, but he didn’t make it that far. My grandfather loves it, us giving him new ideas to grow the family business, to bring in more money, more notoriety. You were my bargaining chip. I was going to use you as a proof of concept, seal my fate as Don when the old man passes.”
He doesn’t have to explain further for me to understand. The hints Dante has told me, the parts of his plan he refuses to share—the puzzle isn’t complete, but it’s making more sense.
Dante told me that Paulie couldn't get too interested in me. That it would be dangerous.
It makes sense now.
