The entire damn room goes dead silent. Every conversation, every laugh, every drunken slur…gone. Even the strippers freeze mid-dance before scurrying off like roaches, disappearing behind a door as if their lives depend on it. And maybe they do. Because right now? All eyes are on Dante.
The stout guy from earlier…Mac, I think, takes a seat at the table, shifting uncomfortably. Meanwhile, I’m still parked on Dante’s lap, because apparently, this man has zero intention of letting me go. His grip on my waist is firm, like he’s daring me to even think about moving.
And honestly? I probably wouldn’t. Because I have a weird f*****g feeling about what he said earlier. The way he whispered it in my ear, the promise laced in his tone… it’s making me nervous as hell. Like, what the f**k is he plan
