Page 73 of Coercion

“Even if he was into your type…” The second says, putting a drink in front of me. “He’s off the market. Married some Mafia Princess.”

I bite my lip to hide the laugh. They’ve literally just insulted me then called me royalty within the space of a minute. Years ago I’d have relished that title, hell, I’m pretty certain that’s howmy mother referred to me. To us. She certainly acted like we were royalty.

I pick up the glass and sip, pleasantly surprised by the contents. At least they didn’t give me something rancid.

“Is this my consolation prize?” I murmur.

“Might take the sting out of it.” The first girl says, smirking like she’s done me some sort of favour.

I roll my eyes, turning my back on them, but I don’t look at my husband either. Right now, I’m half tempted to get completely wasted and damn the consequences.

Afterall, isn’t that what a Mafia Princess would do?

She’d create a scene, she’d make sure everyone knew exactly who she was.

I knock the drink back in one, then order another. The girl smirks again, demanding to see the cash first, like I can’t even afford to buy a drink here.

I pull out a crisp fifty and her eyes widen just a little. She clearly didn’t expect that, did she?

She takes it from me, then makes a big show of checking to see it’s genuine and that makes me laugh out loud.

If only she knew who I was right now, I doubt she’d be so rude.

When the second drink arrives, I sip it more carefully. In my head I like the idea of causing a commotion, of being the kind of woman who would have the confidence to strut up to them all and call my husband out. That’s the kind of woman my mother would be - but I’m not that person.

And my husband is not the kind of man you insult in private, let alone in a bar, surrounded by his and Nico Morelli’s men.

No, I pull a stunt like that and Preston would make damn sure I regretted it.

“Here all alone, sweetheart?” Someone says, putting a hand around the back of my stool.

I half jump, looking across and see the man leaning in, obviously staring at my tits, like there isn’t an entire Victoria Secret’s show on display behind the bar.

“I’m just having a drink.” I mumble.

“Let me join you. A drink by yourself is boring.”

“I’m good, thanks.” I say. I don’t want to piss the guy off but at the same time, I want to think, to watch my husband and see how long it takes for him to finally notice I’m here - and I can hardly do that while this man is blatantly trying to get in my pants.

“Come on.” He says more persistently. “One drink. I’ll pay.”

I narrow my eyes, was I speaking another language just now? What part of ‘no’ did he not understand?

“I said no.” I say, jutting my chin, but my cheeks still flush because I’m still not confident in asserting myself, I still feel like anytime I answer back, someone is going to knock me down and put me in my place.

His hand lands on my thigh. It feels like it’s burning into my skin and not in a good way. “You don’t know who you’re turning down, lady. I work for Nico Morelli. I can give the kind of things tarts like you dream about. You want jewels, you can have them, you want nice things, you just have to play your part…”

My jaw drops at his words. I dig my fingers into his hand that is even now pushing further up, closer to my crotch.

“I’m not interested in you.” I snap.

“Don’t be a little bitch.” He says. “You came here for a reason. All girls come here for a reason. All doled up like a whore, you think you can flash your tits and you’ll bag someone big? I’ve got news for you girl, you’re not worth that, little slut like you, so stop pretending you don’t want it…”

His words turn into a yelp as he’s hauled backwards off his seat.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Preston growls.

The man blinks, looking up at him. “Just putting this little tart in her place.” He says, straightening his jacket from where it’s all crumpled.

---