Music met his ears as he approached the door to the suite. He smiled, anticipating his friends.
It had been too long.
He knocked twice. “Open up, you drunk bastards.”
The door swung open wide. “About time.” Gio stood there, a huge smile on his face.
God, it was great to see him.
They hugged, long and hard. Strong pats on the back. “You look good.”
“You do, too.”
He stepped in the room, dragging his suitcase behind.
“Jesus, Dante, what do you have in there, a body?”
“Shut up. I was going to ship it from Italy, but this made more sense.”
Gio stood back, lifted his voice to the room beyond the door connecting the two. “Luca, Dante is here.”
Luca walked around the corner, put the glass in his hand down. “Damn, look at you.”
They hugged. “Doing it again, huh?”
“Doing it right this time,” Luca told him.
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
Luca stepped back. “We can go to their room now and I can introduce you.”
Gio stepped between the two of them. “Oh, no. We just got here. They’re probably tits-up in fingernail polish and facial lotion. Dinner is soon enough.” Gio patted Luca’s chest.
“Who is with the bachelorettes?” Dante asked, fishing for information.
“Chloe and Salena. And Carmen, who you haven’t met,” Gio told him.
The guest list brought an instant smile to his face. “Salena, huh? That’s gonna spell trouble.”
“Brooke and Carmen will keep the younger girls in check,” Luca told him.
Dante patted his friend on the back. “If that’s what you want to believe, old man.” Luca earned the title by being the oldest and cemented it by being Mr. Responsibility from the day his father passed. “You look happy.”
Luca sighed. “I love her.”
“And Franny?”
“She loves her, too.”
Dante shrugged out of his coat. “What are we drinking?”
“Whiskey.”
“Perfect.”
CHAPTER TWO
Chloe wore red. The hip-hugging dress stopped midthigh and enhanced her barely-there breasts. All the yoga she practiced shaped her butt in ways many women dreamed of, but it also slimmed down the rest of her to where it took dresses like this one to make her feel like a woman.
The three-inch heels helped, too.
Her olive skin and Italian heritage gave her a glow, even in the dead of winter. Her thick black hair had some bounce that the stylist put a little extra in at the salon.
Even though the night was about Brooke . . . she wasn’t trying to be noticed. Not by anyone but Luca.
Chloe, on the other hand, wanted at least one person to see her.
See her and ruin his vision for anyone else who walked his way.
Hadn’t she been trying to do that her entire life?
Yeah, she wanted Dante to notice, and then she wanted to smile and turn away.
Because no matter how she flipped that coin over in her hand, it would never happen. Nor should it. He was a player that rivaled Gio, in two countries. He treated her as if she were his sister, even down to teasing her when she went through puberty. As if two brothers weren’t enough to deal with at the time, Dante was right there with them, asking if they made training bras for seventeen-year-olds.
Yeah. She would show up tonight in her eat-your-heart-out dress, followed by tomorrow night’s little black dress to end all little black dresses, and make sure Dante saw her as the woman she was and not the lanky little girl he grew up beside.
Salena rounded the corner of the bathroom and blew out a whistle. “Whoa. You do realize it’s forty degrees outside, right?”
Chloe smiled at her friend through the reflection in the mirror. “I have a long coat.” She swiped her lips with the perfect shade of red lipstick. “Besides, the restaurant and the clubs won’t be cold.”
“You two ready in there?” Carmen called from the other room.
“Yup.” Chloe dropped her lipstick in her bag and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
Brooke and Carmen both wore pantsuits. Brooke wore white and Carmen was in black.
“You can tell who is married in this group,” Salena offered.
Carmen waved a thumb between Brooke and herself. “We’re both from the Pacific Northwest. We understand cold weather. You two obviously don’t.”
Salena’s dress had a little more to it, the material thicker, with long sleeves, but it was still short and revealing.
“Our ride is picking us up at eight to take us to the club. We’re sticking with vodka tonight, right?” Chloe asked.
“Yes,” Brooke said.
“I’m in charge of Brooke,” Carmen pointed out. She’d already agreed to be the somewhat-sober responsible player for the bride.
“Oh, shoot, I almost forgot something.” Carmen ran back into their room and returned a few seconds later. In her hands was a white and silver sash she handed to Brooke. Bride To Be was spelled out in sparkly thread.
“Really?” Brooke said with a grin.
“It’s perfect.”
“You have to wear it.”
Carmen helped her put it on, then took a picture.
Chloe slipped into her trench coat and checked her purse for the essentials. Tip money, lipstick . . . a condom. Although she had no intention of using that, a girl was always prepared.
They wormed their way through the growing Saturday crowds. The casino floor was already hopping. Some people were dressed up, but most were dressed down in jeans and sweatshirts, even in a high-end hotel like theirs.
The four of them turned heads as they walked by. Each step brought Chloe’s chin a little higher as she ignored the thump of her heart against her ribs as they moved into the massive indoor piazza that held the restaurants of the Venetian.
They approached the hostess of the steakhouse and Chloe took charge. “We’re with the D’Angelo party.”
“This way.”
Chloe turned to Brooke and let her take the lead.
She heard his laugh before she saw his face.
The round table was in the back of the still-empty room.
The four men were spaced out, every other chair. Dante’s back was to them as they walked in.
Luca saw them first and he all but jumped to his feet. “Cara!”
His expression stopped whatever they were talking about as they all turned to watch them walk in.
Her brothers cleaned up well. Dress jackets and nice shirts . . . slacks. Mayson wore a thick turtleneck and had a jacket on the back of his chair.
Then there was Dante . . .
He’d been living in Italy and it showed. My God, he looked like he’d stepped from the pages of a men’s fashion magazine out of Milan. A tailored jacket that could have been leather, but she’d have to touch it to be sure. Not the shiny kind, but soft. The dark gray, nearly black shirt under that opened enough to show the sex appeal of his throat. Broad shoulders that filled it all out. Strong jaw with a perfectly manicured short beard and mustache that was more than a five-o’clock shadow but nothing close to the lumberjack variety. And if that wasn’t enough, the man’s eyes locked you down with one look. Some would say they were brown, but Chloe always thought they resembled golden honey. When he caught you in his stare it was impossible to breathe.