"She was curious about firearms," I say tightly, maintaining my composure. "Nothing more."
"Curious." Dmitri exchanges a meaningful look with his brother, a silent communication passing between them. "That's certainly one word for that kind of behavior."
I'm about to respond—about to defend Liana or change the subject, I'm not sure which—when there's a sudden commotion from downstairs. Raised voices echoing up the stairwell. Someone arguing with what sounds like security. A woman's voice, high and insistent.
We all tense immediately, years of survival instincts kicking in. Hands move reflexively toward weapons hidden under tailored jackets. In our world, unexpected interruptions often come with violence.
Then I hear it. A voice I recognize instantly, even distorted by distance and anger.
"I know he's here! I need to see him! It's important!"
No. She wouldn't. She couldn't possibly—
But apparently, she would, because I hear footsteps on the stairs now. Fast. Determined. The door to the private room bursts open with dramatic force, slamming against the wall.
Liana stands there in the doorway, and my brain struggles to process what I'm seeing. She's wearing a dress that barely qualifies as clothing, more suggestion than actual fabric. Red, incredibly tight, short enough that I can see the top of her thighs and then some. The neckline plunges dangerously low, revealing more skin than I've ever seen her show in public.
Her dark hair is wild and slightly disheveled, like she's been running through the streets. Her cheeks are flushed pink, whether from exertion or emotion I can't tell.
Every man at the table turns to stare at her, their attention completely captured by her sudden dramatic entrance.
"Santo!" She spots me immediately, her face lighting up with obvious relief. "There you are! I've been trying to reach you for hours! Why weren't you answering?"
I stand slowly, my chair scraping against the wooden floor with a harsh sound. My mind is racing, trying to understand what's happening. "Liana. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, obviously! You weren't answering your phone. I got worried." She strolls into the room. "Are you okay? Is everything alright? I thought something might have happened."
The other men are still staring, their eyes tracking her movement across the room. Staring at her legs, smooth and endless. At her breasts, barely contained by that ridiculous dress. At the way the fabric clings to every curve of her body like a second skin.
My hand clenches into a fist at my side. "I'm in the middle of a meeting," I say, my voice carefully controlled, though I can feel anger simmering beneath the surface. "An important private meeting."
"Oh! A meeting." She looks around at the poker table as if seeing it for the first time, taking in the cards, the chips, the substantial piles of cash scattered across the green felt. "This doesn't look like a meeting. It looks like a game. Are you playing poker? I love card games."
"It's business," I say firmly. "Business conducted over poker."
"Business poker! That sounds fun." She walks closer to me, and the dress rides up even higher with each step, revealing more skin. "Can I watch? I promise I'll be quiet."
"No. Absolutely not."
"Why not? I promise I'll be good."
Dmitri chuckles from across the table, clearly enjoying this disruption to our game. "Let her watch, Marcello. It's just a friendly game between associates, no?"
It's not just a game. It's never just a game. There are negotiations happening here, power dynamics being established, respect being earned or lost with every hand. This is business disguised as recreation.
"There are no chairs available," I say to Liana, hoping this practical obstacle will convince her to leave.
"That's okay!" She's already beside me now. "I'll just sit here."
Before I can process what she's planning, before I can stop her, she slides gracefully onto my lap.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid with shock and something else. The first thing I feel is heat, her bare thighs settling over mine, the thin silk of her dress doing nothing to mask the softness of her skin.
She’s warm, sun-kissed from the afternoon, and the weight of her ass presses directly against my groin. My cock, already interested from the sight of her in that dress, jerks awake like it’s been shocked with a live wire. Blood rushes south so fast I feel it in my teeth. In seconds I’m fully, painfully hard, the thick ridge of my erection straining against the zipper of my slacks, trapped between her body and mine.
Jesus Christ.The thought ricochets through my skull, raw and frantic.She’s going to feel that. She has to.
I try to shift my hips, to create even an inch of space, but she just follows the movement, nestling deeper, her ass cheeks cradling my shaft through the layers of fabric. The frictionis maddening, soft, deliberate pressure that makes my pulse hammer in my ears.
