“Prick got fresh,” Marcus said. “Get her some clean clothes. I’ll take her to the break room and stay until you come back.”
“At once, Mr. Longmire.” Mr. Wilson gave me a concerned look before hurrying off.
Mr. Wilson wasn’t long. He came back with a fresh uniform. I thanked him quietly and ducked into the changing room, locking the door behind me. I took my time, leaning against the sink and taking a couple of deep breaths. As a server in a restaurant, I’d been grabbed before. But never like this guy. I didn’t want to think about what could have happened if Dario and Mr. Longmire hadn’t come to my aid.
Once I pulled myself together and got dressed, I slipped out of the employee bathroom with my freshly changed uniform. I’d only taken fifteen minutes, not wanting to hang my coworkers out like I had when I spilled my rent in alcohol. Now, with the smell of spilled liquor washed away and the worst of the shaking subsided, I found myself reluctant to return to the floor even though I felt guilty for basically abandoning my post.
I took my time walking down a service corridor, trying to give myself just a couple extra minutes. My wrist still ached where that asshole had squeezed, a circle of reddened skin that would likely purple by morning. The memory of his touch made my skin crawl, but it was quickly displaced by the image of Dario materializing beside me, his presence commanding immediate respect and fear.
Lost in thought, I realized too late that I'd taken a wrong turn. Instead of making my way to the kitchen, I'd ended up in an unfamiliar hallway. The floor beneath my feet had changed from utilitarian tile to plush carpet. The walls, no longer institutional beige, were now a deep charcoal with subtle patterns that caught the light. I'd stumbled into a private area ofThe Gray, somewhere staff like me had no business being.
I turned to retrace my steps when voices drifted from behind a partially open door to my right. One of them, deep and controlled, was unmistakably Dario's. The other, similarly lowbut with a sharper edge, I recognized as belonging to Vittorio Luca, Dario's brother and second-in-command.
"—incident report is complete," Vittorio was saying. "Security footage has been reviewed and archived."
I knew I should leave immediately. Nothing good could come from lingering where I wasn't authorized to be. But then I heard my name, and my feet froze to the carpet.
"Belle wasn't injured," Dario said, his voice tighter than usual. "But Gavin left marks on her wrist."
"Which is unfortunate but hardly unusual in this business, but we always protect our staff." Vittorio replied. "What's unusual is you personally handling this incident. That's what security is for, Dario. That's what I'm for."
I inched closer to the door, my heart hammering so loudly I feared they might hear it. Through the narrow opening, I could see a slice of a spacious office. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the glittering city spread below like a jeweler's display case. Dario stood with his back to the door, his tall figure silhouetted against the night sky, one hand pressed against the glass.
"Are we going to discuss what's actually happening here?" Vittorio asked, coming into my limited view. He perched on the edge of a massive desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Or are we going to pretend this is about maintaining order at the club?"
Dario's shoulders tensed visibly. "There's nothing to discuss."
"You've been different since she started working here." Vittorio's tone was matter-of-fact, not accusatory. "Distracted. On edge. And now you're personally threatening patrons who touch her."
"Gavin crossed a line," Dario said sharply. "He put his hands on my staff. He needed to be reminded of his place."
"Your staff," Vittorio repeated. "If it had been Sophia or that new bartender, would you have intervened personally? Would you have mentioned his son’s fucking dorm room number?"
I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a gasp. So I hadn't imagined the implied threat in Dario's words to Gerald. The casual mention of his son's location had been deliberate, a warning that Dario could reach not just him, but those he cared about.
Dario turned from the window, and though I could only see his profile, the conflict on his face was unmistakable. "That's not the point."
"That's exactly the point." Vittorio leaned forward. "You're the face of our legitimate business interests. The composed, respected owner ofThe Gray. Yet you nearly broke a man's wrist on the main floor, in front of God and everyone, because he touched a waitress you've known for what? A month?"
Dario paced away from the window, disappearing from my line of sight. "She's different," he said after a long pause, his voice so low I had to strain to hear it.
"Different how?" Vittorio prompted.
"I don't know," Dario admitted, frustration evident in his tone. "That's what's driving me crazy. I can't explain it. I can't control it. I can't get her out of my head."
My breath caught in my throat. The raw honesty in his voice, so at odds with his usual calculated control, sent a shiver through me.
"You barely know her," Vittorio said reasonably.
"I know enough." Dario came back into view, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "She's not like the women we usually deal with. She's genuine. Unguarded. When she looks at me, she sees me, not what I can give her or what I represent."
"And that's what concerns me," Vittorio replied. "She doesn't know who you really are. Whoweare. Or what we do."
"You think I don't know that?" Dario's voice rose slightly before he regained control. "You think I don't see the problem?She's innocent, Vittorio. Innocent as she could possibly be. Untouched by our world."
"Then why pursue this? Why not have her transferred to one of our other establishments? Why keep her close when you know it can only end one of two ways — with her running scared or with her changed into something you won't recognize anymore?" The question hung in the air between them, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for Dario's answer with a desperation that shocked me.
Dario returned to the window, his reflection visible in the glass. For a moment, his mask slipped completely, revealing an expression I never would have associated with him. The man looked vulnerable.
