Page 4 of The Mobster’s Secret

Dance only for him?

If he only knew I’ve never even danced before. Twist my hips? Shake my butt? I have no clue. I spent a half hour watching Beyonce videos while I got ready, hoping some of her moves would seep into my brain.

The only reason I’m even here tonight is because my dickhead manager, Bob, laid me off from my waitressing job so he could replace me with his girlfriend, Lissa.

My roommate Greta works at the club, and after nearly an hour of me protesting, she finally convinced me to come out tonight so I could make “stacks and stacks of money.”

“Chris says the place will be packed tonight,” she told me. “A whole bunch of guys are coming in. Guys with lots of cash.”

“You mean like businessmen?” I asked.

She gave me a smirk that I dismissed at the time. “Yeah, something like that.” Now I’m starting to realize I didn’t get the whole story from her. Because the guy standing in front of me now is not your average businessman. But he definitely has lots of money.

He just stares back at me as I stare at him. I’m still processing his question.

Did he really ask if he could buy me out for the night? What kind of girl does he think I am? I’ve been working steadily since I was fifteen years old to support myself. Until today, I was a full-time waitress taking night classes for a degree in environmental science.

I want to study our world, take care of it. And now this big, scary man just thinks he can treat me like a piece of merchandise on sale at Target?

No. I don’t care who he thinks he is. I deserve respect.

Crossing my arms, I purse my lips and narrow my eyes at him. “I’m a woman, mister. You don’t just buy women. Or did your parents never teach you that?”

Think before you speak. Yeah, I’m working on it.

His dark eyes narrow. Do I amuse him?

“It was not my intention to offend you, Willow.” My hands tingle, and my thighs tighten at the sound of my name in his gravelly voice. “But I need a number. How much to make you mine?”

Make you mine? I have to stop myself from gasping.

“You’re a man who thinks he can have anything, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“You’re used to getting whatever you want.”

His lips twist into a vicious smile. “I take whatever I want. And I could take you, Willow. But I’m offering you a transaction.”

I scoff. “Just take me? Who do you think you are?”

A laugh rumbles its way out from his enormous chest like a lion’s roar, sending a shiver through every inch of my body.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asks.

“Should I?”

A strangely charming, arrogant look comes over his face. A look that says, oh, you silly girl.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

He nods as though I gave him the perfect response.

“Well, Willow, I’m Ivan Oleff. I’m the man who will change your life.”

My insides tighten. My breath catches in my chest. Now I understand the arrogance. The look. The way he speaks. Everyone in New York knows this man’s name. Ivan Oleff, head of the Oleff crime family.