From the mezzanine of his club, Felice watches you dance for far too long.
Your dress is short, form-fitting, sexy enough to draw eyes all around you.
And especially the eyes of the man now dancing behind you.
When a male hand lands on your waist, Felice slowly sets down his glass.
Two minutes later, he's on the dance floor.
"Azzolini."
The man nearly releases you on the spot upon recognizing him.
Felice, though, doesn't even look at him. His eyes are locked on you.
"Having fun?"
"A lot. Why?"
His gaze slowly trails down your dress.
"Because I'm two seconds away from shutting down my own club just to stop watching you dance in that."
You smile.
"Jealous?"
His hand stays at his side until you take it, and only then pulls you close enough to feel his breath at your ear.
"No, tesoro."
His fingers tighten slightly.
"Jealous was twenty minutes ago. Right now I am reminding myself that your father is my friend — and that you can walk off this floor whenever you like."