The next day, Monday night, after dropping off Adriana, I was back at the Starlight Club, wearing one of my suits. I was desperate and needed to do something to get my mind right.

Never, in the close to ten years that I'd been doing work for Don Bertoli, had I drifted so close to disobeying an order from him. And the rule I'd nearly broken wasn't some minor little thing like wearing the wrong type of tie or being a little short on a pickup from one of the businesses under his protection. Screw up like that, and you'd get a few words, and maybe be punished with making it up out of your own pocket. For someone with my rank within the Don's organization, I'd get a frown at most and be tasked with going back out to make sure things were rectified as soon as possible.

But what I almost did would be like breaking one of the Ten Commandments, a sin that could never be atoned for. Every man in Don Bertoli's organization, from the lowest lackey to even Pietro Columbu, his second in command, had been taken aside by the Don and told in no uncertain terms from the time she was eleven years old and started puberty—Adriana was not to be touched.

And the day before, I'd nearly lost it. Her lips had been so close, her green eyes so filled with soft desire, her generous curves so perfect pressed against me. I'd nearly damned us both. It had taken every ounce of my willpower to push her away and step back, and I'd tried the night before to get rid of my weakness by myself, jacking off until my cock ached and I felt like a guilty teenager again. It hadn't helped, and the next day, my desire had returned in full strength, fueled even more by the outfit she'd worn, her legs amazing in those tiny little shorts. I couldn't trust myself, being constantly distracted, and I knew I acted like a total asshole, barely talking at all through most of the day until we were both relieved when Julius showed up again, right on time to do his night shift.

So I found myself at the Starlight Club, one of my suits on like a suit of armor more than a layer of blended wool. If I couldn't be the man who could resist Adriana, then come hell or high water, I could remember that I was a Bertoli man, one of the best fucking Bertoli men there was. And Bertoli men were allowed—in fact, sometimes even encouraged—to do what I was about to do. I looked up at the sign and figured it was worth a try.

The Starlight Club was pretty quiet, but it was a Monday night, and there were only perhaps a dozen patrons inside, their sweaty faces looking slack and simian under the dim lights.

“Welcome, sir,” the manager said, coming out from behind the bar to shake my hand. We'd known each other for a while, since I was the man most often tasked with the pickups at the club. The manager always had his payment on time and ready to go in a simple white envelope, and we'd enjoyed a couple of conversations in the spare time I had. “Business or pleasure?”

“Both,” I said, distracted. When he gave me a concerned look, I waved it off. His cash was secure for tonight. “Not that type of business. Tell me, is there a girl named Carmen working tonight?”

“Yeah, she's scheduled for a dance in five,” the manager said, relaxing. This sort of business he had no problems discussing. “She said you looked interested last time you were here.”

“I am,” I said, reaching into my coat and taking out two hundred-dollar bills folded together. I held them out, raising an eyebrow. “Think you might be able to reschedule the dance, let me have some private time with her?”

“What type of private time?” he asked while still making the money disappear. While ninety-nine percent of the customers probably suspected it, only the select few like me were permitted access to the other services the Starlight Club offered. “Carmen's one of my best. She's pretty pricey. She’s selective as to who she gives private time to.”

“I bet,” I said, reaching back inside and showing the wad of cash I had with me. Bertoli rewarded his men handsomely, and I lived a frugal lifestyle. “Tell her if she's worth it, she's not going to need to dance for a month afterward if she wants.”

“And what do I get? Sorry, business and all.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he quavered a bit. He knew what I could do, and he'd be lucky that I didn't just destroy the entire club. I unbuttoned my coat, showing him the Beretta in a holster under my left arm, then reached into the pocket next to it and pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “That's three, plus a bonus for you personally if Carmen's worth my time and money. Good enough?”

“Yes, sir,” the manager stammered, stepping back. He reacquired his smile quickly though, and swept his arm to his left. “If you'll just follow me, I'll make sure you're comfortable before getting Carmen.”

I shook my head, pushing past him. “I know where to go. Get Carmen and send up some bottle service. The good stuff, none of that fake label shit you pass off on the mooks.”

I went into the VIP room and hung up my jacket, sitting on the reclining couch. I'd had my choice of places to go. Don Bertoli controlled most of the places like this in the Seattle-Tacoma area, but I didn't need whips, chains, or anything kinky. Not that I had anything against it, but my cock was more than enough for the women I dealt with.

Carmen was quick, coming in like a little pixie in her green silk robe and no heels. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall if you were being generous, with long, thick black hair and large doe eyes that I bet made most men think she was performing just for them when she was on stage or in a private dance. Her blindingly white teeth were perfectly even, and I wondered how a girl so pretty wasn't trying to make a living doing something else. But hell, I’m the last man who should judge anyone. Besides, I didn’t know her or her circumstances.

“Hey, Papi,” Carmen said, sauntering her way across the room and sitting next to me, placing a hand on my thigh where it lay light and warm, enticing. “When Terry came in and said you were out here, I was so excited I had to get here as quick as I could. I hope you don't mind that I forgot my heels.”

I knew she was lying—it was part of her appeal, I was sure. On stage, the high heels added to the act, but in private, she could be the naughty young girl much more easily. “I bet. So I guess you've been thinking about me?”

“You have no idea,” she said, turning more toward me and rubbing her tiny little hand over my chest through my shirt. “I haven’t been able to keep you out of my mind all week. In fact, I've done some naughty things while thinking about you.”

I chuckled, trying to relax into the lying fantasy. With some of the women I’d been with, lies were necessary, and I certainly didn't want to know the truth in a lot of cases anyway. “So how about after the bottles get here, you and I talk about those naughty things some more?”

Carmen pouted, and I had to admit she could pull off the hurt, innocent look very well. “I'd like to show you if you'd let me.”

I nodded and reached for the knot on her robe. “Perfect. But I have to warn you, Carmen. I'm not an easy man to please.”

She let me undo the bow, leaving her robe held closed just by the simple crossing of her belt, a bit more of her cleavage becoming visible in the extra slack. “I know all about you. Two of the girls in the back tonight are hatin' on me right now. You're a legend, both for your generosity and your . . .”

The bottles arrived, and while it wasn't Dom Perignon, it wasn't cheap trash either. I let her pop the first cork and pour us both a glass, trying to grin as she let a little bit 'accidentally' splash on her robe, the thin fabric sticking to her skin. “Oops.”

I waved it off and took a fifty-dollar bill out of my shirt pocket, where I'd transferred my stash for the night. “Here, you might need to have that dry cleaned.”

“Mmm, you’re generous. The girls said you'll ruin me, but as generous as you are, I may just have to risk it. You mind if I dance some for you?”

“Of course not,” I said, gesturing with my glass toward the tiny little dance area in the middle of the room. “But start with the robe on. It looks sexy on you.”

She smiled at my compliment as she walked out, her ass swishing from side to side as she did. She went over to the sound system and punched in a song. The room's soundproofing took care of eliminating the crappy pop and bass-heavy hip-hop the main room had and replaced it with smooth, sexy Spanish-influenced cool jazz. I was surprised. “Not what I expected, but nice.”

“The average jackass out there can't appreciate the finer things like you do,” Carmen said, letting her body sway side to side as the music filled the room. She danced well, letting her clothes come off at a slow enough pace that she wasn't just peeling them off to get down to business.

Still, the whole time she danced, my eyes were glued more to the green of her robe than the ripe swell of her breasts, and to the red of her lipstick. The green was so much like Adriana's eyes, the lipstick so much like her hair. My cock twitched, starting to swell in my pants, but not because of the hot girl in front of me. Shit.

I blinked my eyes, throwing back the rest of my glass and grabbing the bottle by the neck, sucking deep from the green glass. Carmen smiled, a naughty angel smile as she saw my reaction, thinking it was because of her dance and her seduction skills. Bringing herself closer, she pulled off her bra, leaving her in a tissue paper-thick G-string and some little rhinestones that she'd attached around her right eye with spirit gum for decoration. “Mmm, I can't resist anymore,” she said, climbing into my lap and grinding on my lap. “Isn’t this where we were last time before we got so sadly interrupted?”

“Someplace like that,” I said, reaching around and grabbing a handful of her ass in a last desperate attempt to put my focus on where it needed it to be, and not on the Italian-Scotch woman who was in the forefront of my mind. “Much better music, though.”

“One thing,” Carmen said, lifting her breast to my mouth. I sucked, letting my tongue flicker over her coffee-colored nipple, which hardened almost immediately in my mouth, and she threw her head back, moaning. “Oh shiiiit . . . but the rules.”

“And the rules are?” I asked, letting go. My cock was hard, but I just wasn't into it, and the break in the flow wasn't helping. I’d hoped to let my instincts take over. After all, pussy is pussy. But her words irritated me.

She noticed and gave me her best attempt at a heart-stopping smile. “Nothing bad, Papi. Just we have to have protection. Do you have your own, or should I get some from my robe?”

“Of course. I have my own,” I said, not minding the rule. I may have been with a few women, but I wasn’t stupid. I always used protection. “That's fine. And nothing kinky. Not tonight.”

“Mmm, you’re too good to be true,” Carmen said, rubbing back and forth. She kissed my nose, then around to my neck, licking and sucking while she dry-humped me.

I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the feeling of this spicy little sexual nymphet on my lap, but I couldn't get Adriana's face out of my mind. Groaning, I threw my head back, pushing Carmen away. “This just isn’t going to work. Get off.”

“But, why?” she whined, still climbing off. She knelt in front of me, reaching out and cupping my cock through my pants. “Your big friend here says he wants me, and he's bigger than I've ever had. Please, Papi? You've got me so hot. I need it. A real man, for once in my life.”

Carmen lowered her eyes and leaned forward, kissing the crotch of my pants. She was moaning, and I could tell she was serious about it. She would have fucked me even for no money by that point, but I couldn't. For the first time in my life, I had a willing, desperate woman there, ready for me to fuck her, and I couldn't do it. “No, Carmen. Go away.”

“Come on, I need you,” she said, reaching for my belt. Her hand froze and her eyes jerked up when she heard the click of the hammer on my Beretta.

“I said go, Carmen,” I said evenly, with no inflection in my voice. It was my enforcer voice, the one that made men a lot more hardened than Carmen piss their pants in terror. The barrel pointed between her eyes, an inch from her forehead, probably looking like a cannon from her perspective. “Get the fuck out.”

She whined in fear as she scooted back and ran from the room, not screaming but clearly scared out of her mind. I stared at the fucking gun in my hand and shuddered, lowering the hammer carefully before putting it on safe and placing it back in my holster. Had I really just done that? I must’ve been fucking losing it.

I grabbed my coat and put it on, not caring about if my tie was screwed up or not. Walking out, the manager looked at me with fear in his eyes, and I knew Carmen had told him what just happened. “For your troubles,” I said, pulling out the rest of the bills I'd brought and handing them to him. “Tell Carmen . . . tell her I'm sorry.”

His fingers shook as he took the pile from me, and he didn't even count it as he tucked it in his shirt. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “But sir—”

“You take five hundred for the trouble and half a bottle drunk, and give her the rest. Fair enough?”

He nodded, his eyes still wide in fear, and I left the club, stalking out into the night. I climbed into my BMW and started the engine, leaving twenty feet of black rubber on the pavement as I peeled out of the parking lot.

What the fuck had I been thinking? Pulling my pistol just because a girl wanted to suck my cock? The worst part was, I was ready to pull the trigger. All because it was Carmen who was on her knees and not who I needed. Fuck, it wasn't even that I wanted her anymore. I needed her. I needed Adriana.

And I couldn't tell Don Bertoli. If I went to him and told him that I couldn't continue to protect his niece because I wanted to fuck her more than anything else in the world, I wouldn't even be able to get the sentence all the way out of my mouth before my corpse hit the floor. I couldn't quit.

“You're in deep shit,” I whispered to my reflection in the rearview mirror as I drove. “Deep shit indeed.”