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Chapter 1
Vespa Mortali didn’t belong. That wasn’t a new feeling, but normally she had her best friend at her side. Not that that would have helped in this situation. Montrell Coronella wouldn’t have fit in at a Wall Street douchebag bar either.
That was kind of the point.
She pretended to knock her hand into the shot of tequila one of the entitled douches had been conned into buying her. It spilled on his very expensive, white shoes. White. The first sign that her plan was doomed to fail.
“Sorry,” she said with a fake-ass laugh.
“No, I shouldn’t have been that close.” The idiot’s pained expression as he stared at his stained shoes was hilarious. “I’ll get you another one. That was the deal after all.”
She waved her hand toward the dartboard. “Nah, it was my fault. We’ll play for it again.”
There was no part of her attracted to him, which made her sigh. So long as finding a man passable enough to fuck was a problem, her perpetual dry spell was fated to continue. She was a badass Mafia enforcer who couldn’t get laid. Somehow it made the badass part feel lacking.
Which didn’t make any damn sense.
Being celibate was her own choice. Vespa knew she was hot. She had long, black hair that was wild when she let it loose, so she always pulled it back in a tight bun. There were her long legs, built for ass kicking, and decent handfuls of breast and ass. Maybe her lips didn’t know how to tilt into a sexy pout, but she was extremely fuckable regardless.
She didn’t want any of the Coronellas to see her that way. It would cause them to lose focus and her to lose their respect. When they were watching her back, losing either could be deadly. She was the one to keep them in line. They had to see her a certain way.
She’d found out the hard way what happened when she acted more like a girly girl, and she was a fast learner. She didn’t need the lesson twice.
As a scowl formed on her lips, she wished she hadn’t knocked over the shot after all. A bit of tequila might not have been a bad idea, just not with this guy bringing it to her. She eyed his form, unsurprised when his dart went a little wide of the bull’s-eye. She never trusted a man she barely knew to bring her a drink.
She only trusted one man completely, but she had grown up with Montrell and knew him inside and out. They’d been through a lot of shit together. It would have been perfect if they had fallen in love, but one trial kiss as teens had blown that fantasy up in smoke. They’d both been left less than turned on, dissolving into laughter instead. Her scowl eased into a smile, remembering the failed kiss.
Besides, Montrell was married. He hadn’t admitted it yet, but Vespa saw the way he looked at Beatrice. He was in love with his wife, had been back when their engagement had been initially arranged, but then everything had gone to shit like usual. Vespa hadn’t cared for Beatrice back then, but the more she watched the woman now, the more she liked her.
So she had to curb herself around her friend. No more sitting on his lap while they tickled each other. Sure, it had been in innocent fun, but Vespa knew how it looked. She’d become immune to the insinuations over the years, but she owed it to Montrell not to fuck up his chances with his wife.
That he was the only person she trusted enough to touch her was Vespa’s own damn problem. Not sexual touches, not by any means, but sometimes a person needed human touch to feel, well, a bit more human.
If Montrell was out of the running for providing that, she needed to find someone else. She also wanted to test the theory that a good dicking would help reduce her rage. She wasn’t a virgin—her scowl returned as she remembered that fact—but it had been so long that, dammit, there were probably cobwebs between her thighs.
The entitled prick turned to her with an arrogant smirk, and she mentally crossed her legs. The quick flick of her gaze took in his single bull’s-eye, the other darts loosely grouped around it.
“Looks like you’ll be treating me to something this time,” he said.
Vespa was officially over the evening. Her own grin had him taking a step back. She was done curbing the predator in her smile. Let him see the edge. “New rules. I win, you go the fuck away.”
His eyes narrowed in anger as she threw the first dart without even looking. She didn’t have to look to know she nailed it. No more holding back.
If she couldn’t be herself, what was the fucking point? She threw the second, and he turned to look, his body stiffening. When she had finished, all the darts were in a tight cluster in the center.
“All right, go away now,” Vespa said, fingering the scar on her cheek as she watched him. If he so much as insulted her, she was wiping the floor with him and taking a tooth as a trophy.
“You think you can play me, you stupid b—”
Just as she started getting excited by the prospect of a little violence, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
“I’d walk away,” the newcomer warned the man. “Messing with this one won’t end well for you.”
Vespa’s gaze trailed up the hand to the classy suit and the fake smile that didn’t reach those gorgeous, dark blue eyes, and she cussed in her head. Fucking Antonio Di Salvo. He was the worst.
The idiot shook off Di Salvo’s grip and glared at each of them. “You brought your boyfriend? What a cunt.” He started walking away.
The edges of Vespa’s sight dimmed with rage as she took a step after him.
