His voice was flat, like he’d done this same duty several times and was tired of it. I nodded and slipped through the door. Again, the room was tastefully decorated. I found the locker with my name on it and put my stuff inside. Changing into my uniform took only a couple of minutes, even with trembling fingers. The simple black dress with a subtle gold border matched the club's aesthetic. When I emerged, Marcus gave me a single evaluating glance before turning, motioning me to follow.
He led me to the elevator, waiting for me to proceed before stepping in himself and pushing a button. We emerged onto themain floor, and I stopped involuntarily, mouth slightly open. The space was magnificent. What had once been the main banking hall had been transformed into an entertainment venue that somehow honored its original grandeur while creating something entirely new. The ceiling soared twenty feet above us, original crown molding preserved and highlighted with subtle lighting that cast the plasterwork in dramatic relief.
The centerpiece was a sunken dance floor of polished black marble, inlaid with thin lines of gold that caught the light and seemed to pulse with the subtle beats coming through the sound system. Around it, the floor rose in three tiers, each hosting private booths upholstered in deep charcoal velvet. Between each booth stood panels of frosted glass, etched with abstract patterns that shifted subtly as the hidden lighting changed colors.
Mr. Longmire snagged a tablet and handed it to me. “Scan your key card,” he prompted. I had a small card to get into the ordering system I’d been trained on before being scheduled for a shift. I tapped the screen with the card and the device logged me in.
He guided me toward a sweeping staircase that curved up to the second level. "Private dining upstairs."
The second level was even more impressive than the first, if that was possible. A wide corridor with plush carpeting led to a series of heavy wooden doors, each bearing only a small number in brass. Through one partially open door, I glimpsed a room that looked like it belonged in a Victorian gentleman's club with its wood-paneled walls, a long table that could seat twenty, leather chairs so soft they seemed to embrace their occupants.
"Who uses these?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Mr. Longmire’s expression didn't change. "People who value discretion and can afford it. You won’t be up here, but you need to be familiar with the surroundings. Above all," he said,stopping to look down at me, pinning me with his gaze, “nothing heard insideThe Grayleaves the room where you heard it. Do you understand?” The way he emphasized the last point made me wonder what kinds of conversations happened in those rooms. Also, I was acutely aware that curiosity killed the cat.
We descended back to the main floor and approached the bar. The area was a masterpiece of backlit onyx and glass that ran along one wall. Behind it stood shelves of bottles that gleamed like jewels under carefully positioned spotlights. I recognized some labels that I'd only ever seen in magazines or behind locked cases in liquor stores. Stuff I couldn’t pronounce and would never, ever get to taste.
"You'll be trained on signature cocktails tomorrow," Marcus said. "You touch nothing until you’re given permission."
I nodded, already mentally cataloging the contents around me. This was what I was good at. Creating drinks that complemented people's tastes, finding that perfect balance of flavors, was a talent I’d developed over one summer at a beach bar when I first turned twenty-one. Even in this intimidating space, the basic tools of the craft were universal and familiar.
As we continued our tour, I became aware of the security presence throughout the club. Men and women positioned strategically, dressed well enough to blend with clientele but with the alert posture that marked them as security. One nodded subtly to Marcus as we passed.
"I mentioned that nothing you hear leaves the room it came from.The Graysells discretion as much as alcohol. You don’t talk about so much as a client’s drink preference. This is absolute, Miss Belle. Grounds for automatic termination." For some reason, the way he said termination set off alarm bells. I could almost hear the snappy one liners and movie references, but that wasn’t what bothered me. There was something in thetone of Mr. Longmire’s voice that told me I needed to really watch my fucking mouth.
I nodded seriously, swallowing nervously. “Yes, sir.”
We completed our circuit of the main floor, ending back at the elevator. Marcus stopped and turned to face me directly, his expression somehow even more serious than before.
"There's one last rule," he said, his voice lower now. "The most important one." He paused, making sure he had my full attention. "None of the Luca brothers are available to our employees. For any reason. Especially not Dario."
The intensity in his eyes made my skin prickle. "Available?" I repeated, not entirely understanding.
"Not for conversation beyond service requirements. Not for personal connections. Not for anything." His words were measured, deliberate. "They're your employers. Not your friends, not your acquaintances, and certainly not your lovers. Some staff have forgotten that distinction. They no longer work here."
I frowned slightly, confused by the warning. Was this standard for all new employees, or was it because of my literal run-in with Dario earlier? Either way, the implication was clear.
"I understand," I said, though I wasn't sure I did. Not fully.
Marcus studied my face for a moment, as if assessing my sincerity. Then he nodded once, apparently satisfied.
"Your training starts now. Shadow Elise behind the main bar. Don't speak unless spoken to. Watch. Learn." He turned away, then paused. "And Belle?"
It was the first time he'd used my name. "Yes?"
"The Luca family built this place. They see everything that happens here. Remember that one immutable fact and you’ll do fine." With that cryptic statement, he walked away, leaving me standing alone on the edge of the most glamorous space I'd ever worked in, wondering what exactly I'd gotten myself into.
Chapter Two
Dario
I stood at the panoramic window of my private office, fingers splayed against the cool glass as I replayed my collision with the redhead downstairs. Blue Belle. But everyone calls her Belle. Ridiculous.
My reflection on the window showed a man in perfect control but my pulse betrayed me, still beating faster than it should. Ten minutes had passed. Ten full minutes since a pair of startled green eyes had looked up at me with such naked vulnerability that something in my chest had shifted.
The Graysprawled beneath me, my kingdom of discretion and excess. From this height, I could see everything. The staff preparing for tonight's opening, the gleam of the bar where bottles worth more than some people's monthly salaries stood in perfect formation, the dance floor where bodies would grind together and inhibitions lowered. Once the alcohol started flowing, secrets and deals would be traded like currency. I'dbuilt this empire methodically, brick by calculated brick, never allowing impulse to guide my hand.
Yet here I was, disturbed by a woman who had literally stumbled into my path. Not only was she too clumsy for her own good, I could tell by one look into those startling emerald eyes that girl had no business in a place like this. For any reason.
