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Mafia Daddy (Vegas Underground #4)
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SHE’S ALWAYS BEEN MINE
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The pounding music might be the only thing keeping me on my feet at the moment. I bounce and spin on the dance floor to the beats of DJ Sunshine, the coolest female DJ on Ibiza. I may or may not have one too many cosmos in me. The room tilts and spins alarmingly every time I slow down.
I guess I ought to thank mobster Nico Tacone for footing the bill on this party lifestyle, but I spent my entire life hating him, so gratitude would be an adjustment. Still, he released me from our marriage contract and gave me the money to run away until he worked things out with our families, so I have nothing to complain about.
I turn and run into a wall of fine Italian suit. Pleasure overtakes me at a familiar masculine scent, and I throw my arms around the man’s neck before my brain registers what this means.
I’ve been found. Caught.
“Alex!” I breathe.
My father’s right-hand man. His soldier, bodyguard, protégé—whatever you want to call him.
I don’t mean to fling myself at him, but my body control isn’t the best. Oh, who am I kidding? I totally want to plaster myself all over this man.
He’s been the subject of my schoolgirl crushes since I was fifteen.
Strong, handsome, powerful, sexy. Italian. He’s everything I love in a man. And he’s off limits. Or rather, as a mafia princess with a marriage contract to another family, I’ve been off limits to him.
Which meant no matter how much I flirted or attempted to provoke him, he never showed any interest beyond the smolder of desire I swore burned in his gaze. But then, he might give every girl those sizzling looks, because I’m pretty sure he’s a huge player.
His iron arm bands around my waist, presumably to hold me up, since I’m not doing a great job of it myself, but I take it as an invitation and lift my legs to wrap around his waist.
“That’s it, bambina.” He’s never called me baby before and the pleasure of it ripples through me as he shifts his forearm under my ass, turns and walks swiftly toward the door.
By the time my brain catches on to what’s happening, we’re off the dance floor and almost out of the nightclub. “Wait!” I try to get down. I guess when I attached myself to him in greeting, I was angling for some sexy dancing out on the floor. But Alex is all business, and if he thinks he’s dragging me back to Chicago to face my father, he’s going to have a fight on his hands.
I kick and thrash and suddenly Yuri, the huge, tattooed Russian who sits and watches the DJ, Lucy, every night with a moon face, steps in front of us, blocking Alex.
“Put girl down.” His accent is as thick as his meaty arms.
You gotta love Yuri. I’m ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s ex-mafia, too. Or bratva—whatever they call Russian mafiya. His tattoos read like a rap sheet and when he’s not looking moony at Lucy, his expression promises death to anyone who gets in his way or looks too long at his girl.
Alex’s body, already rigid, goes even tighter. He lowers me slowly to my feet, I suppose so he has his hands free to fight.
I thrust my body between them, but Alex effortlessly pushes me behind him.
“It’s okay, Yuri.” Damn, I’m slurring a bit. I pat Alex’s well-dressed arm. “He’s mine. I mean—he’s with me. I’m with him. He can take me now.”
Yuri cracks his knuckles. “You know this guy? He’s not safe.”
I actually hear Alex growl beside me.
“He’s safe for me,” I say quickly. “Not for other people.” Definitely not for you. I take Alex’s arm, anxious to get out of there without any bloodshed. “Let us pass, Yuri.”
Yuri’s eyes narrow, but after two beats, he steps aside.
Alex doesn’t take his menacing glare off the guy until we’re long past, then he swoops me back up, carrying me toddler style on his hip.
“This is fun.” I sit even taller and kick my feet like a happy tot. It’s a ridiculous position, but I love it.
“I would throw you over my fucking shoulder, but I’m afraid you’d puke on my heels,” Alex grumbles.
I giggle and tangle my fingers in his thick, dark hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I already know I’m going to be embarrassed about my behavior tomorrow, but in this moment, it’s too pleasurable to be this close to Alex with my inhibitions down.
Apparently he’s cased me out, because he walks the block back to my hotel and goes straight to my suite, where he waits for me to fumble in the tiny cross-shoulder purse for the key. I accidentally drop it and only then does he put me down.
I’m drunk, so I’m probably making stuff up, but I like to think he enjoyed carrying me as much as I loved straddling his waist. Of course, I’d like to straddle his waist in a whole different configuration, but that probably won’t happen.