Chapter 42: So

LUCA

In the months since I’ve become Don, many things have changed—far too many for me to list, to be completely honest.

However, one of the good changes has been my purchasing of the strip club. Yes, the one that had dicks pictured on the outside of the building. They’ve since been removed as Raven has taken the reins on the club and turned it into a classier place.

Raven seems to be thriving in her role as owner and operator. She’s taken it on with brilliance and I’m proud of her and the things she’s accomplished with it.

Not only has she aesthetically improved the look of the place, but she’s also made sure the workers are happier with their jobs. I think the last owner was fairly scummy, and both Raven and I—despite being part of the fucking mafia—don’t want to run the business that way.

My girl’s also vastly increased the profits.

It helps that the women are more pleased with their jobs. It also helps that she’s beefed up the security so less money has gone missing. She’s very careful with her books, as well.

As I said, she’s doing an exceptional job.

When I walk into the club, it’s empty inside. It isn’t unusual—it’s closed early for this particular night and the cleaning staff has obviously already made their way throughout.

I’m here to pick up Raven because it’s date night. Despite being the Don and being busy almost constantly, I’ve made it a habit that we still have date night. We need the time alone together. Time when we don’t discuss work shit and just enjoy one another’s company.

Of course, she’s with me every day at some point throughout. However, there are some days when she’s here, at the club, or when she’s flown out to see Dove and AJ. She’s still with me majority of the time, but it’s often during hours that revolve around work.

Fuck all of it. The whole reason I’m doing any of this is for her. I’d give it all up for her too.

I walk over to the main stage, calling out for Raven. She knows I’m here, so I shrug my suit jacket off, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair, moving to sit myself in it. I spin around in it, moving to face the stage as I await my girl like I always do.

I begin scrolling through my phone—positive she’s doing last minute work things like she typically does. I fire off a few responses to texts and emails that I’ve been sent throughout the day and haven’t had the time to answer.

It isn’t until I hear the distinctive sound of a microphone being picked up—that familiar sound of feedback ricocheting off the walls—that I get curious as to what Raven’s up to.

“I see you’ve taken a seat,” she says over the speakers. “You’ll notice I’ve left you a drink.” I glance over at the table beside me to see that there’s a glass of brown liquor that I hadn’t noticed when I sat down.

I pick it up, knowing she’s observing on the cameras as she muses, “Good boy. Now sit back and enjoy.”

I can tell that date night is about to be later than I anticipated. Not that I have any issue with it. The security outside won’t enter unless told to do so. And Nero will stay parked where he is for hours if he has to. The dinner reservation will wait. We won’t be bothered.

It’s amazing how you can toss money at any issue—even something as simple as a late dinner reservation—and make it disappear. As long as you have enough cash on hand.

I put my phone on Do Not Disturb, stuffing it into my jacket pocket. Then I relax into the chair and toss back the whiskey she left for me just as music begins lowly thumping around us.

She walks out in heels that must make her six inches taller and white lingerie. The lingerie isn’t her usual type, but it looks gorgeous on her—her luscious thighs, hips, tits, legs, ass.

She looks excited, but there’s amusement on her face that I can’t immediately place.

“Raven, you look—” I can’t finish the sentence. All that comes past my lips is a pained rush of air. For a moment, I think I’ve swallowed my tongue.

She spins slowly, tossing the long waves of her hair over her shoulder. Her hair, as well as a veil that I missed spotting—was distracted from seeing—when she initially stepped out.

Slightly confused, I relax further into the chair, resting an elbow on the one cushioned arm. I draw two fingertips over the stubble just below my lower lip, waiting for her to help me understand.

“It’s the lingerie,” she explains and it takes me a moment to realize what she’s referring to—she’s making a comment about how I tried to say she’s fucking beautiful but got tongue-tied. She’s dismissing her beauty and explaining that it’s the clothing that’s making me feel the way I do.

She’s bloody wrong.

Lingerie that I never would’ve guessed she’d wear. The knickers are your typical skimpy kind—the tiniest scrap of silken material possible. Not her usual fabric. However, it’s the bra that makes me ponder because it covers more skin. It tapers up and around her neck, where a thick, silky band forms a bow at her nape.

“No, no,” I shake my head, wetting my lips as my eyes drag down her body and then back up again. “It’s you. Only you,” I assure her. “It has nothing to do with the lingerie, my love.”

She gets that smirk on her face again. The one that tells me there’s more to this story that she hasn’t told me yet. Something that’ll surely explain why she’s dressed bridal.

Stepping forward, she wraps one hand around the pole as she finally informs me, “Micro bought it for me. Before, y’know, his untimely demise and all that.”