Page 2 of Dark Mafia Heir

The DJ cranks up the vocals, and the energy spikes to the roof. Jerkface pulls me closer, snaking his lean arm around my waist, while he peers into my eyes like he wants to steal my soul.

“Thinking of different ways you could scream, baby doll?” I hold my breath while his finger goes down my neck. His breath smells like citrus and rum, and it stirs the queasiness in my belly. “No one’s going to hear you.”

He is right, except I manage to release a supersonic scream; the party animals in this hall are most likely deaf. In a flash, an idea hits me; a sneaky strategy I’d seen Papa’s men use during sparring sessions. All I have to do is distract him and make a run for it with Harper.

“Fine.” His brow twitches, saying he doesn’t understand. “Let me go, and I’ll go with you wherever you want without making a fuss.”

A frown crosses his lips. “That easily? All of a sudden, after you asked me to leave?”

I try to keep my expression neutral and my tone, resigned to make him believe I sincerely agree with him. “Yes, because I am not stupid. I can see you are right; struggling is going to do no good in this noisy environment. So, let me go, and I’ll go with you.”

Doubtfully, he looks at me, and I hold my breath, praying this tactic works. That he actually falls for it and releases his hand from my waist to grant me the opportunity I need.

Five seconds pass—because my brain can’t stop counting how long it’ll take until freedom finally comes—and, after watching me closely like a hungry predator, he finally shrugs and drops his arm.

Perfect.

Elation and adrenaline had to be the best combination of emotion and energy that a human could experience, because that powerful combo flows through my veins, fueling my burning desire to put a fist in the man’s face, like dried sticks feeding a fire.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t pause. I curl my fist as tightly as I learned from Dabi, one of Papa’s men, and swing my arm, aiming directly at Jerkface’s jaw.

Screaming, Jerkface falls to the floor on his side, cursing, whimpering, and holding the side of his face.

But I am startled because my fist still hangs in the air. I didn’t touch him.

“That was a friendly warning.”

The rich, smooth, resonant baritone from beside me ignites a fire in my core, its vibrations coursing through me, spreading molten heat that tingles all the way down to my toes, and I turn around, only to be blown away by a sight too surreal to be true. Like a perfect stranger from one of Alisha Rai’snovels.

To top it off, he checks off all the other boxes; tall, dark-haired, and stunningly handsome. The type of handsome that makes you forget to look out for other characteristics of their personality. The type of handsome that makes a womanfeellike a woman. She just wants to be in his arms, touch the hard lines of his muscles, and sleep on his chest. That type of handsome is this stranger standing beside me, glaring at Jerkface with cold, dark eyes that hold promises of death.

He slides his hand—the same one that sent the mad man crumpling to the ground—into one of his black dress pants pockets and raises a brow.

“What are you waiting for? Get out.”

Jerkface doesn’t waste another second. Without another word, he hops to his feet, clutching his bleeding mouth as he scurries away without looking back.

My hand drops to my side as Harper, and I stare at thisheroin awe. Even though, technically, I am the only one between us who appears grateful to the stranger for literally swooping in to save the day. Harper looks terrified, probably still deciding whether to call Papa or not.

Slowly, I muster a small smile at the stranger, who still has his eyes trained on the shadow of my harasser.

“Thank you...” my words hang in the air while I sweep my gaze over this man’s striking features. Firm, bow-shaped mouth, chiseled jawline, eyes that don’t just look but see, and a classic fifties pompadour haircut. The stranger appears young, but his aura, the way his shoulders stand stiff, the swiftness of his punch, the hard lines at the corner of his eyes... everything about him oozes years of experience navigating through this crazy world.

Regardless, I am not deterred. Older man or not, he rescued me from the snares of that idiot. So, he deserves my gratitude. I try again.

“Thank you, sir.”

That startles him. A deep,sexychuckle rumbles at the back of his throat, and with a smoothness that makes me fall even harder, he turns and faces me with a bedazzling smile. Dark eyes, the color of molten chocolate, lock on mine, assessing every inch of my body, from bare shoulder, down the length of my mini pink slip dress, making my skin tingle in awareness. I am feeling light-headed, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the fewdrinks I had, or the effect of this man not-so-subtly checking me out.

My knees wobble, and I clear my throat.Damn.

“Sir?”

I didn’t take note of it before, but now, as I listen keenly, I hear an accent. And the best way I can describe it is like a tempting roll of the tongue like olive oil drizzled over fresh bread, with his words stretching long and smooth, like melted mozzarella. My ears itch to hear more of it. I beam back, easily forgetting what brought him here in the first place.

“Is it strange to be called that?”

A playful glint crosses his eyes, like it’s fun to indulge me.

---