Page 476 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kat slide toward the edge of the booth. “Chloe, let’s go dance.”

I reach out, grabbing her wrist. “Really? You’re leaving me with a stranger?” I hiss.

The corners of his lips curl slightly upward as he averts his eyes. Chloe isn’t one to take no for an answer, so she tries again to engage him as Kat whispers to me.

“Listen, if Kazimir says he’s a friend of the family, he’s good. Besides, I’ll be dancing with Chloe. Now, don’t waste this opportunity to enjoy yourself, okay? Because if Chloe stays here for much longer, she might just sit on his face. And I don’t want you to miss out. It’s your night.”

“He could be a murderer,” I say under my breath.

“And we’ve already established that you’re the Italian version of Little Nikita, so there shouldn’t be any problem. Anyway, you’re not leaving with the guy. You’re having a drink with him.” She smiles. “Just have fun.” On her way out of the booth, she grazes Zeno’s shoulder and leans in to him. “Just so we’re clear, that girl is like my little sister. You do anything out of line and I can assure you I will break off your limbs, one by one.”

He nods and picks up his glass again, draining it. “So, you’re Russian, too?”

“The Russianist,” she says with a sweet smile, jumping out of the booth and looping her arm with Chloe’s. “You don’t want to test me.”

I watch them saunter out of our elite, sectioned-off room. This is the ultra-private VIP area. It kind of reminds me of the owners’ luxury box at a stadium, tucked away from prying eyes.

The perfect place to lose control.

You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Zeno looks at me with a heavy-hooded gaze. It’s like he didn’t pay a shred of attention to anything Kat just said to him. My skin prickles with each sweep of his eyes, the weight of his stare igniting a tingling sensation deep in my belly.

Yeah, he’s not afraid of losing his limbs.

I swallow hard as he swivels himself into the booth and creeps toward me.

“You didn’t want to dance?” he says, his deep voice rumbling through me like a rippled wave.

“I might have,” I say with a small smile. “But they didn’t ask me. They just left.”

“Are you sorry about that?” he asks, his fingertips drumming the tabletop, so close to mine.

“Not really,” I say, trying my hardest to look seductive even though my head is blanketed in a boozy cloud. I don’t usually play this role. I’m usually the wingwoman, watching in awe as Chloe flirts outrageously with any and every guy who melts along her path.

Let’s just say I sidestep a lot of man-goo when we go out.

I personally never really mastered the flirting thing because I usually had my nose stuffed in a book of some sort. If it’s not a textbook, it’s a steamy romance novel.

Chloe thinks I should shelve the books and get some action the old-fashioned way. But as the daughter of Joe Salesi and his army of eyes and guns, it’s rather challenging to get close enough to a guy, much less have sex with him. Besides, my studies have always come first.

Pun intended.

So I’m still a virgin after living in Vegas, of all places, for the past three years.

And sitting close to this man makes me realize what I’ve been missing.

“You said you travel a lot,” I say, struggling to make small talk. He chose to stay here with me for a reason, and I won’t lie. My heart actually let out a shriek of glee when he slid closer to me on the couch. “What kind of work do you do? Are you a real estate investor, too?” The Severinovs own real estate on several continents, and they are always on the lookout for exclusive properties. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch if they did business together.

“Sure, you can call me an investor.”

“I can call you a used car salesman, too, but would it be accurate?” I tilt my head to the side and wink at him. Aha! Maybe I can do this flirting thing after all.

Zeno flashes a sexy grin, his eyes twinkle with mischief. A shiver rushes through me, and I have the sudden urge to climb into his lap and attack those perfect pink lips with my own. It’s a little shocking, to be honest, because I’m not that girl. At all. But something about him coaxes my vixen-like alter-ego to come out and play. I watch him recline against the back of the leather couch, puffing out his massive chest so that his black t-shirt stretches against his pecs. My fingers tingle at the thought of tracing the outline of his cut muscles.

Mmm.

Maybe Chloe is right. Maybe I could use some action. After all, I am celebrating.

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