Page 49 of Nicoli

ChapterEighteen

NICOLI

I’m leaning against my Maserati when the limousine pulls up to the curb. I grind my cigarette into the pavement and march toward the long-ass black car.

Maximo emerges first, his dark eyes carefully scanning the area before opening the door for my twin brother. As if I haven’t already taken inventory of everything and everyone around us.

“I was hoping you’d come to your senses and take the girls home.”

Alexius slaps a palm on my shoulder. “No such luck, brother.”

“Tell me you stopped at the boutique to get Mira a different dress.”

“That woman is determined to make your life hell, and not even I have the power to stop her.”

“Pussy,” I bite out, and Alexius smirks as he holds out his hand, helping Leandra step out of the limo. At least she’s wearing a dress. Mira, on the other hand, is wearing a…I don’t know what it is, but it sure as fuck ain’t a dress.

Mira’s long, slender leg appears as she puts her heel on the asphalt, the curve of her calf smooth and hypnotic. It’s like a goddamn movie or a shampoo commercial, and I’m waiting for her to step out and wave her blonde locks from side to side in slow motion. And apparently, shampoo commercials now turn me on because my cock is fucking furious.

As she slides out of the back seat, I catch a glimpse of her black lace panties peeking from between her legs. The sight wrecks my motherfucking balls.

I snap my gaze all around us, ready to cut out the eyes of any asshole who caught a peek of what I just saw. Possession knocks hard against my skull, my pulse racing and heart thumping, ready to kill and slaughter.

Mira’s forest green eyes fall on mine, and I can barely breathe as she shimmies the tight fabric of her red dress down her thighs, her movements powerful and sensual while keeping her stare fixed on mine. My muscles twitch in anticipation, my dick swollen and hard for this woman. She knows what she’s doing to me. She’s playing a game, but she doesn’t know the rules. But I’m confident she’ll know the number one rule before the night ends, and that’s to never fuck with the lion’s balls. That’s me. I’m the lion.

I remove my suit jacket and wrap it around her shoulders as she passes me.

She stiffens. “What are you doing?”

“Doing the gentlemanly thing by adding a layer to your outfit.”

She shrugs out from under the jacket, swatting my hands away. “You wouldn’t know chivalry if it hit you in the face.”

“Believe me, Hummingbird. You’d rather want me to cover you up than cut out a man’s spleen.”

“Don’t call me that.” The silent warning in her eyes is fiery hot. “And I’d appreciate it if you could keep your distance tonight.”

“Look at my lips, sweetheart,” I say, pointing at my mouth, leveling her with a stare. “Not a…fucking…chance.”

“Ugh.” She whirls around, walking so fast her heels sound like firecrackers hitting the pavement.

I stay no more than a few paces behind her, my eyes taking in every face around us. Everyone knows who we are, because the moment they see us, they stand to the side and avert their eyes. Smart.

Maximo leads us to a private entrance on the side of the club, and it’s an explosion of sound the moment we walk into After Dark. Bass vibrates through the floor, pumping a rhythmic beat in the dark and smoky hall. The music is a narcotic for the warm, writhing bodies on the dance floor, consumed by the electric atmosphere. Neon laser lights streak across the checkered dance floor, reflecting in the mirrored walls to create a kaleidoscope of colors throughout the double-story club. In the center of it is the bar with luminous blue lights around it, the bartenders flinging bottles, mixing drinks, and sporting glow-in-dark body paint on their bare chests. It’s like a goddamn unicorn pissed all over this place.

I spot a few familiar faces of men on our security team. They’re blending in, pretending to be partygoers, sipping their virgin drinks while keeping their eyes peeled for potential threats. It sets me at ease knowing there’s backup, but it doesn’t stop me from being glue on Mira’s ass.

I glance up at the Ferrero brothers sitting in a booth on the top level, floor-to-ceiling glass allowing them to look down at their flock whenever their God complex strikes. And as if right on cue, Nunzio Ferrero steps up to the window, dressed in black, thick gold chains hanging around his neck, hair slicked back, and chest puffed up like a fucking peacock. Fucker can be glad it was his father who ordered the hit on Mira’s parents and not him, which is the only reason he’s still breathing now that he’s taken over the family empire. One of his sheep leans in and says something in his ear. Nunzio looks down at us, a dead giveaway that his bodyguard just informed him of our arrival.

“Nicoli Del Rossa?”

I turn to face this bald asshole with an earpiece plugged into his cauliflower ear.And that right there is why I quit the wrestling team in high school.

“Who’s asking?” I widen my stance, ready to break bones if this guy so much as smells like trouble.

“Mr. Ferrero would like to offer you one of the private lounges.”

“No, thank you,” Mira chips in, waving him off dismissively.

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