That man—that incredibly handsome man knows my story and he knows my dreams.
He knows I’m destined for so much more. That one day my name will appear on marquis all over the world and I’ll be a star.
A prima ballerina.
He knows because he’s been my brother’s best friend for as long as I can remember and the object of my desire since I reached puberty. And now, Rocco Spinelli, knows what I look like naked.
Well, mostly naked.
I often fantasized of the day when Rocco finally opened his eyes and noticed me as a woman and not just Joaquin’s annoying sister and I can tell you for certain none of those fantasies were set in a seedy strip club.
Chills shoot up my spine as I recall the look in his soulful brown eyes. They were so full of shock before they darkened and narrowed, taking in every inch of my body. The man sitting next to me in the backseat of this luxury car definitely noticed me tonight.
My mom always warned me to be careful what I wished for, that my wish might come true. Flora Cabrera was a pessimist. My brother says she’s bitter, that she’s been dealt a shitty hand at life and has struggled ever since our father left her. She doesn’t have faith in dreams because none of hers ever came true.
I agreed with my brother and every time my mother warned me to be cautious of my wishes, I dismissed it. She could spend the rest of her life hating the world, but not me. I’m going to embrace life and wish on every star all while chasing every dream.
But after tonight, I think she might be onto something. People should definitely be cautious of what they wish for because one day they might be dancing on a pole in front of the man they dreamed of marrying someday.
The car rolls to a stop and I reluctantly turn my gaze to Rocco. Since he emerged from the back entrance of Delilah’s Den and slid into the backseat beside me, he hasn’t said a single word, nor has he glanced in my direction. It didn’t bother me so much because I was still reeling from our exchange. I was also worried over how him finding me at Delilah’s would affect my arrangement with Mitch.
I don’t know what transpired between the two men, but I need to keep my end of the deal with Mitch or my mom will lose her restaurant. And let’s not even talk about what might happen if Rocco runs his mouth to Joaquin.
All hell will break loose and I’m not sure who will catch more heat—our mother, for not going to him for help, Mitch, for bringing the heat on our mother, or me, for cutting a deal with the asshole.
Yeah, I think it’s best if we leave my dear brother out of this mess. The thing is, I’m not sure how I can convince the brooding man next to me to agree to that.
Sighing, I cut my eyes to glance out the window and realize we’re not parked in front of my house. I inch closer to the glass and stare up at the fancy five-star hotel. Snapping my gaze back to Rocco, I point a finger at the window.
“This isn’t my house.”
A ballerina and a detective.
Give me a gold star.
“No kidding,” he mutters, scratching the side of his jaw. He turns to face me, his eyes sharp and assessing as they drink me in from head to toe. “Much better outfit choice.”
While he was in the club doing God knows what with Mitch, and the driver stood outside the car waiting for him, I took the time to change into the Victoria’s Secret sweatsuit I wore to the club. It was wrinkled to shit and stunk like stale cigarette smoke, but it was better than nothing.
I cock my head to the side and glare at him.
“Glad you approve, I changed just for you. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, you looked like you were sweating back there, being forced to stare at my tits.”
Normally after a comment like that, Rocco would deliver one of his own. It would likely be laced with innuendo and designed to make me blush even though I don’t blush. However, instead of a flirty, smart retort, he clenches his jaw and reaches for his jacket.
After I dressed, I threw it on the seat, and it’s been acting as the Berlin wall, keeping us both firmly planted on either side.
“Bruno will take you home in the morning, before he drops me at the airport,” he says finally.
Then he snatches the wrinkled jacket and shrugs it on. I try to recall a time in my life, other than his mother’s funeral, when I’ve seen him wear a suit. Before he and my brother took a job with the notorious gangster, Victor Pastore, who also happens to be Rocco’s uncle, he favored sweatsuits. Nike, Adidas, even Jordan and no matter which brand he wore, he completed the ensemble with a fresh pair of Air Force 1’s.
This look is…different.
“What?” he snaps.
For a split second I forget about my brother, Mitch, and my mother’s drama. In this moment, he’s Rocco and I’m Violet, the girl who has no problem calling him out on being an asshole. The girl who is about to tell him where to go and how to get there.
“Oh, I don’t know, Rocco, you haven’t said two words to me since you entered the car and now, we’re at your hotel,” I hiss exasperatedly. “Here’s a thought, instead of being a dick, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened back there.” He remains quiet and that infuriates me even more. “Damn you, Rocco, this is none of your business. My mom’s restaurant—"
He cuts me off, piercing me with a glare.
“It’s taken care of, Violet. Mitch isn’t going to go after the restaurant.”
My brows pinch together as I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. Again, the bastard remains silent. He may be sexy as sin, but he’s the biggest dick to ever walk the face of the earth.
“I don’t want to have this conversation in the back of a car,” he grunts, swiping a hand over his handsome face. The five o’clock shadow is a new look for him too. “Correction, I don’t want to have this fucking conversation at all, but I definitely don’t want to have it sober.”
“Well, what if I don’t want to have this conversation in a hotel room?”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Scared?”
“Of you?” I scoff, rolling my eyes. Changes and all, I would never be afraid of the man next to me. I may hate him right now, but I trust him explicitly. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or what, but it’s true. “I’m not scared of you, Rocco.”
“You should be.”
There’s truth to those words, I’m sure of it, but I don’t know what that truth is and I’m not sure I want to know. Still, I ask, “Why?”
He doesn’t respond right away and after a moment, he shakes his head, dismissing the conversation altogether.
“Move your ass, Bug, there is a fifth of vodka somewhere in that hotel with my name on it.”
Opening his door, he slides out of the car, leaving me reeling and all sorts of angry. I grab my duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder before stepping out of the car myself. Of course Rocco isn’t there to hold my hand and escort me into the building. He doesn’t even hold the door for me.
Bastard.
I stalk after him, following him to the bank of elevators. He pushes the button and I move to step around him, forcing him to look me in the eye.
“Last I checked, I didn’t answer to you Rocco, so I’m not really understanding why you’re acting like such a dick.” He doesn’t even fucking blink which only aggravates me more. Throwing my hands up, I continue, “So you saw me naked, big deal! I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of tits and ass—”