His Virgin Stripper

42- Prove Me Wrong

Marcello

The tires crunched softly against the pristine gravel of the winding driveway as Enzo steered the vehicle through the massive security gates of my estate.

But as the car finally rolled to a halt in front of the grand entrance, my eyes didn't track the lines of the building. Instead, they locked onto the rear-view mirror.

Enzo stared back at me through the glass, and that f*****g annoying smirk was still plastered across his lips, unchanged from the warehouse parking lot.

Beside him, Dante sat rigid in the passenger seat. His large frame practically filled the space, his arms crossed over his chest in his usual disciplined, military posture.

But as the headlights cut out, plunging the interior of the car into a dim gray, I caught the subtle twitch of his jaw. A barely noticeable smile was pulling at the corners of Dante's mouth, a silent testament to the conversation that had transpired during the drive.

I let out a heavy sigh, leaning my head against the leather headrest of the backseat. The exhaustion of the past two weeks seemed to settle into my bones, heavy and demanding, but the irritation burning in my gut was sharper.

Even my own men had already noticed my weakness. They could see the hesitation tracking across my movements. They could read the delay in my schedule.

For a man in my position, a perceived weakness among your inner circle was equivalent to a death sentence, yet these two idiots were treating it like entertainment.

Enzo shifted his gaze in the rear-view mirror, holding my icy stare, and like the devil he is, his smile widened, stretching into something malicious as an evil thought seemed to click in his head.

He shifted the car into park, draping one arm casually over the steering wheel as he turned his torso around to look at me in the backseat.

"Are you still afraid to go into your own home, Marcello?" he teased, his voice dropping into a low drawl that made my fists clench against my thighs.

"Should I just put it back in drive? We can always head back to the docks and look at those manifests for another five hours if the front door looks a little too intimidating."

I let my eyes narrow into slits, the shadows of the car obscuring the violent pulse of the muscle ticking in my jaw.

"Should I drive away?" Enzo’s eyes flashed with mischief as he nodded toward the sprawling, illuminated facade of the mansion.

"Though, she must have seen us come in by now. Those floor-to-ceiling windows don't leave much to the imagination. She's probably sitting up there right now, wondering why her big, bad captor is idling in the driveway like a nervous teenager before prom."

I shot him a glare, my voice coming out in a flat, gravelly rasp that carried the weight of a threat. "You know, for an employee, you have a lot to say to your boss."

The warning did nothing to dampen his spirits. If anything, it only fueled the fire. Enzo let out a low, breathless laugh, shaking his head as he turned back toward the front windshield.

He reached over, planting a heavy hand on Dante’s shoulder, shifting his focus to the silent soldier beside him.

"Let's place a bet," Enzo said loudly, his tone instantly shifting into the casual, rowdy cadence of a sportsbook broker.

"Fifty thousand dollars says he chickens out again. Fifty grand says he walks through those doors, locks himself in his study, and spends the next six hours pretending the security logs are the most fascinating thing on the planet just to avoid going up those stairs."

Dante's small, disciplined smile finally deepened, breaking through his usual stone-faced demeanor as he adjusted his posture in the passenger seat. He kept his eyes fixed on the illuminated front doors of the villa, but the amusement in his voice was undeniable.

"I think he'll man up this time around," Dante countered smoothly, his deep baritone rumbling through the quiet interior of the sedan.

He shifted his shoulders, casting a brief, sideways glance toward Enzo. "It's been years since he actually got some from anyone, let alone someone living under his roof. He’s stubborn, but he’s not stupid. I’ll take the under on that. Twenty thousand dollars says he goes straight to her."

I sat in the dark of the backseat, listening to the two of them toss around five-figure sums over my private life as if they were standing trackside at a horse race.

A sudden, sharp laugh of absolute disbelief escaped my throat, cutting through their banter.

"Are you guys really gossiping about me right now?" I asked, leaning forward slightly so my face cleared the shadows of the headrest. "I'm right here. I am literally sitting directly behind you."

Enzo slowly turned his head around, looking at me with mock surprise, widening his eyes as if he had forgotten I had been sitting in the vehicle for the entire trip.

"That's the whole point," Enzo said, his smirk returning with a vengeance as he tapped his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel.

He leaned in closer to the gap between the front seats, his blue eyes locking onto mine with a competitive spark. "Prove me wrong, boss. Walk through those doors, go find your pet, and show me that I lost that 50 grand. Otherwise, I expect the check on my desk by tomorrow morning."

"Get out!" I muttered, the words flat and cold, though the absurdity of the situation kept the edge of my anger from boiling over.

Enzo chuckled softly, popping his door open and stepping out into the cool night air. Dante followed suit, his massive frame exiting the passenger side with a quiet efficiency.

Within seconds, the two of them were walking down the gravel path toward the secondary security checkpoint, their low voices still murmuring as they finalized the details of their ridiculous wager.

The car door clicked shut behind them, leaving me alone in the silent vehicle.

My mind swirled into a chaotic vortex of thoughts, the cold discipline I had spent my entire life cultivating completely failing to find a foothold.

How was I going to survive the night with Sienna just next door?

The question became an agonizing loop that traced every line of the contract I had forced her to sign. She wasn't just a prisoner tucked away in a cell; she was a living, constant temptation occupying the same space as me and she was right through those doors.

I could still feel the sensation of her gaze from that breakfast; the way her eyes had searched my face, the way her shoulders had tensed under the fabric of that dress.

She had tried to set a trap, a desperate attempt to make me stumble, and I had forced myself to behave unbothered just to keep from ripping that dress off her body right there on the table.

But tonight, there was no table. There were no breakfast plates, no maids hovering in the area and no distractions from the Irish syndicate to pull my attention away.

It was just her, the empty rooms, and the quiet stretch of the midnight hours.

If I went up those stairs, if I caught the scent of her skin the fragile thread of my control was going to snap. I knew the reality of my own nature.

I wasn't a gentle man, and I didn't know how to handle something soft without leaving marks.

The memory of the wet patch on her denim flashed vivid again, a sudden, blinding surge of heat that made my breath catch in my throat, my knuckles turning white against the leather seat as my body demanded the one thing my pride refused to give in to.

I closed my eyes, taking one last, long breath forcing my mind to lock the impulse behind a wall of cold iron.

I couldn't chicken out. I wouldn't give Enzo the satisfaction of winning that money, and I damn sure wouldn't let a girl from LA who I now owned dictate where I slept.