Page 126 of Don’t Say Mafia

And suddenly the ache in my chest wasn’t just grief anymore. It was longing. For this. For people who didn’t leave. For a place where I might actually belong.

I glanced at Jagger. He was watching me again, like always, and once again it felt as if he could see straight through every wall I’d ever built. His thumb resumed its slow circle on my hip, grounding me without words.

I swallowed and looked back at the table. “How do you all know each other?” I asked quietly.

Cruz leaned back, smirking. “Believe it or not, Jagger and I met at an investment bank in New York. We started together—two hungry bastards in suits, thinking we could outsmart the system.”

Jagger’s mouth curved. “We did.”

“For a while,” Cruz added. “Then we decided the entrepreneur life was more our speed. Less suits, more . . . creative problem-solving.”

Lawson snorted. “Can I point out that you both still wear suits most of the time?”

Jagger threw a dinner roll at him, and he grinned.

Cruz ignored them both, keeping his eyes on me. “We found the others along the way. Maddox is my cousin and does most of our operations work. Lawson handles the tech side, and our friend Gage . . .” He grinned again like something else was funny. “Gage is a silent investor.”

Lawson nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “That’s one way to say it.”

I glanced at Jagger, confused. “Gage works for the FBI,” he explained.

“Really?”

Jagger nodded and laughed at my reaction. “He has to work a lot, so you won’t see him as much as the others.”

The guys were all smiling like there was still something else happening here, but I was still too tipsy on champagne to really care.

Lawson set his glass down and pushed his chair back a little. “We’re boring her.”

“I’m not bored,” I said quickly.

“We need some competition,” Cruz cut in as if I hadn’t spoken.

Lawson’s eyes lit up. “Cards?”

“Finally,” Maddox muttered, already standing.

Jagger looked at me, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Do you know how to play?”

I smirked. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

His grin widened. “That confidence makes me nervous.” His hand tightened once at my hip before he stood, guiding me up with him.

“It should,” I teased.

Jagger’s hand stayed on my lower back as we left the buffet and walked into a private card room I hadn’t ever seen before. His palm was warm through the fabric of my dress, his fingers splayed wide enough to feel possessive without being obvious to anyone watching. Every step made the silk shift against my skin, reminding me of the lingerie I was wearing underneath that I hadn’t changed out of at the boutique.

I tried to focus on the conversation around us—Maddox complaining about something Lawson had done, Cruz dryly suggesting they play for real money this time—but my attention kept slipping. Jagger’s thumb was moving again, tracing slow, lazy circles over the small of my back, just above where the dress dipped low. Each pass sent heat pooling lower, making me hyperaware of how damp my thong already was and how sensitive my clit felt with every brush of lace.

He leaned in as we walked, his lips brushing the shell of my ear so only I could hear. “We’re only staying for a few hands,” he murmured. “I have plans.”

My pulse stuttered. The words were quiet and innocent enough on their own, but the way he said them made my thighs clench. I knew exactly what kind of plans he had. The kind that involved his hands, his mouth, his cock, and me screaming his name until my voice gave out.

I glanced up at him, a shy smile tugging at my lips despite the heat still simmering under my skin.

I was so ready for his plans.

A card hit the felt, and Lawson threw both arms in the air. “That’s how you do it.”