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Yours Wickedly, Sierra  Novel Cover

Yours Wickedly, Sierra

Disgraced Ballerina, Sierra Monroe, is forced into a nightclub contract to save her brother from debt, where she encounters Dante Spinelli, Boston's arrogant new Mafia Boss. The FBI offers her one way out, seduce Dante and help bring him down. But spying is the last thing on this dancer's mind as she begins to fall for the man she's meant to destroy. Will Sierra choose justice or desire? or will Dante risk everything for love?
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Chapter 5

DANTE

“Let go!” Sierra whispered against my lips; my fingers dug into her hips. I nipped her lower lip.

“No,” I replied stubbornly; the rush of desire was too hard to resist until Sierra was pulled away from my arms.

“Break it up, you two!” Howard barked at us.

I tried to catch my breath, then a fist came flying at my face; I sidestepped easily. The idiot stumbled like a clumsy drunk, while I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, watching him.

Moron.

“Howie!” Sierra cried in alarm, reaching to hold him upright.

Howard glared at me as if in disbelief. “Oh, my God in Heaven. If you touch her again, I'll...”

“Or what, Monroe?” I asked, stepping forward in challenge.

Howard quickly jumped back in retreat. “Nothing, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was you, Don Spinelli,” he muttered.

I nodded with an air of authority. “That's what I thought.”

Upon turning to Sierra, Howard's fingers gripped her face. “Are you okay, sis?”

She nodded. “Yes, I'm fine.”

Howard dragged his sister out of there, muttering. “Then, you're so dead.”

The whole thing was amusing, but it quickly washed away when flashes of red and blue lights reflected on my car when my driver was on the road.

A frown passed through my lips as I looked behind us.

“Boston PD!” the voice blared through the speakerphone. “Pull over.”

In two minutes, an officer slammed me hard against the hood of my car; handcuffs gripped my wrists tightly.

“...you have the right to remain silent,” the officer said.

I growled. “What the hell is this?”

At the police department, a male detective sat before me, thinking he was hot shit.

“We're holding you on multiple counts of physical assault on victim Gerald Locke,” the detective explained.

Silence passed before I broke into a laugh.

“Oh, he's serious.” I thought.

The detective leaned forward with all seriousness. “You broke four of his ribs and shot his leg; that's a year in jail for you, buddy, and if you value your precious freedom, I suggest you start talking.”

I drew a heavy sigh. “My attorney's not here. I need to make a call.”

“...Sorry, I'm not available at the moment,” the voicemail echoed in my ears. “Please leave a message.”

My heart raced, looking back to see the policeman watching me.

Fuck.

Why did Frankie choose this week to go on a vacation?

I left a message, and the policeman literally tossed me into a cell that smelled like piss, with three other guys inside.

This cannot be happening.

I sank into a bench, breathing hard to hold back the rage building inside of me, and I didn't realize one of the men had sat next to me.

“Hey pretty boy,” he sneered, reaching to touch my hair. I grabbed his fingers and twisted so hard a bone snapped; he fell to the floor, twisting in pain and swearing at me.

It was going to be a long night.

* * * * * * * *

SIERRA

“Sierra, I promise, you can date any guy you want,” Howard snapped at me. “But not a freaking Mafia boss!”

We stood outside my apartment block.

I glared at him. “For the last time, we're not dating!”

“Really?” Howard asked with sarcasm. “Because you two seemed to be having a blast, making out like a pair of teenagers!”

Heat crept into my cheek, but I folded my arms and held my ground.

Howard studied my face. “Is he making you do stuff to him at the club? Because I'm going to murder him.”

I shot him a dry look. “Of course not, and you couldn't even protect me if you could. You're the reason I'm stuck in heels and glitter, instead of ballet slippers, night after night!”

Howard rolled his eyes. “It's kept us alive, right? Listen carefully, stay away from Dante, you understand?”

Someone rang my doorbell as early as six; groaning, I climbed off my bed and moved into the living room.

I unlocked the door; on the other side was a familiar face. I'd seen him hanging around Dante. My legs began to tremble.

“Yes?” I said.

“I need you to come with me.”

I made a sound of disbelief. “I don't think so.”

As I started to shut the door, he caught it with his foot.

“It's important.” He pushed himself into the apartment. I stumbled back.

“You better leave, or I'm calling the police!” I warned him.

He didn't flinch. “Don Spinelli wants a favor from you,” he said firmly. “And you're going to do it.”

I waited as he told me about the situation.

I struggled not to laugh; I mean, this was exactly what I wanted.

“You're out of your mind,” I shot back. “I'm not bailing him out of jail!”

Then he mentioned something about breaking Howard's legs.

I froze.

“Alright.” I grabbed my phone off the couch; my heart raced. “Just give me five minutes... to change.”

He nodded, and I hurried into my room and dialed Seth's number.

“Send a SWAT team,” I pleaded. “If you don't get here soon, this guy's going to kill me!”

“Relax, let me think.” Seth said calmly.

I kept looking at the door, hoping he wouldn't break in.

“Wait, this could be good, Sierra.” Seth spoke. “Bail him out.”

“Isn't the goal to put Dante in jail?” I asked.

“Trust me, he'll get off easily.” Seth replied. “I just received word that his lawyer's out of town.”

“So, why ask me to do it?”

Seth let out a long breath.

“You really want me to spell it out?”

I didn't answer.

“It's because he won't say no to you, Sierra. Use that.”

Twenty minutes later, the man drove me to the police department.

Heads turned the moment I said why I was there. A woman bailing out a Mafia boss wasn't something they saw every day.

“What's your relationship with the suspect?” The detective asked me.

I kept a neutral expression as I filled out the form. “I wasn't aware that was required for bail, or are you just nosy?”

Then I heard the detective quietly say to his partner. “...Probably part of his string of lovers.”

I glared at him; just then an officer led Dante out in handcuffs. He looked exhausted but said nothing, his pride far too loud for a simple thank you.

Outside the station, he adjusted his wrinkled jacket, like nothing about sleeping in jail humiliated him. “I'll refund the bail. Maybe I'll throw in an extra tip for your Friday night performance.”

I didn't stop to think.

My palm cracked across his face before I could stop myself.

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