Serendipity

Chapter 21

Raffaele

No matter how much I try to focus on my men's words, my mind involuntarily keeps drifting to one thing. Well, one person. One short, dark-haired woman and the way she looked in her tight workout clothes, covered in sweat, breathing heavily and skin flushed, to be more precise. Shit, that has my mind going places.

And then the way she flinched when I spat those words about her mother to her. Fuck me with a tree but I think I'm actually regretting it. I mean, bringing Matteo into it was her mistake but still, she wasn't for real and even though neither was I, we both know that my threat could become reality. I doubt hers ever will.

So yeah, now I'm here, trying to hear what the spies are reporting while losing another game of Blackjack. I don't miss the looks my men are exchanging, probably wondering why the hell I'm not winning like I usually do but I can't seem to worry about my losses right now. My main problem is that I'll have to be able to recount this conversation to Elodie in the morning. God, I really don't know how to act around her anymore.

Surprisingly, what really gets my attention is when Pat breaks off in the middle of his sentence. I'm about to question it when the background music starts playing more and more loudly. My guards send me questioning glances but I can't answer them, having no idea what the hell is going on myself.

I straighten in my seat and move one hand to the hidden gun in the back of my waistband as subtly as possible. The music is blaring now, loud and obnoxious and in no way anything I would have chosen. It reminds me of the old times, back when I tagged along and my father was still the leader. You see, games and gambling are my idea of fun. My father preferred strippers. I merely kept the poles and stage for old time's sake, not intending on ever using them though.

So guess how surprised I was when someone suddenly stepped on stage, moving gracefully and sensually as she circled the pole closest to us. Her long hair falls like a curtain around her face and in the dim light, it takes me a second to recognize it.

When I do, my hands curl into fists. No fucking way. She wouldn't.

But then she turns, her flimsy robe open in the front, revealing her tattoos and her dark eyes instantly meeting mine, a glint of mischief and satisfaction in them as she sees my expression. I'm aware of my clenched jaw and the vein throbbing at my temple but that's all I can do to refrain from getting up from my seat and taking her the hell out of here.

And it's not like my men are seeing my reaction since they're too fucking busy ogling Elodie themselves. My blood boils as I take in what she's wearing, black lace push-up bra only barely covering her tits, a garter belt adorning her swaying hips, and thin stockings reaching the middle of her thighs.

The see-through robe and string she's wearing do nothing to cover her ass as she turns around. She shoots out one of her legs as the beat drops and my gaze is drawn to her heels. Fuck, those heels make her legs look a mile long. A mile long and covered in tattoos the same as her chest.

I can feel myself straining against the zipper of my pants which in turn makes me even fucking angrier. She goes against my direct orders and now I'm surrounded by my men with a fucking boner. One of which decides to turn to me and yell, "Didn't peg you for the guy to bring in surprises but I'm not complaining," over the music, the cheekiest smile on his face.

He doesn't register my dark expression and keeps watching Elodie. Elodie, who's currently dropping her robe, earning herself some whistles and cheers. Then she really starts dancing. The music picks up, more beats and bass and she moves accordingly, dancing with and against the pole as if she's done it a million times.

Every now and again she meets my eyes or winks at me and although I'm enraged, I can't seem to look away from her. The way she moves is mesmerizing, for the worse or the better.

Luckily, after one song that seemed to have gone on forever but was too short at the same time, the volume subsides. Elodie keeps up her act, moving more subtly but still doing her thing and I finally snap myself out of it.

"Good, where were we?" I say harsher than intended. If my men don't take their greedy eyes off her in the next three seconds, I swear this will end in a bloodbath.

"Taking after your father more and more, I see," one of the older men that used to work for my dad says to which I merely glare at him. Even if I were in a good mood, which I'm not, he just ignored my question. He clears his throat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Right. We were discussing Dubois' next big batch," he adds, looking at his cards.

"The batch" as if we weren't talking about fucking human beings. Of Dubois' many bad traits and actions, his participation in human trafficking must be the one that makes me despise him the most. I'm no saint, I won't lie but there are lines I don't fucking cross. No such lines exist for the French Don, it seems.

Just like that, the meeting is back on track although I am horribly aware of everything Elodie does in the background as she spies on us. And I'm even more aware of my men's attention on her. One time I actually caught the man next to me squeezing his dick through his pants as he readjusted himself and it was then when I knew Elodie and I are going to have a long fucking talk about this.

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