Page 78 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

I pace the apartment like a caged lion, restless and wound tight. This is a first for me, clocking in for an actual job. No trust fund safety net. No Marchetti name smoothing the way. Just me, a bartending certificate I barely remember earning, and a black button-down that still smells like starch.

The silence is loud. My foot taps. My palms itch.

I’m used to action, chaos. Not... this. Not waiting for something real to begin.

I check the time. Almost there.

And for once, I’m not thinking about what I’ll get out of it.

I’m thinking about what I’ll prove. To her. To me.

The club pulses with bass and sweat and heat. Neon slices through the dark, catching the gleam of glass and the smirk on my face as I pour another drink.

I’m behind the bar now. Me. Not posing at a VIP table. Not being waited on. I’m the one mixing drinks, cracking jokes, earning my keep.

It’s gritty. Loud. Real. And weirdly? I don’t hate it.

I catch Nikolai’s nod from across the floor. Silent, sharp. His way of saying I’m covered. Protection’s tight tonight. I’m safe. For now.

But I don’t relax.

Because I know better.

Because I’ve learned the hard way that the moment you start thinking you’re untouchable… that’s when someone takes the shot.

The second she walks in, I feel it.

That shift in the air.

She doesn’t belong in a place like this. She’s too polished, too composed, too Sophie. But fuck if she doesn’t own it.

Black dress hugging every curve, lips slightly parted, eyes scanning the room like she’s already bored of it. Until she finds me.

My grip on the cocktail shaker tightens.

She slides onto a barstool like she’s doing me a favor.

“Don’t get used to this,” she says, all cool and clipped.

But her eyes betray her. They don’t stop moving, cataloging every woman who’s looked at me for longer than a second.

And yeah, they’re looking.

Especially the blonde at the corner, long legs, pouty mouth, tits practically spilling out of her halter.

A few months ago, I’d have had her number before the ice in her drink melted. Would’ve taken her back to some penthouse suite and never remembered her name.

But now?

She doesn’t even register. Not when Sophie’s here.

Sophie’s voice slices through the music, sharp and knowing. “You’re enjoying this.”

I arch a brow, fighting the smirk. “Enjoying watching you get territorial? Maybe a little.”

She scoffs, but her jaw tightens. Her eyes flick to the blonde, then back to me like she’s debating stabbing me with a cocktail stirrer.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

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