I decide not to linger in the alley across from the bar. The street has a lot of nice businesses and apartments on it, and I’m sure someone will call the cops eventually. So I walk across the street and step into the bar. I might get killed for it, but at least my father won’t murder me for getting in trouble with cops.
The first thing I do when I enter is look around. There is a man and a woman working behind the bar, and neither of them looks Italian. The girl has long dark hair with bright red streaks. A waitress walks toward the bar, and she has short blue hair. This is not the type of bar that I would expect to see my fantasy walk into. But even though the workers are eccentric, the patrons seem to be mostly normal.
I take an empty seat at the bar. When the male bartender notices me, I catch myself before I order vodka. “Light beer, on tap,” I call out. He nods, and begins to fill a glass mug. If no one has noticed who I am by now, I probably shouldn’t advertise that I’m Russian.
He sits the mug in front of me, and I hand him a twenty. “Keep the change.”
He nods, and gazes at me for a moment. Does he think I’m hitting on him? My eyes shift to the bland drink in front of me, and as I take a sip he walks away.
I change my position on the stool, to survey the bar. That’s when I see her, out on the dance floor with a few other women, dancing to a 90’s pop song. They’re just playing around, moving their feet, and shaking their shoulders and hips. She giggles, and I wish I could hear her over the music and crowd noise. I want to know how she laughs and why, what makes her smile, what makes her come.
She leans toward one of her friends, whispers in her ear, then begins to walk toward me. She’s wearing a black dress with long sleeves and a round neckline, but it’s just a tad bit too tight for my fantasy to be wearing, in public anyway. Other men can see the outline of her gorgeous boobs, and the shape of her hips, and that pisses me off. She leans against the bar, and the man sitting beside her nearly chokes on his drink. She’s half way across the bar from me, and I can see the back of the dress. There’s almost nothing to it. She was wearing a sweater when she walked into the church, and the bar. She was trying to look sweet for her fiancé and priest.
That makes me wonder what’s going through her mind. Why is she out at a bar, dressed like that? I can’t think too much about that, though. Her gorgeous body and her sexy tan skin are making it hard to think at all.
“I’d like another white wine spritzer with pomegranate juice, a chocolate martini, and a pina colada, please,” she says. I finally tear my eyes away from the sexy as sin dress she’s wearing, to search out her beautiful face. Her hair was up when I saw her at the church, but she’s taken it down and it’s now a mass of waves around her beautiful face, and it sweeps away to one side. How does one girl have so much hair?
She’s smiling at the bartender, but not in a seductive way. The bartender replies, “You can have anything you want, doll face.” His eyes are on her lips, and I want to poke them out with my thumbs so he can never look at her again.
“Just the drinks,” she replies, but she’s still smiling.
“Your loss,” the man says, and turns to make the drinks.
That’s when she begins to look around. She takes in the bottles of alcohol behind the bar, the levers for the beer kegs, the man sitting beside her who is dying to talk to her. When she looks at him he freezes, and stares at his drink.
Then her eyes are on me. Her sultry blue eyes sparkle as she takes in my appearance. I should smile, I tell myself. I should wink. I should give her some kind of sign I’m interested, instead of staring at her like a fool, like the man sitting beside her did.
Instead I look away, again staring into my beer. I shouldn’t try to get her attention. I’m supposed to be following her around, trying to dig up dirt to use against her fiancé. I don’t know why. If we found out something about her, and tried to use it against her, Frankie would probably take her out. Or maybe my dad wants to find out where she goes, to track Frankie.
I don’t know why my father gave me this fucking job. I’m just going to fall in love with her, and end up doing something stupid. Because that’s what I do. I’m the fuck up in the family. I never do anything right, according to my father and older brothers. I don’t understand why it matters what I do. Ivan will take over the Bratva when my father is dead. Anatoli is the best enforcer the family has ever seen. And Natalya is the smart one, working the numbers better than any accountant. My father should have sent her to college. The only way that the Ivanovich Bratva will survive is…
“Hi,” I hear from behind me. It’s her. I know before I even turn around. Her soft, sweet voice is now burned into my mind. I shouldn’t turn around. I shouldn’t speak to her.
“Hello?” she says again. Then she touches my shoulder lightly, and I move to grab her hand. Our eyes meet, and lock. I’m still touching her hand. Her soft, silky skin is against mine. She exhales loudly, and her bottom lip quivers.
I want to smother her with my mouth, and never let her take a breath that isn’t from my lungs again. I want to pull her into my body, pick her up and sit her back down in my lap, in front of everyone in this place. I want to carry her out and kidnap her, put her on the back of my bike and drive until we reach Peru. I want…
“Sorry, I thought…” She doesn’t finish her thought. I suddenly want to know every thought she’s ever had. I want to chain her by her ankle to my bed, and force her to tell me what she thinks, what she feels, what she desires. “I’m Chiara, but my friends call me Chi.”
Shit. Shit! My living, breathing fantasy talks, and her voice sounds like an angel. And she’s introducing herself to me. I’m still holding her hand. I swear I wish I could cut mine off so I wouldn’t have to ever remove it from hers.
Now I have to lie. Damn. “I’m Mike.” I thought I’d go by Mike at school one year, thinking I could hide my lineage, my family. I thought if I went by Mike that the normal girls would like me. Instead, my brothers beat the shit out of me, and my father told me I’d never be anything but Russian, and an Ivanovich.
“Do you dance, Mike?” she asks me.
“Your drinks, Miss,” the bartender says, a little too loudly.
She tries to remove her hand from mine, probably to pay for the drinks. I don’t want to release it. I want to ask for her hand, right here and now, for the rest of my life.
“I should buy your drinks,” I say.
Her perfectly groomed brows furrow, the corners of her lips droop into a frown, and I never want to see her look at me like that again. “I won’t let you buy my friends’ drinks, Mike.”
“I insist,” I reply. I smile at her, to try to get her to smile at me. Having my fantasy smile at me might be too much, though. I might bend her over the bar and shove my dick into her from behind if she does that.
“No. I didn’t ask you to dance with me to con you into buying my drinks.” She’s gazing at me, as if she’s trying to figure me out. But she can’t, she won’t. She’ll never know me, the real me anyway. No good girl should ever have to know the real me.
I still haven’t released her hand, and I won’t ever let her go.
“Someone needs to pay for the drinks,” the annoying bartender exclaims.
I should punch him for speaking to her like that, and for daring to look at her.
“Can I have my hand?” she asks, almost reluctantly.
“No. Can I have it?” I ask. And I don’t regret it.
She giggles at me, and tugs her hand away. I let it go, sadly. She reaches for her purse, but I pull a fifty from my pocket quickly, and hand it to the angry man.
“That should be enough, shouldn’t it?” I enquire. “Keep the change.”
He nods again, and stomps off.
“Thank you, Mike,” she murmurs, and grins at me. “But that really wasn’t necessary.”
“Tell me what’s necessary, and I’ll do it,” I demand.
She smiles at me, as if she’s bemused. I love the way she looks r
ight now, so innocent and slightly confused by what’s happening between us. She’s dazzling.
“What’s necessary is that you dance with me,” she says, as she leans forward to grab the drinks. Her beautiful round breast brushes against my forearm. I might suffocate. I might die right here and now. “Or you could help me carry these drinks.”
She takes two of the drinks, and steps away, but gives me a perfect, bright smile. I don’t know how I will survive if I’m not touching her. I might die today just from meeting her, and talking to her.
“Grab it, and come on,” she insists.
I take a deep breath, as if I’m about to jump into the deep end of the pool, and take the drink. I leave the beer. I was never going to drink it anyway. I follow her to a table near the dance floor, staring at her spectacular backside the entire time.
Chapter Three
Chiara
“Everyone, this is Mike,” I declare, as I give the two drinks over to my friends. “Mike, this is Bea, and Paula. We’re teachers.”
Neither of them knows that I’m engaged. I mean, if I wore the ring to a New York public school, I’d get mugged before I got to my classroom. And, I’m not announcing that I’m marrying Frankie Moretti. I don’t need people looking at me like I’m some kind of pariah, especially not the people I work with. I remember what it was like trying to date in high school, when everyone knew I was Nicola Rossi’s daughter. That’s right, I didn’t date. I don’t want to be a social outcast, again. Once was enough.
“You’re out late on a school night,” he scolds softly.
I can’t help but giggle at that. “We’re off tomorrow, because spring break is next week. I don’t have to be up early in the morning.” I say it with as much defiance as I can muster.
“Then what are your plans for the rest of the night?” His voice is a little uptight, very New York, but extremely warm. There’s also a hint of something else in his voice, a bit demanding, almost dominant. If he wasn’t so blonde haired and blue eyed, I’d swear he was in the mob. I hear the same tone when my dad speaks, as if he has the world on a string and he controls everything around him.
Maybe it’s because he’s so fucking good looking. And he’s so darn tall, which I didn’t realize until he stood up. He must be at least six and a half feet tall, he practically towers over me. And Mike’s body is long, and lean. I’m guessing anyway, not that I could tell under the loose fitting black shirt and heavy leather jacket. Not like Frankie, whose suits are tight because he seems to put on more muscle every day. But I’d really like to find out what Mike is hiding under his dark clothes.
Oh, God I want to find out so damn badly.
I saw him staring at me while he was sitting at the bar, and I was immediately drawn to him. He’s totally my type, the anti-Italian. He looks like the typical American boy, he’s so blonde and pretty he could be a surfer. He looks almost boyish, with a round face, cheekbones that are high but not hollow, and a jaw line that’s defined but not sharp. He has a softness about him that is so sexy to me. He’s not hard and tough like my dad, like Frankie.
“He’s cute.” Paula confirms my opinion.
“Totally hot,” Bea agrees.
“But can he dance?” Paula asks. All three of us girls turn toward him.
“Oh, I can dance,” he replies confidently. Then he offers me his hand. I’m afraid I might not get mine back if I take his. He held my hand earlier like it was a lifeline, like he’d sink without it. It was so sexy, maybe because my own fiancé doesn’t touch me like that. Frankie doesn’t look at me with half the passion in his eyes. If he did, maybe I wouldn’t have hit on Mike. Maybe I would have, I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want to give Frankie my virginity, like it’s some kind of prize he’s entitled to because my dad is forcing me to marry him.
Yes, I’m a virgin. No dates in high school, and my college sweetheart is gay. He always said he was saving himself for marriage. I should have known something was wrong, but I just never thought it was that.
Frankie says he wants to save it for marriage too. It kinda makes me wonder…
I give him my hand, and he twirls me once. My eyes go wide, and I gasp loudly. Of course he’s going to lead. He looks like a leader. Maybe he’s a politician, or the son of a politician.
Once we’re on the dance floor, the first thing he does is a body roll. He should be too tall to do something like that, but it looks amazing on his beautiful, long body. Next he spins, stomps both his feet, and moves his hips. Then he gives me a sly grin, showing me that he knows he looks good.
“Come on,” he says, and extends his hand again. Yes, I’m going to come with him, wherever he wants to go. He’s too damn sexy for words and he knows it.
I take his hand, and he pulls me into his body. He’s so much taller than me, and his body is rock hard. He begins to move his hips and his shoulders, and rolls his body again. My legs are slightly spread, and somehow he places one knee between them and rolls his hips against mine. I glance up his body, to find his blue eyes staring down at me. His hand that isn’t holding mine finds my shoulder, then slides downward. I feel his fingertips lightly trailing down my back. I shiver, as I feel goose bumps form down my arms. My nipples are hard, just from the slightest touch from him. I don’t feel any of this when Frankie touches me, or kisses me.
Why did I wear this stupid dress? It was in a box of clothes that Angelina gave me before her wedding, telling me they were no longer appropriate for a woman marrying a Moretti. I think that’s the reason I wanted to wear it tonight. When Paula asked me to come out with her and Bea, I told her no like I always do. But something about knowing that I would be meeting Frankie at the church made me change my mind. I decided to do it, Frankie be damned!
Now, I’m not sure it was a good idea. I’m moving my hips and swaying with this sexy man, who is simply way too damn good looking. He’s touching me intimately, and looking at me like he wants to devour me. I want him to. I want him to do every dirty thing he can think of to me. I want to give myself, my virginity, to someone I want, not someone who my father has decided I should marry.
And I pick Mike, no last name, no address, and no phone number. Just Mike.
He leans his head down, to brush his lips against my cheek, before he whispers in my ear, “Do you have a boyfriend, Chi?”
Then he pulls away, and stares right into my eyes, waiting for me to answer. I’m not that good of a liar. I never have been. My lip quivers when I answer. “No.” Technically he’s my fiancé. It’s a lie by omission, but it’s not like I’ll ever have to see Mike again, right?
“Good. Come home with me tonight.” His fingers move upward over my spine, and I close my eyes. Then they move across my neck, to finally rest on my cheek. I sigh loudly, at the sensations stirring inside me from his soft touch.
Is this what happens at bars? If I’d known, I would have done this months ago.
“Is that a good idea? I mean, something bad could happen to me,” I murmur, as his thumb traces over my bottom lip.
“Everything bad could happen to you, my treasure.” His voice is sexy as hell when he says it. My eyes pop open. He might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen. And he’s rocking his hips against me. He’s calling me his, his treasure, like I’m something precious to be taken care of, which is so sexy my panties might melt.
Am I supposed to be afraid of him, or intimidated? I can’t be when he’s touching me so gently. And he’s looking at me like he wants to adore me, not hurt me. But still… “That’s not supposed to make me want to go home with you, is it?”
“Oh, I’ll make sure you want everything I do to you, treasure.” His voice somehow gets lower, deeper, as he leans forward and kisses my cheek. Frankie has kissed me, on my lips, but he doesn’t cause the thrill of pleasure to trail down my spine and make my shoulders shake. My ex from college just wanted quick make out sessions that sometimes ended with hand jobs for him. It didn’t send chills anywhere on my body, honestly.
; But this huge hunk of man flesh, he’s just dancing with me and barely grazing my skin, and every nerve ending in my body is piqued. I think my nipples are harder than they’ve ever been.
He thrusts his hips against mine, and mutters, “Tell me you want to come home with me, treasure. Tell me you want me to worship every inch of your body.”
My body is saying, Yes! Oh yes! Please worship me!
But my brain is saying, No you are a good girl you do not go home with strange men!
Maybe that’s why I’m twenty-five, or nearly thirty as my dad says, and still a virgin. Maybe I should live a little, just this once! I’ll be a married woman in two months, and my chance to be spontaneous, to have a one night stand with a stranger, will be gone. I have to do it now. I have to do it tonight. I might not get another opportunity.
I wrap my arms around his neck, and while staring into his baby blue eyes, I answer. “Yes, I want it.”
He opens his mouth, as if to ask something, but he stops himself. Then he wraps one of his long arms around my waist and holds my body against his. He’s carrying me, but not like it’s obvious, off the dance floor. But he’s not carrying me toward my friends, he’s walking me to the door.
“Wait, I should get my sweater,” I murmur.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he answers me. He glances away for a moment, to make sure he doesn’t run us into anyone. Then his eyes are again on mine, as if trying to capture them. But it’s not like I’ll ever see him again for him to buy me one. My friends will get it, I’m sure.
He releases me, placing me on the ground before his big hand takes mine, and weaves our fingers together. Then he leads me out the door, and I shiver.
“Here, take this,” he says, and removes his leather jacket to wrap me up in it. It seems like he’s staring at something across the street. “I didn’t think this through,” he mutters. Then his hand moves to his back pocket. My eyes follow his movements, and I can’t help but notice his ass in his tight jeans. It’s perfect. I don’t even notice that he’s pulled his phone out, until he speaks. “We’ll have a ride here in three minutes.”
War (Bratva and Mafia Chronicles Book 1) Page 2