Twisted Devotion to My Mafia Kings

Five

Dominic

Nico and I cut through the crowd like blades through flesh.

Bodies pressed close on all sides - perfume, sweat, desire thick in the air - but none of it registered. My focus narrowed to the pulse beneath my skin, the familiar itch in my bones that would only ever surface when something was wrong. Or when something I wanted was too close.

I had been watching the bar long before the tablet confirmed it. Seamus McDaniel, Irish mod, Perched like he owned the place. He knew better. That was what made it an insult.

But that wasn't what had my blood boiling. Burning. It was the woman. The one who'd collided with Nico.

The second I saw her, something primitive snapped awake inside of me. A low ugly hunger that had nothing to do with logic. I tracked her movement through the room theway a predator tracks prey - not to kill, but to claim.

My mind instantly betrayed me. Her between us. Nicos's hands are firm on her hips, guiding. My fingers tangled in that caramel hair, fight tightening just enough to make her gasp. Nico's mouth at her throat, slow and deliberate, while I -

I adjusted myself in my pants with a sharp breath. My c**k was harder than I had been in months.

Later.

I forced the thought down, caged it. There would be time for that later. There was always time for what we wanted.

The Irish bastard sat at the bar, sipping whiskey like he belonged here. Older than us be a handful of years, he never let Nico forget it. As if age equaled power.

It didn't. It just made him sloppy.

The man beside him leaned in, murmuring something. Seamus turned his head towards the dancefloor. I followed his gaze.

Red flooded my vision. He was looking at her. My hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. I took a step forward without realizing it, a snarl already forming in my chest.

Nico's hand landed on my sternum, firm and unyielding.

"Dominic," he said quietly. A demand. "Now."

It wasn't a suggestion. I stopped.

He was the only man alive who could do that to me. The only one I trusted enough to leash the monster when it clawed at my ribs. I forced myself to breathe - slow, controlled - until the violence retreated just enough to not spill.

Everyone had demons. Mine didn't whisper. They howled.

I watched her instead. The way she lifted her glass. The graceful tilt of her head. Her throat moving as she swallowed, a drop of alcohol lingering at the corner of her mouth.

I imagined dragging my thumb through it. Tasting it. My jaw tightened.

There was a man with her - the same one she had been dancing with. Tall. Blonde. Hands respectful, careful. His attention drifted elsewhere more often than not, towards another man across the room. That was the only reason he was still breathing.

She handed her glass to a server and let the music take her. Not dancing for anyone. Dancing with it. Her body moved like she felt every note, every vibration, deep in her bones.

Fuck.

The urge to storm towards her and pull her closer, to feel that rhythm under my hands made my fingers itch.

"Thought I'd find you eventually," Seamus drawled behind us.

I didn't turn. Nico did.

The Irishman's accent was thick, smooth. The kind women melted for. He wasn't unattractive. He had a strong build, scars earned, eyes sharp with experience. Danger recognized danger.

I kept my hands in my pockets, fingers brushing the handle of my knife. The gun at heavy at my waist, a last resort. Tonight wasn't about chaos. Luxe needed control.

"You're in my territory," Nico said evenly. "You didn't think I would know the second you walked in?"

Seamus spun on his stool, lounging back against the bar like he was inviting a challenge. "Territory, huh? Must've missed the coronation."

I wanted to break his teeth.

"My father's territory is mine," Nico replied coolly. "And don't pretend you earned your crown. You were handed it."

Seamus's eyes flashed. "Careful, prince."

Nico smiled. Cold. Deadly. "Thirty five and just now playing king. Congratulations."

Silence stretched tight. The bartender froze.

"You're done here," Nico continued. "Drinks on the house. Leave"

Seamus lifted his glass, downed it without flinching, then slid a bill across the bar. He rose, eyes drifting back to the dancefloor - back to her.

"So many pretty faces," he mused. "So many opportunities."

My fists clenched. Nico's jaw hardened. He saw it. Our tells. Seamus turned and left. The tension didn't break until he was gone.

Nico exhaled once, sharp, then turned towards the stairs. I followed him automatically. Shadows to spine. He didn't speak until we reached the office. The door shut behind us. Silent. Deafening.

"You good?" he asked.

I laughed once, humorless. "Barely."

He poured himself a drink, then another. I leaned against the wall, eyes flicking back to the security monitors — back to the dance floor.

She was still there. Still glowing. Still dangerous.

"She's trouble," Nico said, repeating my words from earlier. He spoke quietly, following my gaze.

"She's ours," I corrected.

Something in my tone made him look at me. Really look.

"You feel it too," I said. It wasn't a question. He did.

I could see it in the way his grip tightened around the glass. The way his eyes darkened.

"She ran from you," I added. "Not from me." I brought up, remembering how she bumped into him.

Nico's mouth curved slightly. "That won't last."

Good. I wanted the chase. I wanted to see what she'd do when she realized she wasn't being hunted — but chosen.

I straightened, already moving. "Let's not keep her waiting."

"Stop," Nico ordered. I halted by the door, my c**k protesting at the command. He wanted action, as did I. I wanted her. This wasn't just desire. This was something deep, dark and twisted. An intensity I hadn't felt with anyone other than Nico. This was a language our bodies understood, but to involve someone else? That took skill.