Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
But already some young frat boys are hollering to me, waving their five-dollar bills in the air for me to come over. I pretend not to see them.
“Hey, over here,” one of them calls. “What? Our money’s not good enough for you?”
“Milan.” My boss, Sam, grunts my stage name, jerking his head toward the guy. I toss my head around as I strut toward him, letting my hair fall over my face. Crouching down, I pull out the waistband of my G-string for his offering.
With my back to the audience, I go back to the pole and wrap one leg around it, humping the stainless steel. Going for another high kick, I slip and stumble back. It turns out sweaty palms present a serious impediment to pole dancers. To recover, I strut around the perimeter of the stage, trying to keep my hair over my face.
I don’t look at Carlo. He climbed the stairs into the VIP section, but he’s sitting at the balcony, looking down. It’s probably just my imagination that he’s staring straight at me. When I round the corner, I dart a glance in his direction.
Shit.
We lock gazes, and my stomach twists.
Carlo’s lips flatten. Surging to his feet, he jogs down the stairs and stalks toward the stage. Jimmy, The Candy Store’s ex-marine bouncer, flexes his muscles and steps forward.
I dart toward the stairs to intercept. As the daughter of Jersey’s largest crime family don, I probably know even less than your average American about the workings of the mob, but there is one thing I understand: Family men don’t take shit from anyone. Like any apex predator, they’re dangerous when provoked.
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” I say breathlessly as I navigate the stage steps in my heels.
“Milan, what the hell are you doing?” Sam calls from the other side of the stage.
I send an apologetic glance at him and try to push past Jimmy, who put his body between mine and Carlo’s. He extends an arm to hold me back.
“What do you want?” he demands of Carlo.
Carlo ignores him and lifts his chin at me. He doesn’t need to speak. I know he can only have one agenda--to haul me out of there as fast as possible, before anyone else sees my scantily-clad body.
“It’s okay, Jimmy.” I grip the bouncer’s bulging bicep.
Carlo looks at the place where my hand connects with Jimmy’s arm, and his lip curls into a snarl.
I snatch it away. “I’m going to leave with Carlo. I have to go.”
“Is this guy giving you problems? You don’t have to go anywhere with him.”
The stupid bouncer’s going to get himself killed. Why can’t he leave it the hell alone? “No, no. You have it all wrong. He’s family.”
With a capital F.
“He’s my ride, and I have to go now.”
By this time, Sam’s shoved another girl on stage. He makes it over to us, looking irate. “What in the hell is going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Sam. I have to quit. You can keep my last paycheck. I’ll just get my stuff from the locker room.” I say the last bit to Carlo who acknowledges it with an almost imperceptible nod.
Jimmy catches my arm. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asks in a low voice.
“No! I’m not. I’m really not. But I do have to go. I’m really sorry.” I pull away and rush off toward the locker room, carrying my clothes from the stage. I throw on my plaid skirt and white blouse and grab my purse from the locker.
Carlo and his soldier wait in the hall. Carlo stands out from the rest of the men who frequent The Candy Store. Tall, expensively-dressed and darkly handsome, he caught the attention of all the women working the place, but right now he’s looking only at me, and he appears lethal. Something about seeing Carlo as such a badass makes my entire body vibrate—and not just from nerves. I scoot past them, not wanting a scene in The Candy Store, and head out the back door with my two bodyguards—or in this case, prison guards—behind me.
“You drive my car back.” Carlo hands his keys to his soldier. The guy disappears, afraid enough of my father to avoid looking my way. Carlo follows me to my car.
“Are you going to tell me what in the fuck is going on?” His sexy Italian accent sounds thicker when he’s mad. His green eyes flash.
I shiver and shake my head.
“No?” He cups my chin. Despite the hard lines and the anger on his face, his touch is gentle. “What were you doing in there? You can’t possibly need the money.” He gives me a questioning look.
“No, it’s not that. I like dancing, okay?”
“Dancing?” He snorts. “I’ve seen you dance. You have more talent than every stripper in Jersey combined. That’s not dancing. Give me the damn keys.”