Page 12 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
Hopper holds it up, wiggling it back and forth. “Fallon O’Shea of O’Shea Finances.”
“What are they about?” Luca asks, his arm still around me.
“Making money in the least ethical way possible,” I mutter.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yep. Then they write big checks at charity functions, and everyone thinks they’re amazing.”
I stick out my tongue and point at my mouth.
Hopper scrunches his nose. “If Ford don’t like ‘em, I don’t like ‘em either.”
Luca hums in agreement, then dismisses Hopper with a flick of his wrist. Hopper winks at me and disappears into the crowd. I don’t know what he officially does for Luca, but I have a few guesses.
Not gonna lie: the idea of Hopper spending some time alone with Fallon doesn’t exactly hurt my feelings.
“Don’t let Hopper hurt him too badly,” I joke, leaning into his grip on my waist.
Luca grins. “Nottoobadly, huh?”
“You know, send a pinky to his family, keep it classy.”
Luca laughs before settling into a serious expression. “I don’t like that he was being disrespectful to you. Hopper’s going to make sure he never does that again.”
None of that should turn me on.
I should insist he leave it alone, but his arm feels too good around me.
Luca lifts his chin to the dance floor, where attendees sway to old standards played by a live band.
“Will you dance with me?”
My lips curve into a grin, and I briefly rest my head on his shoulder again. “I love to dance.”
Luca gives me his genuine, slightly crooked smile, the one that infuses his dark eyes with warmth.
“Me too.”
He takes me in hand, and we sway to an old Sinatra tune. As an inveterate clothes horse, I feel qualified to say that Luca Stefano is the very definition of old Hollywood glamour. Genteel and perfectly coiffed, it would be foolish to think he isn’t wearing a weapon somewhere under his beautiful custom Italian suit.
Luca confidently leads us around the dance floor, and I wonder if I’m beaming as much on the outside as I am on the inside. Our bodies fit together like they were made for each other.
“I could’ve used you last week at the Arctic Newt gala. They had a great band, and no one was dancing.”
He smiles. “You go to a lot of these, don’t you?”
I sighed. “Yes. I used to enjoy it, but…”
“I’m sure it gets to be too much after a while.”
I nod. “This is the beginning of the gala season, and I’m already over it.”
“Rand seems to think I should attend more of these. That it will rehabilitate my image.”
“The Charitable Mobster,” I say, arcing my hand in a gesture.
“Perfect. I’ll have my media team workshop it.”
