Chapter Five

They say I'm fucking crazy, and they may be right, but he has it coming. "Clean up this mess," I order my men, pointing to the dead body on my office floor. The bastard shouldn't have crossed me and then dared me. It's like begging for a hole in the head. He's lucky I didn't drag out his death, which I regret now since it went too quickly.

I step into my bathroom, quickly cleaning myself up. Fuck, I got some blood on my suit. It's why I always wear black. It makes the stains a little less noticeable.

My phone hasn't stopped ringing in my pocket, which pisses me off. It's my security at the front door, so I know it must be important enough to interrupt me. "Boss, your sister's here tonight." A rush of violence fills me up. Someone's going to end up killed tonight. Well, someone else.

Son of a bitch. I ought to ban her ass, but then she'd sneak off to another club.

Grace tried that shit once, and luckily Gabriele caught her before she made it there or I'd have had to hunt her down and kill a bunch of other fuckers who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. She's too young to be in any club, grinding up on men with nothing but screwing on their minds.

I'm not one to mess with, and my sister is off-limits to everyone. I'll rip a bastard's balls off and feed them to him before I gut the fucker and show them to him one last time as he dies. Last month already tried my patience, and now she's here again.

"I want eyes on her," I warn him.

"She's not alone." The words come out of his mouth with a nervous stammer because don't kill the messenger is a warning I need often. My blood boils instantly because I'm not aware of any friends other than that one bitch I told her to stay away from.

Taking a calming breath, I say, "Please tell me it's not that dumb bitch." It's suddenly like everyone wants to defy me. That shit isn't going to fly.

"It is, but she's got someone else too."

"It better not be some man." My sister wouldn't be foolish enough to bring some asshole here to die a painful death because that's exactly what would happen. She's only nineteen, and although she hangs out with a little whore, she's a good girl. They met at school, and my sister thought she could be an excellent influence on her. I warned her about hanging out with that lousy cunt. It's something we're going to discuss very soon.

"No, it's another chick, but this one is hot as hell and damn, a bit shy, but she's here apparently having a bachelorette party." What the hell is an eighteen-year-old doing having a bachelorette party unless her friend has an older friend or relative?

"Thanks. I'll deal with them," I tell him because I want this shit cleared up and the trouble sent home immediately.

I radio my security, Rocco, on the floor and have him bring the girls to my lounge area. Normally I'd host clients there on occasion, but tonight was private business that got a little ugly. There was no way I could host anyone up here without the risk of them seeing or hearing anything messy.

There's a knock at my door, and Gabriele goes to check it. "It's Gracie." Damn. She didn't hesitate to get an earful.

I glimpse over to the now empty spot where Salazar had once laid, and even the bloodstain has now been picked up. "Let her in," I grunt, annoyed to no end at this moment with my little hummingbird.

"Thanks, brute," she says, slapping him in the chest. He grunts like it actually hurt, knowing it wasn't more than a fly swat on a horse's ass.

She goes up to hug me like she always does and stops in her tracks. Her brow arches, and a smirk spreads across her face before she steps away. "Getting sloppy, Brother." She reaches onto my desk, pulls out a tissue, and returns to my side, wiping my face. "Missed a spot."

I step back and stare at my baby sister with a look of disappointment to see the damn scandalous outfit she's decided to sport tonight, like she's asking for me to snap some necks. This club has maintained a clean public record, at least so it would seem. No bad press has been mentioned, but I've had to take people out that put their hands on her.

I snatch the tissue from her and tuck it in my pocket. "Thanks, Hummingbird. Now that you've interrupted me while I'm working and brought trash into my club again, what am I going to do with you?"

She twists her lips with a pleading look on her face. It's the same one she gives my father that has him bending at her will. It works for both her and my mother, but I'm not as easily amenable. "Listen, I swear it's out of the kindness of my heart." She does have the soul of a saint, even though she has gotten used to my business, but some people aren't worthy of her tender heart.

"That bitch doesn't deserve your kindness." My voice is cold and unrelenting, sending my sister a step back. My teeth grind so hard they're bound to crack with the anger I feel toward her friend. It isn't that I find her to be slutty. That's nothing. It's her attitude in general that sours me. Reading people is something that comes natural to someone in my world, and her friend has got "treacherous bitch" written on her forehead.

"Don't be mean, Damiano." Grace rolls her eyes at me, which I try to ignore, but my temper's growing and I'll take it out on my men later. "It's not for her. It's for her stepsister. She's a doll. I wish she had a different family, poor girl. Trust me when I tell you they are night and day."

Shaking my head, I walk into my private bathroom and look in the mirror to check my appearance once more for any stains. "Don't be fooled, my little na?ve Gracie."

She follows behind me, standing against the doorframe, and tries to argue. "I'm not that na?ve."

My brows shoot up and I lift my head away from the mirror, turning my attention back to my little sister. I give her a chance to explain what the fuck that's supposed to mean. She's a five-foot nothing with dark curls and doe eyes, looking ever the little girl I've always thought of, but there is something that makes her appear older. I don't like it. "Anyway, do tell me why you risked my wrath by bringing them into my club."

She rolls her eyes and gives me huff. "Stella is being married off in two days."

I tilt my head in confusion at the choice of words. An odd way of saying getting married. "Married off? Like an arranged marriage or some shit?" I ask.

"Yes, and she's obviously distraught about it. They're so cruel to her. Like, seriously, her mother died a long time ago, and they treat her terribly. I saw her stepfather hurt her, so when Camille used the excuse of taking her out for a last hurrah before she marries, I thought it would be nice to sneak her out to have some fun. I don't think she knows what fun is." She chokes on the last bit, tears filling her throat.

I walk up to my sister and swipe the tears off her face. "Don't cry, Hummingbird. You're too damn soft for this world." I'm going to kill the stepfather of this unknown girl for making my sister cry. She's used to my cruelty to men who deserve it, but I'd never harm a woman, even that friend of hers, unless she did something to Gracie. This bastard upset my sister so much she's shaking.

She swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand as the tears continue to fall. "I'm sorry, Damiano. I swear, I hate her father. He was so mean. I used cover-up on the bruises, but they're still visible…a little."

"Bruises?" I ask, feeling my temper amplified for this unknown woman. Strange—normally, I wouldn't give two fucks. Perhaps it's because she's friends with my little sister.

"Yes. She has several." I thought I was pissed for my sister, but my anger's building for this young woman. No man should put his hands on a woman unless it's for pleasure.

"If it will make you happy, I will join you all for the night." It isn't just to make her happy. Protecting Gracie is always a priority, and I'm not going to let some girls take advantage of her. At least, that's what I tell myself. No one else matters to me except my family, so I shouldn't care about this woman.

"Thank you." She hugs me tight, something only she's ever been allowed to do. I don't let anyone touch me. Not a soul is deemed worthy of getting close to me. Her friend dared to get close, and my guards quickly pulled her back. It was another strike against her in my book.

"Come, now, before your friend gets her stepsister into trouble." I led my sister out of my office, through the catwalk, and over to my personal lounge.

Sitting there is Camille with Rocco, and meekly beside him is pure heaven with a drink in her hand. Long brown hair in waves is locked up in a tight ponytail, needing my fist to pull her head up and give me her attention. As if she senses the silent threat pouring out of me, she lifts her eyes to meet mine, and the cold, dark bastard in my soul has grown darker. They're a light blue that shine in the darkened club light.

Filthy thoughts shoot through my mind a mile a second as her lips part. Yes, you've met trouble, little girl. I envision sliding my ten-inch cock deep between those plump beauties and watch as she chokes on my dick. What the hell? I immediately harden against my Canali slacks, grateful that my tailor took good care in hiding my weapons. The enclosed lounge is good for business, and now it's going to be even more useful as she screams my name and looks down at the faces while they can't see a strip of her naked flesh. My balls ache to bend her over the lounge, screwing her while the crowd below dances, unaware that I'm filling her tiny hole with every ounce of my devil seed.

I want her.

I need her.

She's the devil's prize.

She is an angel with temptation written all over her, made for the devil. My heart fucking stops. There are only a few people this motherfucker beat for, and they are all family, but damn, it seems she just made that short list and moved to the very top. What the hell just happened to me?

This feeling makes no damn sense, and I want time alone with her to figure out what this temptress has used on me. Is it the bloody violence mixed with my anger just sending my adrenaline pumping that makes her more appealing? I will find out and squash these emotions before I let myself get out of hand.

"Rocco, get the fuck out of here. Take Camille dancing or wherever she wants to go. Get her some drinks as well." I look directly at Camille with a look that should scare her shitless, but I wonder if she's too dumb or na?ve to take me seriously. Instead, she stares at me with a look of indifference. "You, don't go whoring around my club."

"Yes, Mr. Valentino." It's good she doesn't have that flirty bravado she normally does. She learned her lesson the last time I warned her for even putting her hand on my arm, like she had the right. She's lucky I didn't rip it right out of the socket.

Still, none of that matters because all my attention is on the little thing in the black skintight dress that cuts at the top of her thighs, nearly showing her pussy from my angle. Fuck me. I'm going to cut some eyeballs out tonight. The number of men who have had a nice view of my future wife's cunt is unacceptable.

My shy little angel sees them rise and move to the stairs. Nervously she looks to their backs and decides to get up, thinking she's allowed to leave, but I never gave her permission to leave me. Shaking my head, I grip her hand in mine and sit her ass back down before taking a seat next to her.

Looking at my server who is waiting for us, I ask, "Bring us some bottles of water, please." I take my little woman's glass from her and set it on the tray. "She no longer needs this."

"Yes, Mr. Valentino." She leaves us, passing by my sister who has yet to take a seat.

"Grace."

Gracie looks at me strangely, giving me a smile before she says, "I have to use the ladies' room."

"My office," I inform her, returning my attention to my angel.

"Of course, Damiano." I can see my sister rolling her eyes without even looking at her.

We sit there all alone, and my body burns with hunger, yet my little angel refuses to give me her eyes. They remain trained to the hem of her short dress. Although it's a spot I find appealing as well, I want them on me. "Look at me," I command.

She lifts them in a flash, as though she's used to following orders. The first thing I spot is how glazed they already are. She's fucking already been drinking more than that glass, or she's on something. As pissed as I should be about that, I plan to use it to my advantage. My angel's engaged to another man, something I can't and won't tolerate. "Tell me your name, Angel."

"Stella."

"Stella, I'm Damiano." I take her hand and bring it to my lips, stealing a kiss on the back of her soft skin while noticing something so glaringly missing.

I rub her bare finger where her massive rock should be. "I thought you were engaged. Or was that an excuse to get my sister to bring you here?" I question, hating to think they lied to my sister and used her good nature to get inside my club, and yet at the same time, the pleasure of her being unattached is immeasurable.

"I am engaged," she hisses back in disgust, pulling her hand away from mine. Never in my life has someone dared to disrespect me without recourse, but there is something about her that makes my dick harder than it's ever been. Fight me—I'll enjoy the chase. I'll eat it up before I eat you up.

Still, I can't tolerate that she believes she belongs to another man, or that there's some prick out there who thinks he has some claim to her. The thought of him putting his hands on her, touching her, kissing her, fucking her, does violent things to my insides. A rumbling sound builds in my chest as I rage internally, ready to shoot the prick in the head.

Gripping my hand around her throat, I give it a gentle squeeze. "Then where is the ring, because there's no way in hell I would let my woman walk around dressed like sin with eyes of an angel, unclaimed?" I lean in and brush my nose over her hair, breathing her in. She smells so damn good. I want to lick her from head to toe and mark her up so every man knows she belongs to Satan himself. Even in the darkness of the club lights, I can see her pale skin redden at my compliment.

With her expression schooled, she says, "It's being resized."

Smirking, I lean in, my thumb rubbing her chin. "You're a good liar. A really damn good liar. But I'm really good at reading people, baby girl. Now tell me the truth. Those who lie to me find it's the last thing they do." I wouldn't harm her at all, but I need her to tell me everything. Her pulse picks up under my hand, and I love it.

Something in my soul demands I act on her behalf. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe that she's so sweet looking with a hint of fire hidden under that demure fa?ade or something else, but my need to protect her grows stronger with every second that passes. She closes her eyes as if she's absorbing my touch. As much as I don't mind, I want those beautiful blue irises on me.

"Answer me, Stella." My thumb caresses her cheek, sending her eyes back up to mine.

"I'm only allowed to wear it for show." Her confession is low and honest. I release my hold on her.

"Well, you're out tonight. Why aren't you wearing it?" I have a million questions. Some I'm too afraid of asking because it will send me into a violent rage, and no one will survive my wrath. The trail of dead bodies will lie at my woman's feet by the time I'm done.

"If they knew I was out tonight, I'd be a dead woman."

My knuckles whiten as I flex my fists, ready to do battle. I'll beat a motherfucker to death with my bare hands and not think twice about it. "They put their hands on you again, and I'll kill them."

She smirks as if she thinks I'm kidding.

"Sir." There's a light tap on the half wall. It's the server. I wave her in, and she sets the bottles down on the table in front of us. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you, Sasha." I might be an asshole, but my employees don't get treated poorly. She nods and steps away, leaving Stella to me again.

I pop open her water while I sit closer to her. As much as I want her to submit to me, and her being intoxicated helps, I don't want her to be trashed. My attention is captivated as she takes a sip of water, envious of the bottle against her soft red lips. Those plump beauties would be perfect wrapped around my cock, sliding over my length until she gags and begs to swallow my load. I bite back a groan as she sets the bottle onto the table.

"I'm serious, Stella. I'll end them all."

"I'm getting married in two days, Mr. Valentino." There's a sadness in her voice that destroys something in me.

I tip her chin up and meet her gaze. "It's Damiano. Say it."

"Damiano."

Gently shaking my head, I lick my lips as I stare at her mouth, aching to taste hers. "It even sounds sexy off your lips."

"Can I please have something other than water?" Her tongue pops out of her mouth, and I know she's itching for some excuse to let go of the barriers, an excuse to be bad. She doesn't need one. I'm all hers, and she's mine.

"Why?" I challenge her, brushing my thumb across her plump lips.

"I want to live a little before I…" Exactly what I thought.

"Before what?" She's going to say the words that will anger me.

"Before I get married." The words piss me off, like I expected. She's not marrying that asshole. I'm going to kill him either way, but every time she mentions it, I add another layer of torture to his death. If anyone mentions it, for that matter.

I brush her hair behind the shell of her ear, grazing my lips against her neck as I say, "Are you looking for liquid courage, my angel?"

"Yes," she answers shakily. Her body trembles in my hold.

I pull back and look into her eyes. "I don't think you need it."

"I want it." Her voice is barely above a whisper, confidence absent.

"What did your sister give you before you got here?"

"Nothing. A guy at the bar bought us a drink, and then we got some when we arrived up here."

"A guy at the bar?" I want his balls ripped off. "Who?" I stand up and walk to the edge of the VIP barrier and look out toward the club as if I'm going to find this asshole. Rocco. He'd know. He grabbed them and brought them up here. He's got a thing for Camille.

"I don't know. We only just got here, and he said I was pretty and…"

"Pretty is an understatement, but it wasn't his right or privilege to do so, but what was the ‘and'…."

"Nothing."

"Don't ‘nothing' me. Tell me."

"Well, he claimed I was his girl, and he touched me before your guard snapped on him." Good. I'm glad my guard did his job, but he should have stopped him from touching her.

"He's a dead man." That's without a doubt. I'll destroy the handsy prick for putting his hands on my woman.

"I don't belong to you," she snaps. She's adorable when she's feisty.

"You're only lying to yourself, baby girl."

"Anyone can buy me a drink, you know." There's that liquid courage. Let's see how long it lasts.

"How old are you?" I press my hand to her mouth. "Lie to me again and I'll take you over my knee, lift up your dress, and spank that ass."

She clenches her thighs together, like she's not opposed to the idea and she's trying to keep her pussy juices from soaking my leather. Fucking hell. My dick only stiffens harder. "I'm eighteen."

"You're not even supposed to be in my club," I inform her sexy ass because it's more than against the law. She's asking for trouble from all these sick bastards who want their hands on my woman.

"Well, neither should Gracie nor Camille."

I'd love to fuck away that attitude of hers until she understands who she's dealing with. I grip her chin with a little force. "Gracie's my sister, and if I never see your stepsister ever again, that would be a blessing. Now, tell me again that anyone can buy you a drink."

"Well, if I was old enough…" she pouts. It's fucking cute.

"No. They. Can't." I punctuate each word, tapping my finger on her nose. "Tonight, little angel, you made the mistake of coming into my club."

"I didn't make a mistake, Damiano. I came to have fun and be free one time before I'm trapped again and forever. If you're not going to let me have some fun, then maybe I did. We can always go to another club." She goes to stand, and that's when I've had enough. I thought I could be gentle and soft because it's clear she's a beaten animal who needs to be coaxed out, but that alcohol is taking effect and she's getting her courage. There is no way in fucking hell I'm letting Stella leave to meet with some other man wanting to do dirty things to her.

I grab her wrist and pull her onto my lap so she's straddling my thighs with her back to me. She yelps, and I remember what Gracie said. "Shit. Let me see." Lifting her arm, I inspect it to find the telltale fingerprints. Rage pumps through my veins, and I know that he'll never lay a hand on her again. I press my lips to the bruising and kiss it. "Sorry, baby girl. Sorry." I kiss them again. "Sorry." My mouth moves up her arm to her shoulder. "How much fun do you want to have tonight?"

"I have to be a virgin for my husband." I'm a devious son of a bitch because I don't care that she's on something: booze or drugs. She's wasted, and I'm taking what I need from her, making her mine, marking my territory.

"You're not marrying him," I growl against her throat, sliding my nose up her jaw and enjoying the way her pulse amps up.

"I'm getting married in two days." I crack my neck to the side until it pops and then let out a harsh breath.

With ice running in my veins, I ask, "Do you doubt me, Stella?" My hand snakes around her throat, caressing her smooth skin. Stella's pulse picks up, voice shaking as she tries to answer, but the words don't come out. My angel only nods. "You won't be marrying him. You belong to me."

"I can't belong to you." I turn her face with my thumb and then plant my lips on hers, silencing her denial because I don't want to hear that shit anymore. The more she says it the angrier I get, and that's not something she needs to see. My own anger doesn't make sense, and I don't want to assess that right now. What I want is her surrender.