I knew Dante and his brothers stood up to the darker underbelly of New Orleans—the gangs, the mobsters, the criminals. But that didn’t mean I’d bare my soul. Not when it could end with me with a bullet in my brain.

“Very sure.” I pasted on a smile.

He watched me for a long second with those endless, dark eyes. “Are you closing tonight?”

My heart did a little jump. “Yes. Venus needs to get home. One of her kids has a dance thing tomorrow.”

“Good. I’ve got some whiskey samples from a local distillery. I know you like your whiskey, so maybe you can try them with me? I need to decide if I want to stock them or not.”

I nodded, my belly twisting. Oh, hell. A late-night close with Dante. “Happy to help. Oh, and I have a new cocktail creation I think the customers would like.”

His teeth flashed white against his skin. “You and your cocktails.”

“Hey, the Fiery Phoenix has been super popular.” I’d made up the cocktail a week ago and the clientele loved it.

“I know.” He held up a hand. “You try my whiskey, I’ll try your new cocktail.”

I almost said ‘it’s a date’ but managed to stifle the words. It wasn’t a date. It would never be a date. “I’d better get these drinks made. Thirsty customers.”

I whirled away, but I felt his gaze digging into my back.

When I glanced his way again, he was gone. I blew out a breath and my shoulders sagged. I needed to definitely not get too close to Dante Fury.

The rest of my shift was a blur—tipsy customers, lots of drinks, sore feet.

And somehow, from time to time, I still felt Dante’s gaze on me.

Shaking my head, I reached for a cocktail glass. You’re imagining things, Mila.

* * *

DANTE

Standing at the large window in my office, I watched the club through the one-way glass.

Mine.

As I took in the dark floor, the gold ceiling, and long bar along the wall—not to mention the clubgoers spending lots of money at my bar—I clasped my hands behind my back.

All mine, and I was fucking proud of it. I’d planned every detail, picked every staff member, managed every aspect. My staff was currently switching to clean-up mode, as closing time drew nearer. They were the embodiment of a well-oiled machine.

I wouldn’t accept anything less.

Heading toward the low, wooden cabinet against the far wall, I reached for the decanter full of my favorite bourbon resting on top of it. I grabbed a crystal tumbler, and poured a splash.

I wouldn’t have more than one, not while the club was open. I only indulged when I was at home, with my brothers. It was the only time I let my guard down.