Savage Lover: A Dark Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 3)

“It’s been fourteen fucking days,” I complain to Titus before finishing the last sip of my third old-fashioned. “Two weeks of sleeping next to her, putting her on my lap all day, offering her a hundred grand for a hand job, and nothing.”

We came down to the lounge where Vanessa worked to have a drink at the end of a long day. A long two weeks.

I still haven’t figured out who was behind the raid on my warehouse, which is fucking infuriating. Not to mention that I’ve been so damn horny, which makes me even more irritable. Still, I refuse to fuck anyone who isn’t Vanessa, and fucking my hand just isn’t the same.

“Maybe it’s time to try a new tactic, man.”

“What’s that?” I ask my second-in-command since I’m all out of ideas.

“Ignore her.”

“What?” Does he think it’s that easy to just ignore the beautiful woman lying in bed with me every night?

“Take Vanessa out with you tonight then put her in a corner. Flirt with other women right in front of her face while pretending she doesn’t exist. It can be your payback for her fucking with that stripper.”

“That’s your advice to convince her to finally give in to me? Ignore her and flirt with other women in front of her as payback?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid fucking advice.”

Titus shrugs his shoulders. “What do I know? Women jump on my dick wherever I go, and that’s that. You have more experience with, what do people call it? Dating? Wooing?”

“Neither of those terms apply here. Not really. And I don’t fucking date. I’m pretty sure I met Madison’s mother at a brothel orgy where we were both drunk and horny. Cass’s mother was Madison’s live-in nanny, so I was basically paying her to babysit and fuck me on the regular. And Sophie’s mother was my masseuse, so getting me off was all in a day’s work for her.”

“Wow, Dante. I thought you fucked classier women than that.”

“Fuck you.”

“I get it. The dirty girls fuck the best. Vanessa is…different.”

“No shit.”

“And you tried offering her money for more?”

“Yes. I could offer her every penny I have, and she would still reject me!”

“Then what do you have to lose by trying something different with her?” Titus asks.

“If I try this and it backfires…”

“Then you’re no worse off than before with your blue balls, right?”

“With Vanessa, if it doesn’t work, I’ll be farther away from her than before,” I grumble. “Why do you think she hates me?”

“Hates? That’s a strong word. If I had to guess, it’s probably because you tricked her into being your live-in…whatever she is, to save her ex-boyfriend’s life.”

“No, before that.”

“Oh. Why do you think she hated you before the manipulation?”

“Because her motherfucking ex said she hated me before we made the deal. So, it’s apparently based on shit I did before, while she was a waitress.”

“You have screwed all the other waitresses who work here, right?”

“Most of them. That’s enough cause for her to hate me?”

“Maybe. If she wants you, but doesn’t want to want you, and then sees you constantly hooking up with a bunch of other women.”

“You think she’s jealous? That it’s a jealous hate?”

“Sure.”

“So, she hates me because I fuck around too much?”

“Some women, especially ones who have been cheated on, can’t stand a wandering dick.”

“I’ve never cheated on anyone because I don’t do those types of relationships. And she hated me before she even knew her ex was screwing around behind her back.”

“That’s true. Then she’s either just a fuckboy hater in general or there’s another reason we’re too stupid to figure out.”

Gavin’s a fuckboy who Vanessa gladly, enthusiastically let air-fuck her on stage in front of a crowd. I hate that I’ve watched the security footage of them at least five times, including the part where I rip him off of her looking like an enraged lunatic.

But back to my point, I have this feeling that there’s another reason my elusive butterfly hates me, one that I can’t even begin to comprehend.

Vanessa

I’m tucked in Dante’s bed in my comfy pajamas, sitting against the headboard playing Sudoku on my phone, when Dante comes home. He missed supper earlier that I had with the girls. They ate faster than humanly possible in order to get away from me, not even offering to help clear the table or help with dishes.

“Dress up. We’re going out tonight,” Dante says while removing his suit jacket and gun holster.

“Out? Out where exactly?”

“Nirvana.”

“Your female strip club?” I ask for clarification.

“Yes.”

“Ah, no thanks. I would rather stay in.”

“I wasn’t asking you. I’m telling you we’re going. Dress up or don’t. That is your only choice.” He growls this all in his no nonsense Daddy voice as he continues to undress for a shower or to change clothes without looking directly at me.

“Why now, Dante? Why do we have to go tonight? I don’t get it. And why the hell didn’t you mention this earlier in the day?”

A second later, the warm comforter and sheets are ripped away from my body like a magician’s trick. I barely get a look at the bedding piling up on the bottom of the bed when my ankle is suddenly in the asshole’s grip. With a yelp of surprise, I fall flat on my back when he drags me all the way down the mattress. When both of my legs are dangling over the bench at the foot, Dante’s enraged face appears above me. His arms are planted on either side of my head, caging me in, blue eyes glaring down at me. I’m surrounded in his scent of this morning’s fading soap along with a day’s worth of sweat.

I am not aroused by the scent of his sweat or the way he’s hovering over me so close I can smell the whiskey on his warm breath. That would be ridiculous. Commanding my pussy to remain as dry as the desert in July doesn’t work, unfortunately.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to deal with your bullshit tonight?”

I shake my head. He’s nearly as furious now as he was the day he caught Gavin giving me…a lap dance? A stage dance? Whatever you want to call it.

Perfect Gavin who wanted me despite being constantly surrounded by gorgeous women. Wanted me so much for whatever reason that he set up Mitchell to cheat on me multiple times.

What the hell is wrong with men? They’re all broken, each and every single one, in their own unique, fucked-up ways. I was probably just a challenge to Gavin like I am to Dante. Otherwise, they would’ve both screwed me once, then never looked back at me again.

“I want to go out tonight, and you’re coming with me. End of discussion. Be ready by eleven,” Dante adds before straightening to his full height and striding off to the bathroom.

Eleven? That’s like…twenty minutes from now.

But I don’t speak a word of complaint. Clearly, Dante is in a bad mood tonight. There’s nothing left for me to do but get ready by eleven.

I throw on one of the new dresses he bought. It’s a short, flimsy red halter with an open back. The front strips of fabric barely cover my breasts so I should fit right in at the strip club. After brushing my hair, and adding red lipstick, I’m as ready as I’m going to get at the last minute.

Dante and I don’t speak as he gets dressed in another suit without a tie, or in the elevator on the way down with his ever-present guards. He doesn’t even glance at me or tell me I look nice. It’s like I could be wearing a garbage bag and he wouldn’t care.

I hate that I miss his ridiculous, over-the-top, horny compliments.

When we reach the main floor, he grabs my hand to lead me to the strip club, right past the bouncers, of course, who bow their heads at him like he’s their god.

It takes a moment for my aging eyes to adjust to the dim, purple neon lighting as he drags me over to a long, plum velvet sofa. He takes a seat and pulls me down with him, right between his spread legs and onto the top of his lap. Holding me on his muscular thigh with a palm tightly grasping the outside of my leg, his other hand rests leisurely on my bare knee. It’s not an intimate touch per the rules, but it’s more proprietary than I would like. Unfortunately, what I like doesn’t matter to the mafia king.

As I glance around the hazy interior, I can’t help but notice that it’s possibly the one place that it’s not unusual to find a woman sitting on a man’s lap. I’m just the only one who isn’t topless. The spotlight and colorful strobe are focused on the woman twirling around the pole on stage in a skimpy nurse’s outfit.

“An old-fashioned,” Dante says in that commanding voice. I turn my head to ask him if he really expects me to go get his drink when I notice the pretty brunette twenty-something waitress. She’s standing in front of us, waiting patiently with her tray against her hip wearing her required plain black dress. Tapping the outside of my thigh he’s been gripping like he owns it because it’s on his lap, he says my actual name to get me to give my order. “Vanessa?”

I don’t usually drink because I’m not that fond of getting tipsy, and I don’t usually have the cash to spare for it. But tonight, I think I’ll need some alcohol, and Dante is paying for it. “Could I get a whiskey sour on the rocks please?”

When the girl leaves, I can’t help but think that I’m way too old to still be a cocktail waitress. The tips are good though, and I’m not a morning person so…

“You’re a whiskey girl?” Dante asks, his breath warm against my ear.

I shrug to hide my shiver. “When the situation calls for it.”

He smooths my hair back over my shoulder as if he wants it out of the way to move his face even closer to my neck and ear when he speaks. “And this is one of those situations?”

“Yes.”

I’m thankful when the waitress returns with our drinks, so I have something to do with my hands. The glass will also keep one of Dante’s busy. Only, he takes a sip, then stretches over to set it down on a small round table before his palm is back on my knee. This time his fingertips are cool from the glass, especially his thumb. His thumb that he’s apparently trying to warm up by rubbing circles on the inside of my knee.

Attempting to ignore his touch, I sip my drink while watching the nurse take off her white dress to Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine.” I swear there must be some rule about only stripping to big hair bands from the eighties. Oh, and how cute. The front of her white panties has a little red cross on the front of them. Ugh. Maybe the bartender will poison my drink. I finish it off and hold it up with a smile when the waitress walks by again.

She’s just handed me my third one when Dante, who had been silent behind me, pats the side of my thigh and says, “Hop up.”

“What?”

Instead of repeating himself, he scoops me up off his lap and plops me down beside him none too gently, like I’m an overcoat he tossed out of his way.

Before I can bitch at him, a tall, slender, topless blonde strolls up to him. She’s smiling like she can smell the money on him. More than likely, she knows who and what he is too.

“Hey, there, big guy.”

Big guy? Pul-ease. That’s so pathetic. And, yes, I am definitely a little drunk.

“Bela. It’s been too long,” the gangster replies, even referring to her by her name. Jeez. Dante pulls a money clip with a wad of cash from his front pants pocket. He wrenches free several hundred-dollar bills to tuck them into the side of her purple G-string that matches the décor.

“Always so generous,” she says with a smile before stepping between his spread thighs.

I may as well be invisible for all the attention the two of them give me as she dips and rolls her mostly naked body all over his crotch. I turn away to watch the new woman on stage sliding down the pole dressed as a cheerleader to try and ignore them. At one point, though, Bela bends over to touch her toes right in front of Dante’s face and more hundreds are deposited into her G-string’s bank account. From that point on, either her ass is grinding on his lap, or her tits are right in front of his face. He keeps giving her cash until she’s danced for so long, she’s out of breath, and there’s sweat beading along her hairline about to ruin her makeup.

Running her finger down the buttons of his shirt, she asks, “Should we go…finish this in a private room?”

There’s only one way to interpret how she plans to “finish this” for him. His dick must be ready to erupt after the tease she gave him. I can’t tell by looking at the fly of his pants if he’s even hard or not. He has to be, right?

For the first time in at least fifteen minutes, Dante chooses the moment I’m thinking about his dick to acknowledge my existence. I don’t know if he’s about to go with her and leave me here or what until he says, “Only if Vanessa agrees to come with us.”

His double entendre isn’t as amusing as he thinks it is judging by his smirk in my direction.

“No, thanks.”

Turning back to the still panting blonde, he gives her the bad news. “Not tonight then, doll. Thank you for the dance.”

When he stuffs more crisp hundreds down the front of her miniscule panties, she gasps realistically as if she’s one tap of a fingertip on her clit away from an orgasm.

Straightening up, she says, “My pleasure,” with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s obviously disappointed she got herself all worked up, and he turned her down. At least it’s over, and she made a few grand in less than half an hour.

After she walks away, Dante stretches his arm across the back of the velvet booth behind my head. He lifts a strand of my hair from my neck and gently plays with it between two fingers. It’s all I can do to not tremble at the light touch of his knuckles brushing my skin. Instead, I pretend to not notice or care until he winds the strand around his finger to tug on it hard enough to tilt my head towards him.

“You look bored, butterfly. Not having any fun tonight?”

“I need more alcohol,” I tell him as I jiggle the ice cubes left behind in my glass. “And you already know that I prefer to watch men take their clothes off.”

“Yes, I’m well aware,” he grumbles at the reminder of Gavin.

When there’s another tug on my hair, I shove away his hand. Turning to him, I say, “You do know that she only crawled all over you because you stuffed hundreds in her G-string, right?”

His smile is so smug I want to claw it off his face. My fingernails dig into my palm, to remind me that I can’t maim a mob boss, especially in public. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know, Salvato.”

“Okay, then let’s do an experiment. The next dancer who comes over here, I won’t put a single dollar in her G-string. We’ll see what happens.”

“Sure. Whatever. You run this show.”

Not even five minutes later, a gorgeous woman who could be Halle Berry’s younger sister, pixie cut and all, approaches Dante in nothing but a white thong. She straddles one of his thighs then leans down to whisper something in his ear, positioning her swinging breasts in his face. When Dante lifts a hand to clutch her waist, I can’t help but blurt out, “I thought you couldn’t touch them.”

The dancer is the one who peers over at me with an assessing look as if to ask who the hell I am. Instead, she just grabs onto Dante’s shoulders and says, “He can touch whoever the hell he wants.”

And dammit, I hate that. I hate that his hand is on her like he couldn’t help himself. Didn’t I touch Gavin too when we were on the stage?

When the dancer turns around and rolls her ass over Dante’s lap, I realize that she must know the answer to the question I was just asking myself. Is he enjoying himself or not?

I shouldn’t care. It’s a strip club. All the men in here are probably walking around with hard dicks and none of them bother me.

Just the one.

Dante’s.

My throat burns and my stupid eyes begin to sting because I’m envious. These tall, beautiful women have perfect twenty-something bodies that I couldn’t even begin to compete with.

Mitch cheated on me to be with younger, prettier strippers. They are the epitome of sexy, every straight man’s fantasy girl in real life. And while most guys in the strip club would have to beg and pay for them to “finish them off” all Dante has to do is sit here and wait five seconds before they offer themselves up to him.

Sure, they also do it for the money, because of who he is, how powerful he is, but what makes him irresistible are his physical attributes. His intimidating height, the hard-earned, chiseled body of a protector—or an instrument of violence depending on the time of day. And then there’s his gorgeous face with those beautiful blue eyes that can flip from cold and terrifying to breathtakingly charming in an instant.

I jump at the unexpected brush of fingers on my bare neck but don’t turn to look at him.

“Now that she’s finished dancing, and also offered to fuck me without me giving her a penny, I think I’ve made my point.”

“Whatever,” I exhale, refusing to look in his direction.

When he stands up, though, my eyes follow him as he swaggers over to the dancer I didn’t even notice had left. He slips the rest of his wad of cash down the front of her panties.

Dante turns around to come back, the smug grin on his face quickly fading.

He states the obvious on his approach. “You’re ready to leave.”

“Have been since before we got here.”

“Come on then,” he says waiting for me to get to my feet. On the first try, I end up landing back on my ass, nearly dumping my melting glass of ice all over my lap.

“Lightweight. Should’ve known,” Dante comments. He takes the glass from my hand and puts it on the nearby table, then grabs my elbows to help me up.

Shrugging him off, I say, “I’m fine. I just needed both hands to push myself up.”

Okay, that’s a lie. My legs are a little wobbly at first. But Dante takes me at my word, walking off toward the door. By the time I follow him, I’m walking just fine in a mostly straight line.

There’s a wait at the elevator bank, and when one arrives, we’re packed in tight. Dante stands behind me in the corner. Slinging his left arm around my waist, he tugs me back so a bunch of other people can squeeze in with us. By the time the elevator doors close, my backside is flattened to the front of his warm body. And there’s no way to miss the answer to my earlier question. He’s long and thick, poking me in my lower back.

I lift my eyes to the mirrors in front of me to see his reflection. He’s watching me as if waiting for my reaction, but he doesn’t look ashamed. And he shouldn’t be. It’s a natural, biological response for men when mostly naked women grind on that particular body part simulating sex.

A few people get off on the second floor, then the third, allowing us a little more breathing room. When I move up half a step, Dante keeps his left arm around my waist to stop me. There’s also a touch so light it could’ve been a breeze of air that starts at my upper back. The lower it goes, making a diagonal progression to follow my tattoos, more pressure is applied until I know it’s Dante’s knuckles. Or maybe I imagined it because it seems impossible for the busted, bloody knuckles that hurt people to be so gentle.

As he begins the ascent, I can’t stop my shiver. Between the tingles on my back and his heavy palm pressing into my lower belly, a jolt of desire surges through me. It’s accompanied by a hunger for more of his touch, which pisses me off.

I hate that he has this effect on me, especially now, after I just had to watch perfect women rub all over him like dogs in heat.

Finding his reflection in the mirror again, I lash out at him. “Stop it.”

Several people still in the elevator turn their heads in our directions. When they see Dante’s towering form in the corner though, they quickly look straight ahead again.

“Why? Is it too…intimate?” he asks without lowering his voice, as if he doesn’t give a shit who is listening.

And dammit, there is no right answer to his question. If I say yes, then I’m admitting he’s affecting me. If I say no, he’ll keep doing it.

I hold his stare in the mirror as I weigh my options. Like he knows he’s backed me into a corner, he arches an eyebrow and starts the path with his knuckles all over again.

The air is too thick in the confined space. That has to be why I’m breathing heavily. And the urge to step back against the warmth of his chest, the hardness of his arousal again is so confusing. Does he want me? Or does he want the strippers he made me watch rub all up on him?

Oh my god.

He made me watch. If he had wanted to fuck them, he wouldn’t have dragged me along tonight. The strippers were just pawns in his little game. He was intentionally trying to make me jealous.

And it worked.

Is this how he felt after he saw me on stage underneath Gavin? Him grinding on top of me? Did Dante do it as payback?

Well, I hated seeing him flirting with those women, so it worked. I don’t want anyone else to touch him, to garner even a second of his attention. I want both, his hands on me and all of his attention. Most of all, I want it to be my hands on him, over his clothes, under them, roaming over every inch of his muscular body.

Fuck. I don’t want to want Dante, but there’s no point lying to myself anymore.

Pride? Dignity? Who needs either of those things when I know how good this, being with Dante, would feel?

My only hesitation is whether or not giving in will mean being tossed aside afterward. I need to know once and for all. Either he’s the playboy bastard I think he is or he’s something more. And there’s only one way to find out, right? Actions speak louder than words.

Wetting my lips, I hold his intense gaze in the mirror to say the one word that lets him know I’m giving up fighting him. At least for the time being.

“When.”

Dante doesn’t bother asking me what I mean. His shoulders slump, as if in relief, and then his right hand grabs the side of my head, turning my face around as his lips come crashing down to meet mine. His tongue forces its way into my mouth, and I taste the sweet, bitter flavor of him, of his whiskey. Warmth spreads through my belly like I drank a gallon of the liquor as I turn all the way around to face him. To get my hands on him. The smooth back of his neck is the first thing I can reach, and I’ll take it.

Dante keeps his hand clutching the side of my face as if to make sure I don’t pull away. His other hand doesn’t waste any time sliding down my back, grabbing a handful of my ass. He doesn’t care who is still in the elevator with us, and neither do I.

They probably think we’re being rude, going at each other on the elevator instead of waiting until we get to our room. They don’t know that this is our first kiss or how long I made an impatient mafia king wait for it. He was so used to getting what he wants all the time before I refused him…

And while the kiss is amazing, the spark slowly begins to dwindle.

I don’t know if I could handle his rejection now, after growing closer to him for the past two weeks.

Yes, I want him. I’ve always wanted him. That was never the problem.

The problem is that I am nothing but a challenge Dante needs to defeat to make everything right in his mafia king world.