Page 3 of Wild Heart
Cassie and Jude come up behind me. Cassie tugs on her tight skirt, trying to pull it down.
“I feel like a slut in this,” she mutters.
“But you look gorgeous.” I flash her a confident smile, hoping some of it will rub off on my friend.
She glances around nervously. Neither of them were too keen when I put forward the idea of sneaking out and coming to the club.
Dad thinks I’m at a sleepover at Cassie’s. She’s lucky her parents don’t give a shit what she does. The irony is that all she wants to do is stay home and read, whereas my father keeps me practically locked in the house and all I want to do is go out and have some fun, dance to music, and talk to a cute boy.
I was the one who organized the fake IDs and came up with the plan to evade my security detail. I crushed up sleeping pills and put them in the hot chocolate I so thoughtfully bought out to their car while dressed in my pajamas an hour ago. When we sneaked past them to get the Uber, they were fast asleep with their mouths open.
The bartender gives a curt nod and takes his hand off his headset, then turns his attention to us. “Ladies, we’d like to offer you the VIP area this evening.”
He smiles warmly, and I give Cassie a nudge. “See, that’s what happens when you dress up.”
“Follow my colleague please, and he’ll take you right up there with a round of vodka cocktails on the house.”
I glance behind us where a man in a dark suit is standing. He’s got a headset on too and looks like he’s with the club’s security. My heart sinks, thinking we’ve been found out already. But he smiles warmly, putting me at ease.
“This way, ladies.”
I’m used to this kind of special treatment but Cassie and Jude follow me nervously, twittering behind their hands.
I take my time in my heels, enjoying the attention we’re getting as we walk past the dance floor. I purposely turn my head away. I’ll scan the floor from upstairs and see if there are anycute guys to dance with. That is if any of them are brave enough to approach me.
As I walk through the club, we pass a line of booths and a group of older men sitting at one drinking beer.
My gaze is drawn to the man on the end. He’s older than the others, his dark hair flecked with silver and the lines of a good life etched on his face. He’s sitting casually, his legs splayed under the booth and one hand on his beer, oozing confidence and clearly the leader of these men.
He’s got a rough beard and wears leather pants and a button-down shirt where a tattoo snakes up one side of his neck. So different from the clean cut men I’m used to being around. No Italian suit and manicures for this man.
As I walk past, we lock eyes and he holds my gaze. Most men are intimidated by who I am, who my father is, and I’m not used to a stranger openly staring at me. Especially in the way he’s staring, like he wants to devour me.
He takes a sip of beer, not breaking eye contact, and I notice his big hands. I bet there are calluses on the palms and dirt under his fingernails. I bet he knows what to do with his big hands.
My breath catches, and heat spreads up my neck. I’ve never blushed in my life and I break the eye contact, horrified that a man can make my body react in this way.
Even as I turn from him, I feel his gaze still on me. Maybe it’s not a cute boy I’ll dance with tonight but a scorching hot man.
I’m following the doorman up the stairs, but I risk a glance back at the stranger. He’s still staring at me. I give him a smile, and he frowns and looks away.
The rejection takes my breath away. I’ve never been rejected in my life. Fury courses through my veins. I gave him an opening, and he spurned me.
Who the fuck does he think he is? Then I remember that no one here knows me. He doesn’t know I’m Isabella Berone, only daughter of the infamous Carlo Berone. A member of the only mafia family on Wild Heart Mountain.
The bartender unclips a black cord threaded with gold, and we enter the VIP area. The seats here are plush velvet, and we’re looking down on the entire club. But I’m disappointed. I wanted to dance tonight. I wanted to flirt and have fun with real people.
A moment later, a tray of drinks turns up.
“I’m Gregg,” says the waiter, placing three cocktails on the table. “I’ll be your personal waiter tonight. If you need anything, push the button right here.”
He indicates a button on the edge of the booth. As soon as he’s gone, Jude leans in and grabs a cocktail. She sniffs it suspiciously.
“Why are they giving us the special treatment?” She frowns at the cocktail but takes a sip.
I shrug my shoulders. “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because it’s not normal, that’s why. People usually pay good money for VIP areas.”
