The rest of the night slipped away. He danced because he was supposed to, but he didn’t play the game and he knew he would owe the winner thousands of dollars. It didn’t matter. His gaze followed the waitress until he felt like a creepy stalker. There was nothing he could think of to make things better between them.
She served the drinks to his table every time they sank into their seats, making eye contact with all of them, Taviano, Vittorio, Salvatore and Geno. It was only Giovanni she didn’t really look at. She remembered every drink and who it belonged to. He switched to coffee and water abruptly right after midnight. They’d learned the trick of appearing to drink a lot, and then hydrating. All riders had to be sharp at all times, and that meant not getting plastered. Only Taviano didn’t have to stay sober because he’d just come off a job. They could drink after a mission or on special occasions, but not now, while they were working, and technically, Giovanni and the others were working.
The group at Darby’s table was beginning to get more than rowdy. They had become obnoxious, taunting the MMA fighters, but Aaron, true to his promise, was keeping those at his table under control. On the dance floor, two of the college boys ended up being thrown out for pushing a woman against the wall and putting their hands on her. Twice, West talked to Darby and security moved a little closer to the table.
“Can’t believe that little bastard is going to risk Stefano coming to see him,” Vittorio said. “He wants the attention, creating a problem in the Ferraro nightclub.”
Giovanni had to agree. He had turned his chair so it put him in a direct line with the Darby table. Only the MMA table was between them. His gut tightened when he saw John whispering to Jerry Higgens, the single cameraman the club had allowed in with them. Around the table, Darby’s frat brothers were grinning, turning their heads toward the stairway and Sasha as she made another trip toward the group. Higgens swung the camera in her direction.
“Fuck,” Giovanni whispered. “They’re planning something.”
He was up and moving, but he knew it was too late. Even if he called out to warn her, it was going to be too late. She was there, bending to put the drinks in front of John. He caught the front of her corset with all the red laces and jerked. She cried out, pulling back instinctively, and the laces gave way. A roar of approval went up as she stumbled back into the college boys with their outstretched, greedy hands. Several grabbed for her naked breasts, wanting to play to the camera. The tray went to the floor, drinks spilling everywhere.
Giovanni waded in, decking John as he passed, ripping Sasha out of their hands, already pulling his coat off to wrap her in. Emilio and Enzo went for the cameraman, removing it from his hands, while Salvatore, Geno, Vittorio and Taviano laid waste to those at the table. It didn’t take much, about four seconds, and it was over.
The entire time, the bodyguards for the New York riders stood shoulder to shoulder, preventing anyone from below them seeing Sasha or what was happening at Darby’s table.
“Get them out of here,” Giovanni said as the club’s security swarmed. He didn’t bother to listen to Jerry Higgens’s threats as the man was escorted out without his camera. It would be returned to him without a single documentation of the night’s activities. The paparazzi might have photographs of Darby’s party in the club, but not of this incident; it had been contained too fast.
He kept his arm around Sasha, keeping her under the protection of his shoulder. “No one saw that,” he assured.
“You did,” she pointed out.
“One second of it,” he admitted. “I’m taking you out of here. Keep your head down and I’ll shield you with my hand from any other cameras. Emilio and Enzo will clear us a path to the back office. My brothers and cousins will make certain no one gets near us. Got that?”
Her blue eyes looked a little shocked. Her body was trembling again, and he had the strange desire to pick her up in his arms and carry her from all danger. The music was going strong and most people hadn’t even been aware that there was drama. Darby’s nasty assault for the cameras hadn’t worked out this time. It was business as usual in the nightclub and one more place John Darby would never be welcome again.
“He’s a horrible little toad,” Sasha burst out.
He glanced down at her. He was a big man, wide shoulders and a strong chest. She was petite, but he could see she was angry as hell. He liked that she was angry instead of wanting to burst into tears.
“It’s called sexual assault, Sasha, and you should press charges.”
She didn’t respond, and he wanted to tip her face up to see her expression so he could tell what she was thinking.
“You’re not crying.”
“Not yet. I will. Tonight, when I’m in my apartment and no one can see, especially that nasty little weasel. I’d like to meet him in my hometown. I wanted to punch him right in the face. Hard.”
“You work those tables, they don’t have the right to touch you. I didn’t have the right to touch you. Had you been trained properly, you would have signaled security. But they should have seen you were in trouble. I gave them every chance, and they didn’t help you out. There’s going to be hell to pay for that. Next time, Sasha, walk away. The hell with giving them drinks if they’re acting like assholes.”
He kept her walking, aware of a few cameras. The cameramen knew him. He was generally easy to get photographs of. He shook his head at them indicating they should back off, and all but one did. He noted that man. Chesney Reynolds. They’d never gotten along, but in the club, he’d always cooperated. Why wouldn’t he back off now? Unless?
“Emilio, find Reynolds and talk to him. Money works. A lot of it. If he has footage because Darby paid him, get him to turn it over. Pay him whatever Darby did, the cost of that for a magazine and a bonus.”
Emilio nodded. Sasha looked up at him. “Why would you do that? It could be thousands of dollars.”
“You’re under my family’s protection. You work for us, and that should never have happened. We agreed to take the chance with John Darby because our mothers go way back and they asked us, but we were all worried he might try something. It never occurred to us he might assault one of our servers.”
He pulled open the door and found himself alone in an office with her. His brothers and cousins had gone with the bodyguards to make certain there was no film of Sasha anywhere.
Sasha moved away from him immediately, wrapping her arms around her middle. His jacket was huge on her, reaching down to her knees. It made her look smaller, more delicate than ever.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this environment,” she said. “I don’t understand men like that.”Or you. It was unspoken, but it was there between them. “I made a lot of money tonight, but I don’t think it was worth it. I need it, or I would quit. Which,” she said, “I’m not about to do. I still wish I’d punched that asshole.”
He sure as hell didn’t want her working there, but if she left, she might very well think she had to leave his territory. That wasn’t going to happen, so he was glad she needed the money enough to stay.
“I don’t understand men like Darby, either. I’m sorry about what you overheard at my table. I can see why you would think the worst of me and lump me in with him.” It was frustrating. He couldn’t tell her he had no choice but to go to nightclubs in New York, San Francisco, Los Angeles and his hometown, Chicago, and play the part of a playboy—that it was his job. They used the women who would use them as tools, just as they did the paparazzi.
“You’re done for the night,” Giovanni said. “Go change, and I’ll take you out for something to eat and we can sort this out.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“This happened to you in my establishment. You’re shaken up, which is understandable when someone put their hands on you yet again.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, wishing he could take back the rules of that stupid, insane game he’d made up. He wasn’t about to let her go; he’d have to switch tactics.
CHAPTER TWO