Nicolai

"I don't know, Sutton. I don't think that's such a good idea," I say, holding the door of Grimaldi's open for her as she ducks under my outstretched arm.

"Why not?" she asks as we make our way down the sidewalk through the crowds of people milling about.

I open my mouth to answer her when a man in a disheveled suit runs into her, knocking her sideways. I reach out and steady her, and instead of apologizing, the douchebag looks her up and down, his lecherous gaze burning me up from the inside out.

"If you're having trouble standing up, sweetheart, I got a place for you to sit," he says, and if it weren't her he was harassing, I would probably fucking laugh at the cheesy audacity of it.

But since it's her, I don't laugh. Instead, I let my alpha side take over and step up next to her and say, "She's got a place to sit right here, you fucking prick. Move along before she punches you in your face. Believe me, you don't want to fuck with her."

He holds up his hands. "Sorry, man. Didn't realize—"

Her nostrils flare and she snaps, "You're ruining my night, fuckwad. You heard the man. Move along, please."

He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, crazy bitch as he turns away and keeps walking.

I laugh and look down at her, grasping her by the shoulders and shaking her gently. "That's why, right there, mala tigrica. You're going to get us in so much trouble with that attitude."

She cocks her head to the side and places her hands on her hips. "Come on, Nic. Please? You just saw I can take care of myself. You know I can. That's why you didn't jump in front of me when you were dealing with that guy. You stood beside me and supported me instead of trying to save me."

She's right. I do know she can handle herself. I just hate the idea of anything happening to her, and with all the shit I know going on behind the scenes with her father's business, not understanding the whole "warehouse backroom meeting" thing with Jason...I don't like the idea of her being out in a club scene as a patron. I don't like her working there either. But I really don't want her in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Stop being like—"

I hold up my hand. "Don't say it."

She smirks and grins, gritting her teeth to say the name I despise the most. "J—"

"Fine, fine. We'll go dancing. But if I even get a sense that there's someone in there that is a danger to you, we're gone. And if someone comes up to us, I'm going full—"

"Alphahole. Got it. I am okay with that," she says, stepping closer to me and slipping her arms around my waist, sliding her fingertips into the waistband of my pants. "In fact, I would be one hundred percent here for it now that I know you believe I can save myself."

A shiver snakes its way down my spine and I shake my head as I stare down at her. "You are a menace."

She presses her pelvis against mine and I shock her by pulling her closer than she expected, one hand on her ass and the other cupping the back of her neck. "You're getting your way, mala tigrica, but I'm not letting you out of my sight. I mean it."

"I'm counting on it," she whispers, rising to her tiptoes to press her lips to my neck.

This girl is going to be the fucking death of me.

"Let's go before I take you against this wall over here," I tease, and when she opens her mouth to undoubtedly tell me to go ahead, I press a finger to her lips. "Don't even think about it."

***

"I know we may not be able to do it, but I want to go to Musica."

I snap my head to the right and meet her gaze. "Fuck, Sutton, do you know how far in advance people have to get on the guest list to get in there?"

Her face falls. "Yeah, that's why I said I know we might not be able to, but can we try?"

I can't stand that look on her face, that her smile slid from her lips because of words that fell from mine. Reaching over, I grip her chin and turn her face to mine and run my thumb over her bottom lip. "Absolutely, mala tigrica. Leave it to me."

An hour and a thousand dollars later, we're in the door and Sutton doesn't even realize that this club is 21 and up. To get the bouncer to ignore that cost me an extra five hundred.

"Umm, Nicolai?" she asks as we enter the whisper room on the ground floor, taking in the groups of people around us in the opulent lounge, sipping on their expensive beverages and leaning in close to hear each other over the music.

"Yes, Sutton?" I smirk down at her, knowing what she's already noticing—that no one in here is wearing a wristband or any sort of indication that they're not of legal drinking age.

"Is everyone in here over 21?"

"Not everyone," I say, giving her a pointed look.

Her eyes widen and she hisses, "Nicolai! What are you saying, I'm in here illegally?"

My expression flattens and I tilt my head to the side, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Sutton, baby. You are the daughter of one of the most powerful mafia men in New York City. I venture to say this is not the first illegal activity you've been a part of."

Her cheeks redden and she raises her eyebrows. "You know what, you're right. So does that mean I get to partake tonight?"

I tuck my teeth between my lips. I did not think this one all the way through. "Sutton, I don't—"

"Don't make me call you Daddy again," she says, moving in front of me and placing her hands on her hips.

My nostrils flare and I run my tongue over my teeth. "You are so bad, mala tigrica."

"But I do it so well, don't I?" she purrs, sliding her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, and into my hair.

I shift from foot to foot and grip her hips to pull her against me. "You do. Come on, Sutton Marie. Let's go get you a drink."

The smile she gives me is so sweet that I can't even pretend to be annoyed at her for seducing me into getting her way. I drape my arm over her shoulders as we make our way through the crowd toward the bar.

"What do you want to drink?" I ask, leaning down so she can hear me.

"Umm...I've only had a couple of drinks in my life, and they were all like, Smirnoff Ices that Dom snuck over from her house," she says, tucking her lips between her teeth and averting her gaze.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, this is about to be a long night," I say, smoothing my hand over the back of her head and kissing her temple. "Let's start slow, cowgirl. I'm getting you a piña colada."

"Sounds good to me," she agrees as we approach the bar, and when she leans forward on her elbows to relax on the bartop, I have to shoot a death glare at the man next to her. He's unashamedly checking out her ass, but when I give him a short shake of my head and my eyes flick down to my belt where my gun would normally be, his eyes widen and he moves away, taking his cheap beer with him. That's what I thought, fucker.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asks, tucking a pencil into the bun on top of her head, which is bright blue.

"I'll take a double 7 and 7, and—" I almost order for her, but I stop short knowing she'd probably like to take this opportunity to order her own drink. "What would you like, baby?"

Her green gaze darts to mine and she smiles, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. "Can you mix a strawberry daquiri and a piña colada?"

The bartender grins. "One Miami Vice and one double 7 and 7 coming up."

When the bartender turns away to make our drinks, I look at her and say, "Miami Vice, huh?"

She giggles. "I panicked. I thought you were going to order my drink for me. But suddenly mixing strawberry with coconut sounded like a great idea. I should've known there was already a whole ass name for it."

"Well, I was going to, but I thought you might want to do that since you don't exactly get to do things like this very often," I say, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. "So I just...gave you an idea. And you ran with it. Which tracks...because you're smart as fuck."

She laughs and shakes her head. "How are you real?"

"Believe me, mala tigrica, I often wonder the same about you."

She leans in toward me and I move in to kiss her when the bartender appears with our drinks. "You wanna open a tab?"

I close my eyes and nod once, turning to the woman with a smile. "Yes, here you go," I say, pulling my wallet out and handing her my black American Express card.

Sutton's eyes practically bug out of her head and she's speechless, taking long sips of her drink until the card is back in my wallet and I'm leading her to the dance floor.

"Excuse me, you're not just going to skip past that," she says as I pull her close and take a sip of my drink.

"Skip past what?" I say with a shrug.

She whacks me gently on the chest as she continues drinking her frozen cocktail, perhaps a bit too fast for my comfort. "The black Amex. That's like...billionaire spicy romance novel shit right there."

I laugh and toss back my drink, downing it in one long swallow and setting it on a table at the edge of the dance floor. Swaying to the rhythm of the music, she rests one arm over my shoulder and keeps the other tucked between us with her drink clutched in her hand. "Well, that's how I plan to treat you, Sutton Banks. Like you're in one of those romance novels you love so much. I already told you I want to surprise you for the rest of our lives...how do you think I want to do that? I want to do anything and everything to make you happy, mala tigrica. There are no limits to what I will do for you."

Tears fill her eyes, and she finishes her drink before leaving it on the table next to my empty glass and resting her head on my chest. "Sometimes I still can't believe you came back for me."

I grip her chin and force her to look at me. "Sutton, every single night, I dreamed of the day I would be able to come back to you. I was just always so afraid that's what it would always be. A fucking dream."

She raises to her tiptoes and captures her lips with mine. "You made it happen, Nic. Now dance with me," she whispers against my lips.

The music shifts to a faster beat, and I tug her to the middle of the dance floor. "You don't have to ask me twice."