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1
ARA
The moment Dario Armani’s gaze roams up my legs to finally meet my stare, I know I’m about to ruin his fucking night. Everything his family has put me through gnaws at me, and the need for revenge is a raging flame within me.
But I keep the impression to myself as I offer him a suggestive smile across the room as I sit at the bar. The two blondes beside him are more than pissed by my eye-fucking across the room. The other two girls are so fucked up on god knows what drugs they haven’t even noticed his hand leaving their skirts as he stands and crosses the room toward me.
As I sit at the edge of the bar, I take another sip from my cocktail expectantly. I knew he couldn’t resist. It’s the only exclusive club Dario manages and frequents. The rest are left under his brother Luca’s control. The reason why I chose Dario’s club—of the two brothers, he’s much easier to handle.
Tonight, I am wearing a little black dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Despite how dark the private club is, it doesn’t detract from the ominous space the mafia prince takes up once someone claims his attention. Or should I say, it doesn’t detract from a nice piece of ass and tits—the only thing Dario really cares about.
His gaze pauses on my chest before dark blue eyes with dilated pupils find mine. As always expected of the younger brother, he’s on god knows what drugs as well.
“I haven’t seen you in my club before,” he says.
Of course the fucker feels no need for an introduction. One of his bodyguards positions himself closely, always at his heels after someone already tried to take his life a few months ago. It’s not entirely surprising. The Armani brothers make plenty of enemies, but only a few dare to bite back.
“Perhaps I was looking for a little trouble,” I say, before placing the cosmopolitan to my lips.
His smile grows wide, predatory even. “Would you like to join us this evening?”
I push back part of the blonde wig I’m wearing. Dario certainly has a type. I know this because I’ve been observing his movements and surveilling everything about him for six months. “I don’t know if your other dates would appreciate that.”
He grabs my hand, pulling me off the stool. “The more the merrier,” he says in a venomous tone.
It takes everything in me to force down the bile that creeps up my throat, threatening to burn its way out. Even if I hadn’t made my intentions clear, Dario is not a man who lets a woman evade him—he always gets what he desires. But let’s face it, almost no one says no to this man, which only makes this all too damn easy.
It only takes a few hours of alcohol, drugs, and whorish behavior to entice Dario and his flock to return to his mansion to party like he always does. The man’s a show pony who likes to display his family’s wealth like some kind of exhibit, even if most of the men and women who joined us won’t remember much of it.
But after months of planning, this is the only way I’ll make it into the mansion, and hopefully, it will be without having to touch this douchebag prick of a dick. But I’ve done much dirtier things to get where I am today. It’d be another thing to lock away if need be.
The mansion is exactly how I’d envisioned. As part of my morning routine, I would run past to hopefully get a glimpse of the household’s activities. Because of the height of the walls, I’ve only ever been able to chance a glance at who leaves and at what time.
Dario’s habits mostly involve returning to the mansion at ungodly hours of the morning. However, during my scrutiny, I also observed the staff in case it ever serves me in the future. Purchasing photographs and intel, which were surprisingly easily accessible, even against the Armani name.
But inside the mansion is an entirely different story and something I needed to discover for myself.
Dario is the only member who lives in the mansion permanently. His older brother, Luca, is near nonexistent at the New York property even when he does visit from Italy.
I lazily analyze every door, staircase, and feature as we’re directed into one of the wings. There are fewer bodyguards at this time, and strangely enough, the one who mostly babysits Dario is nowhere to be seen. It’s peculiar Ivan isn’t with him.
Bodyguards open the door to a large bedroom with multiple layers of lush cushions, ornaments, and paintings that appear like an artist’s dream, as well as a bed that takes up half the length of the wall. The lights are dim, and a sophisticated playlist is playing in the background. The group is guided into the room, and a bottle of champagne is popped—which is probably not something anyone needs. I decline the glass offered by one of the girls, who casually shrugs and takes it for herself. Within seconds, most women begin removing their clothes with no instruction. It’s like watching a B-grade porno play out in front of me.
I did not get this far to only get this far, I remind myself.
“Don’t be shy,” one of the women says while twirling a lock of hair around her finger and smiling. Her pupils are dilated, and I know she won’t remember much of tonight. I almost feel sorry for her, but not enough to take the opportunity to use her.
With Dario’s attention on us, I offer a tipsy smile, acting as drunk as the rest, even though I have only sipped a drink. The drugs, however, I won’t partake in. I am on a job, after all.
The beautiful blonde rests her hand on my hip, and I graze the back of my knuckles against her soft cheek.
A woman drops to her knees in front of Dario. He makes no show of taking off his clothes as he lazily sits like a king, watching the show play out with pure confidence that someone else will do all the work for him.
As the blonde leans toward me, I gently grab her throat. Her mouth falls open as she lets out a little squeal of surprise, then a small, giddy chuckle. I offer a flirtatious smile and bring my mouth to hers, barely brushing over her lips before I make a show to convulse. I drop my hand to my stomach and the other to cover my mouth.
“What the fuck?” She steps away with wide eyes.
I convulse again, trying to make a show of keeping my stomach contents in. “I need a bathr—” The words drop before one of the women squeals and points to the door.
