The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (8 page)

Chapter 7

Dante

I’d hoped it was all a fluke.

Just a sudden, random feeling brought on by something keenly supernatural. Or food poisoning. Something other than the insatiable desire overwhelming the bloodlust deep inside of me.

Lucy Vaughn. Whoever she is.
Whatever
she is. She’s better than anything else I’ve ever done; everything I’ve ever tasted.

She’s my cure.

“Right this way, Mr. Hart.”

The petite hostess gestures for us to follow, firing a pleasant smile at me before twisting around to show off her ass. I ignore her and gaze down at Lucy instead, admiring the gorgeous gown hugging her taut, athletic curves.

Her pupils expand as she scans the entryway with curious fascination. It’s clear a fancy place like this is well outside the realms of her monthly budget.

I snatch her hand and she jerks her head towards me in surprise. “Come on…”

She lets me lead her into the main sitting room. The lighting shifts and shadows grow taller the farther away we travel from the entryway. It’s a gentle, romantic atmosphere. Every table is occupied, save the handful scattered about with
reserved
signs hovering between the twin candles of the centerpieces. No one speaks much louder than a whisper across their tables but I suspect that has more to do with choice than a requirement.

“This is fucking
nice
.”

I chuckle at her comment, noting the side-eyes jerking in Lucy’s direction as we pass the tables by. I squeeze her hand, nudging her to pick up her pace as the hostess swings around a table and gestures that it’s ours.

“Your server will be right with you,” she says, her voice an octave or two higher than normal in that forced-hospitality way.

“Thank you,” I tell her. I let go of Lucy’s hand and reach for a chair, sliding it out for her to sit down. Of course, she raises an amused brow and sits down in the opposite chair instead. “You know…” I smile and take my seat. “Last night may not have been a date but tonight, you really need to cut a gentleman some slack.”

She holds back a grin. “Well, I may not be the only one that needs to revisit the laws of chivalry. Last I checked, a gentleman usually knocks instead of breaking and entering into a lady’s private residence.”

“No, that’s allowed,” I quip. “It only would have been rude if I peeked in on you while you were changing.”

She pauses. “Did you?”

“No.”

“Oh, well—” She sits back, smirking with sarcastic delight. “I guess we’re okay then.”

“Good.”

The server arrives — a young man with dark features and a thick, Sicilian accent — and offers us both a glass of wine and a pair of menus of glance over. I notice the light bulge in his jacket where a small pistol lies hidden in a holster wrapped around his shoulders. The mark of a mob restaurant — even the wait staff is packing heat.

My eyes shift across the table again and I smile as Lucy notices the same thing.

“Hold on…” she murmurs softly after he walks away. She looks around, twisting her neck so far around it might break. “Is everyone here a criminal?”

“Almost,” I answer, truthfully. Her eyes grow wider, locking on the faces at the tables surrounding us. “Don’t stare, Lucy. You wouldn’t want to get whacked.”

Her head whips forward and she stares at her wineglass instead. “Right…”

I tilt my head, admiring the adorable flush of her cheeks for a moment. “You can look at
me
,” I chuckle. Her face turns up, her pink rouge shining in the red-tinted lamps above our heads. “Just be cool, Lucy.”

“You brought me to a mafia hideout for dinner?” she whispers.

“I brought you to a nice place for dinner.”

“A nice place owned by
the mob.”

“I challenge you to find a nice place in Chicago that
isn’t
.”

She pauses to chew on her lip, concentrating hard to keep her eyes on me. “Just be cool, huh?”

“Graceful. Elegant. Poised,” I say. “You know, all the things you claimed to be last night.”

“Is that
doubt
I hear rolling off your tongue?”

“Maybe.” I smile, reacting to the tough, Chicago accent seeping through her teeth. “You going to prove me wrong?”

Lucy picks up her wineglass. “I assure you, Mr. Hart… I have grace and elegance coming out of my ass.”

I laugh as a shadow pauses over me and a hand slaps down on my shoulder.

“God, I love a pretty broad with a dirty mouth!”

I look up to find Enzo Zappia lingering over me in a dark burgundy suit, looking exactly like his old man minus about twenty years. “Enzo!” I greet, extending my hand to him as I gesture around with the other. “This place is wonderful. You’ve done a fine job.”

He whips my wrist about like he’s herding cattle and then lays his hand on his chest. “It tickles me to hear you say that, Hart. I’m honored you could make it tonight.”

I lean towards him an inch. “Well, your father didn’t give me much choice.”

Enzo laughs, the sound carrying across the entire room but no one bats an eye. He’s a Zappia, after all, and the owner. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. “But this—” He points at Lucy. “This beauty must have been worth the effort.”

“She’s certainly proving to be.” His hand slips from my shoulder and he extends it across the table towards her. “Lucy, this is Lorenzo Zappia.”

Her brow twitches at the name and I detect a sly malice behind her eyes. Perhaps bringing her to spend the night out amongst the people that tried to have her father killed wasn’t the wisest of decisions. Still, she throws on a pleasant smile and nestles her fingers in his. “It’s a pleasure,” she says.

Enzo leans over and kisses her knuckles, a move that no doubt infuriates her but she keeps her cool. “The pleasure is all mine,
Ms…
”

“Vaughn.”

He stands up, smiling wide as he releases her hand. “Ms.
Vaughn
,” he repeats, shifting his eyes back to me. “Hart, you let me know if you or the lady need anything.”

I nod. “Of course.”

Enzo glides away, laying a soft hand on her bare shoulder as he swings by. I expect Lucy to say something as soon as he’s out of earshot but she keeps silent, her eyes purposefully locked on mine, and brings her glass to her lips for a stiff sip.

“What?” I ask her, sensing the words building on the tip of her tongue.

“Nothing,” she murmurs between sips. She takes her time, pouring a healthy amount down her throat before setting the glass down. “I’m just sitting here… acting
poised
.”

“I can tell.”

She inhales a quick breath and her posture sags. “Not only did you bring me to a mob restaurant—”

“Lucy—”

“—you brought me to a mob restaurant where I’d be surrounded by the very men that tried to have my father killed.”

“I regret nothing.”

“I should stab you with my fork.”

“You’re willing to try.”

Lucy lets herself look around again, obviously not caring anymore about whom she might offend. “This is fucked up, you know that, right?”

I pinch the stem of my wineglass. “Come now, Ms. Vaughn. If being around killers actually bothered you, you never would have agreed to spend the evening with
me
. Again.”

“What makes you think it doesn’t?”

“That look in your eyes,” I answer, staring across at her.

“What look in my eyes?”

“The one you’ve had since the moment I kissed you tonight.”

She falls silent and I take a victory sip of wine — perhaps prematurely, but it tastes delicious all the same. “Being a decent fuck doesn’t vindicate you of wrongdoing, Mr. Hart.”

“I never said it did, Ms. Vaughn.”

“You see,
this
is the problem with gangsters in this city,” she says, her voice firm but low. “Their entitlement to own things they hold no claim over.”

“You feel I believe I’m entitled to you?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” she asks in return. “I’m curious — exactly how much money did you shell out to spend last night with me?”

I bite my lip, holding back my grin. “A lot.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Yes.”

“Every penny?”

“I’d pay it all again, Lucy. And more.”

“You’re psychotic.”

“You’re perfection.”

She heaves a frustrated sigh. “And I can’t be bought.”

“You wouldn’t be worth it if you could be.” I smile, seeing the tug of her own mouth betraying her. “Lucy, I did not bring you here tonight to show you off as my trophy nor to boss you around as my slave. I certainly didn’t bring you here to
impress
you or
offend
you. I asked you to accompany me tonight because I had to be here and I couldn’t stomach it alone. I wanted you here with me to make my night a little easier.”

Her green eyes twinkle in the candle’s flame, growing softer with every word I say.

I keep talking, luring her in. “You’re light on the eyes, fun to talk to… and speaking of
decent fucks
—”

She laughs but quickly covers her mouth with one hand.

I take hold of my glass again. “Now, Ms. Vaughn, can we please cut the bullshit and enjoy our evening together?”

Lucy narrows her gaze, knowing she’s completely trapped but she likes it. “Fine...” She reaches for her drink. “But I’m not dancing for you again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking.”

“Thank you.”

We take a sip of wine while we eye each other across the table. I detect the desire building within her green irises, that same fiery spirit I saw just before she let herself touch me last night. She knows as well as I do she’ll end up in my bed again and it doesn’t frighten her at all. In fact, she wants it. Perhaps even more than I do.

I lick my lips, my senses erupting at the mere thought of tasting her fine pussy again. It takes every bit of my control not to bend her over this fucking table and take a bite of that perfect ass right here and now.

Laughter carries over the tepid room, once again booming from Enzo’s powerful Italian lungs. Lucy twists around to see him standing in front of a large table at the far corner, this one sitting up on a platform by the windows near the entrance. There’s another uproar of laughter as the men around the table join his fun. I pause, sensing the questions on Lucy’s lips while her eyes linger on them.

“Who’s that?” she asks me as she turns back.

I clear my throat, glancing over her shoulder again. “The young man is Marty Zappia.”

“And the old guy?” She already knows. I can see it in her steady eyes.

“That is Antony Zappia, his father.”

“
The
Mr. Zappia?” she mutters.

“Yes.” The asshole that sent me to kill her father. “Lucy, let’s—”

“I want to meet him.”

I blink, shaking my head at the sudden request. “That’s not the kind of table you walk up and introduce yourself to—” She tosses her napkin off her lap and quickly stands up.
“Lucy—”

She dodges my reach and slips away from the table with fast, precise feet. I growl softly in frustration as I struggle to catch up to her before she steps up onto the platform. Her sudden presence draws the eyes of the entire table and Zappia’s guards reach for their concealed weapons.

“Good evening, Mr. Zappia,” Lucy announces, smiling politely. She extends her hand towards his confused, old face. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—”

I snatch her hand from the air and draw her away from the table, gesturing to his bodyguards that I have the situation under control. “My deepest apologies, Mr. Zappia,” I say quickly with a forced, well-meaning chuckle. I keep a tight grip on her as she tries to tug away. “My date has had a touch too much wine, I think.”

“Hart…” he mutters. His eyes stay locked on Lucy, twisting between annoyance and growing curiosity. “That’s quite all right. I’m sure we all will by the end the time this evening is over…”

“Excuse us.”

Lucy digs her heels into the floor and slides out of my grasp. “Mr. Zappia, if you don’t mind, I’d like a minute of your time—”

I slide in front of her to meet her eyes, firing a hard look at her. “I’m sure Mr. Zappia doesn’t need—”

“Let the young lady speak, Hart,” he interrupts me and gestures to Enzo. “Don’t just stand there. Pull up a chair for the girl.”

I furrow my brow at her smiling face. She doesn’t even waver as she stares up at me. I don’t know whether to kiss her or slap some sense into her.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Zappia,” she says. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Enzo sets a chair down on the outside of the table and Lucy lowers herself into it. I stay behind her with my hand on the back of her neck — just in case I have to snap it.

“Now…” Zappia curls his wrinkled lips. “What can I do for you, young lady?”

She grins. “I just wanted to meet the man that’s been taking advantage of my father for the last ten years.”

Goddammit, Lucy.

I dig my fingertips into her skin. She doesn’t even flinch but Zappia sure does.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks from the corner of his mouth.

Marty shifts awkwardly in his chair. His shocked eyes bounce from his father’s face to hers and back again with nervous apprehension. Of all the things he’s witnessed since diapers, I imagine watching his old man gun down a pretty girl in a crowded restaurant might be something new. He glances at his watch. There’s fresh tension in the air and every person within earshot of the table falls deathly silent.

“My father is Terrance Vaughn, sir,” Lucy continues, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. “He’s been gambling in your casino since I was a child.”

“Vaughn…” he murmurs, scratching his bearded chin. “The dancer man?”

“Yes.” She keeps her eyes straight forward, ignoring the titter falling off Marty’s lips.

“Ah.” He looks her up and down with his own smirk. “You somehow feel I am responsible for his addiction, yes?”

“No, sir. My father is responsible for his own actions,” she answers. “However, I do feel a man of your intelligence should know better than to enable people like him who clearly need to seek help.”