I cleared empty glasses from a recently vacated table when I felt a prickling awareness at the back of my neck, the sensation of being watched. Slowly, I straightened, my eyes drawn almost against my will to the VIP section.
Dario stood at the railing overlooking the main floor, his tall figure imposing even at a distance. His suit was impeccable as always, dark fabric tailored to showcase broad shoulders and a lean waist. Even across the crowded room, I could feel the power he radiated, the authority that seemed as much a part of him as his salt-and-pepper hair or his piercing blue eyes.
That frosty gaze found mine unerringly, as if he'd been waiting for me to look up, waiting for this moment of connection. The club seemed to fade around us, the noise dimming, the space between us charged with something I couldn't name but could feel down to my bones.
He didn't smile. Didn't nod. Didn't acknowledge me in any way beyond that steady, unblinking gaze. Yet I felt pinned by it, unable to look away even as Valentina's warnings echoed in my head. What did he see when he looked at me? A diversion? A challenge? A temporary amusement, as Valentina had claimed?
Or did he see me? Really see me, Belle, the woman who baked cookies when she was nervous and who still couldn'tquite believe she’s landed a job in a place likeThe Gray? That question was easily answered. But as his gaze held mine across the crowded room, one thing became crystal clear. Whatever game was being played between Dario and Valentina, I was now a piece on the board. The question was, did I have any say in how I was moved, or was I simply a pawn to be sacrificed when I was no longer useful?
Dario's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, something darkening in his eyes, something that looked almost like concern. Had he somehow sensed my unease? Could he read the confusion on my face even from this distance?
I broke first, looking down at my tray of empty glasses, forcing myself to remember who I was, what I was doing here. Just a waitress. Just doing her job. Nothing more.
I took a deep breath, needing to keep my head planted firmly in reality. But as I walked away, heading back toward the service bar, I could still feel his gaze following me, a tangible weight between my shoulder blades. And despite all the warnings, despite my own better judgment, something inside me responded to that attention, a flutter of awareness that refused to be silenced by logic or fear.
Whatever happened next, I knew with absolute certainty that the careful distance I'd maintained from Dario Luca was crumbling. And I had no idea how to stop it…
Or if I even wanted to.
Chapter Seven
Dario
I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching how it caught the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the frosted glass panels of the private tasting room. The space aboveThe Grayhad been designed for moments like this, for savoring the nuances of rare spirits in privacy and comfort. But right now, I couldn't focus on the liquor's notes or the way it coated the inside of the glass. Not with Marcus standing across from me, wearing that infuriating knowing grin I wanted to punch off his face.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," I growled, setting my glass down harder than necessary on the polished mahogany counter.
Marcus's grin only widened as he placed his empty tasting glass beside mine. "I haven't seen you this worked up over a woman since... well, ever."
"I'm not worked up," I insisted, straightening my cuffs unnecessarily. "It's a professional courtesy. The staff should be familiar with the new menu items."
"Of course," Marcus nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "And you personally invite all the waitstaff to private tastings of drinks worth several hundred dollars each. How thoughtful of you, boss. When do I get my turn?"
I glared at him. "When did you get so comfortable giving me shit? I liked you better when you were all formal."
Marcus laughed, the sound echoing through the room. "I was only formal because you were one bad day away from putting your fist through a wall. Or someone’s face." He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "After Valentina and that mess, you weren't exactly approachable."
The mention of Valentina sent a familiar cold anger through my veins. Six months since I'd discovered her sleeping with a family rival, and still her name left a bitter taste in my mouth. Under normal circumstances, I’d have killed her for her betrayal. Not for the infidelity. I chose not to have sex outside a current relationship to prevent any… misunderstandings. I also never had sex without a condom. While I expect my partners to do the same, reality wasn’t always in the same ballpark. Mainly because money was a temptation and every crime family in city was gunning for me, because the Luca family sat at the head of the table, so to speak. I’d learned over the years money and power were big aphrodisiacs. Valentina was the type of woman who loved both. So when Vincent Rossi approached her with a promise of more wealth and power if she could give him the goods to take me down, Valentina hadn’t hesitated.
"What does Valentina have to do with anything?" I asked, my voice deliberately neutral.
"Nothing," Marcus shrugged. "That's the point. Blue Belle is nothing like Valentina. She's the perfect palate cleanser after spending years in bed with a shark."
I couldn't argue with that assessment. Where Valentina had been calculated ambition wrapped in designer clothing, Bellewas... different. Genuine in a way that had become foreign in my world. Her awkwardness should have irritated me. Instead, I found it strangely compelling.
"Belle has excellent taste," I said, reaching for my glass again. "Her insights would be valuable for the new menu."
"Sure," Marcus nodded, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Her taste. That's what you're interested in."
I chose to ignore the jab, though the phrase, “among other things”, hung in the air between us. Women had been throwing themselves at me since I was twenty. Some wanted my money, others my power, a few just wanted the bragging rights of bedding a Luca. Belle might pretend to be different, but underneath that wide-eyed innocence, she wanted something too. They all did. "So when is she coming up?" I asked, glancing at my watch.
Marcus cleared his throat, suddenly finding the bottom of his empty glass fascinating.
My eyes narrowed. "Marcus."
"She refused," he said simply, meeting my gaze with unexpected directness.
"What?" The word fell between us like a stone.
