Page 49 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
I’m not a caged bird. I refuse to be.
After several minutes of trying to soften me up and getting nowhere, Lorenzo releases a long-suffering sigh and rolls onto his back.
“Fine,” he says, and I can hear the resignation in his voice. “I didn’t plan to keep you locked up forever anyway. I’ll take you out. Somewhere of my choosing, with my men for protection. Understood?”
I flip over so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, a huge grin spreading across my face. “Really?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
I throw myself at him, pressing kisses to his cheek and jaw until he’s laughing despite himself. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” His hands find the hem of my star-covered tank top. “Now take off these ridiculous pajamas.”
I’m already pulling the shirt over my head before he finishes the sentence.
“Promise me you’ll listen to everything I say.”
I’m standing in front of our bathroom mirror, swiping lipstick across my mouth while Lorenzo paces behind me like a caged panther. He’s been giving me safety instructions for the past twenty minutes, and the intense concern in his voice makes my stomach do little flips.
“If I tell you to leave with one of my men, you do it. If I say get down, you hit the floor. If I give you a weapon?—”
“We’re going to a club that you own,” I interrupt, capping my lipstick and turning to face him. “Do you really think something could happen there?”
“Promise. Me.”
The sharp edge in his voice makes me pause. I was ready to argue about his controlling tendencies, but when I see the tight line of his mouth and the genuine worry in his dark eyes, the fight goes out of me.
I pushed for this night out even though it clearly stresses him. The least I can do is take his concerns seriously.
“I promise,” I say softly.
The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, and he gives me a curt nod. Small victories.
We leave the house in a black SUV with windows so dark they’re practically opaque. Bulletproof, I’m willing to bet. Two of Lorenzo’s men sit up front while another vehicle follows behind us. The whole production feels a little excessive, but then I remember the severed hand and decide maybe excessive is exactly what we need.
Besides, I can live with bodyguards as long as I still get to have fun. As much as I enjoy risky behavior at times, leaving myself vulnerable to a Bratva gunman isn’t something I’m interested in.
The club is called Velvet, and stepping inside is like entering some fever dream of luxury and sin. The ceiling soars three stories high, draped in midnight-black fabric that ripples like water beneath scattered points of light. The main floor pulses with music so deep I feel it in my bones, while suspended glass platforms float at different levels, connected by sleek spiral staircases.
Everything gleams—polished floors that reflect the light and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a panoramic view of Vegas glittering below. It’s modern and edgy and expensive as hell, exactly what you’d expect from a place Lorenzo owns.
Most of the tables are already filled, but of course Lorenzo has a private booth reserved at all times. The staff practically fall over themselves making sure we’re set up with bottle service and that everything is to his liking.
I chose my outfit carefully for tonight; a short white dress that’s strapless and barely covers my ass. Conservative compared tosome of the other women here, but I know Lorenzo likes it by the way his eyes keep drifting down to my legs.
The booth is plush black velvet that feels sinful against my bare thighs, and I’m just starting to relax when I notice her.
Brunette Barbie at two o’clock.
She’s everything I’m not; tall, fake-tanned, surgically enhanced in all the right places. Her crop top and mini skirt leave nothing to the imagination, and her eyes are glued to my husband like he’s the last piece of chocolate on earth.
Her friends have noticed Lorenzo too, but none of them are eye-fucking him with quite the same desperation as Miss Silicone Valley over there.
Lorenzo either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. He lounges back in the booth, scotch in hand, looking like sex in an expensive suit. No tie tonight, and the top few buttons of his white shirt are undone, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his pecs.
His dark eyes are focused entirely on me, and that familiar smirk curves his lips. “You’re killing me in that dress, baby. Every man in here is dangerously close to getting his eyes gouged out.”
I lean in closer, my heart doing that fluttery thing it does when he looks at me like that. “Isn’t there something fun about knowing I’m yours, no matter who else might want me?”
