Bullies Tore the Mafia Boss’s Sister’s Dress—Then a Female Bartender Fought Back

Noel was still pressed against the marble pillar, her breathing shallow as she tried to hold the torn back of her dress together. Delaney untied her black leather apron, shrugged out of the oversized denim jacket she wore beneath her vest, and draped it carefully around Noel’s bare shoulders.

"Can you walk?" Delaney asked softly, the iron edge in her voice vanishing the moment she looked at the younger woman.

"Yes," Noel whispered, pulling the heavy denim tight across her chest. "Thank you. You shouldn't have done that. He’s going to come after you."

"Let him try," Delaney said, guiding Noel toward the brass doors at the rear of the lounge. "Come on. We’re taking the freight lift."

The service corridor smelled of bleach and warm linen. Waiting inside the open freight elevator was Marcus, the head of security, holding the rubber door-stop with one booted foot. His face was grim as Delaney ushered Noel inside.

"You left a hell of a mess out there, Marsh," Marcus muttered, keying his master card into the panel to lock the elevator onto express descent to the sub-basement. "Hollis’s kid is already screaming for the Providence PD, and the night manager is having a coronary."

"You walked away, Marcus," Delaney pointed out, leaning against the steel railing. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Marcus didn't look at Delaney. Instead, his eyes shifted in the polished steel mirror toward Noel, who was staring at the floor with her dark hair hiding her face.

"Because breaking Preston Hollis’s wrist is the luckiest thing that could have happened to him tonight," Marcus said quietly. "If you hadn't stepped out from behind that bar, someone would have had to call her brother. And if Dante Ferraro came up to the twenty-second floor, they’d be hosing blood off the patio until Tuesday."

Delaney stiffened, turning her head slowly toward the fragile girl beside her.

"Ferraro?" Delaney repeated, her dark eyes narrowing. "You’re Dante’s little sister?"