"Because when I'm with her, I remember what it feels like to want something purely for myself," he said quietly. "Not for the family. Not for the business. Just for me."
Vittorio was silent for several heartbeats. "You know what Father would say about this."
"Father isn't here." Dario's tone hardened. "And I'm not him."
"No," Vittorio agreed. "You're not. You're smarter. More careful. Which is why this infatuation worries me. It's not like you to take risks without calculating all possible outcomes."
Dario turned to face his brother. "I want her protected. Discreetly, but I want eyes on her when she leaves work until she comes back. I want to know where she lives, who she talks to, if anyone shows unusual interest in her."
"Because of Gavin?" Vittorio asked skeptically.
"Because of me," Dario said bluntly. "Because Belle knowing me puts her in danger. Because I know I can't stay away from her, even though I should."
I stepped back from the door, my heart pounding in my chest. The intensity of his admission, the raw need in his voice when he spoke about me was too much to process. I'd thought ourkiss in the tasting room had been a momentary lapse, a brief crossing of boundaries that would be forgotten. But this...this was something else entirely.
A floorboard creaked beneath my foot, and I froze. Inside the office, the conversation abruptly stopped.
"Did you hear something?" Vittorio asked.
I didn't wait to hear Dario's response. I turned and fled down the corridor as quietly as I could, my thoughts in disarray. Dario wanted me protected. Dario couldn't stay away from me. Dario saw something in me that I wasn't sure existed. And most terrifying of all, Dario Luca thought that knowing him put me in danger.
As I rounded the corner back to familiar territory, I pressed my back against the wall, trying to calm my racing pulse. What had I just stumbled into? What world did Dario Luca really inhabit, and why did the thought of being drawn into it both terrify and exhilarate me?
Most importantly, what was I going to do now that I knew what he intended to pursue me. I was an itch he needed to scratch. I wasn’t naive enough to think otherwise. But, God help me, the thought of tasting his kisses again sent a thrill through me I had no business feeling. Despite every warning sign, despite knowing I needed this job desperately, I wasn’t altogether sure I was strong enough to resist him.
Taking a deep breath, I hurried back to the kitchen to continue my shift. Maybe I could avoid him until I came to my senses. Or maybe I’d ask Valentina for help. I’d probably have the same result with both options.
Chapter Ten
Belle
I twisted the bar spoon between my fingers, admiring how the silver caught the light as I stirred the Manhattan to perfect dilution. Six weeks atThe Grayand I'd finally found my rhythm behind the bar. I moved with confidence now, something seemingly impossible during my first nervous shifts. The whiskey, vermouth, and bitters blended together in the mixing glass, transforming from separate entities into something complex and balanced. Not unlike how I was starting to feel in this strange new world of luxury and power that I'd stumbled into.
"I think that’s just about perfect," I murmured to myself, straining the liquid into a chilled coupe glass. I added the brandied cherry with a small pair of tongs, then slid the drink across the polished black marble to a waiting patron who barely looked up from his phone to acknowledge me.
"You're a natural, Belle." Carlos, the head bartender and someone who made the best damn drinks I’d ever tasted, shotme a grin. He nodded toward the drink I'd just prepared. "Took me weeks to get that balance right when I started. You picked it up in what, three shifts at the bar?"
I smiled, pleased by the compliment. "I still have a lot to learn. I was a server. I can remember drinks and food choices, but this is a whole different beast altogether.”
"Maybe, but you've got good instincts." Carlos reached around me for a bottle of aged rum. "And you actually listen when people want to teach you things. That's rare."
I ducked my head, unused to praise. Most of my previous jobs had been exercises in survival rather than skill-building.The Graywas different. Everyone employed here didn’t just serve drinks or food or anything else. Our job involved theater, chemistry, and psychology all rolled into one. Despite the realization that Dario Luca and his family weren’t exactly what most would call “good people”, I couldn't deny that working here had awakened something in me. I seemed to have uncovered a hidden talent I hadn't known I possessed.
"The key-lime martini is still giving me trouble," I admitted, wiping down my station. "I can't seem to get the foam right."
Carlos laughed. "That's because it's a fussy bastard of a drink. Even I hate making those."
The music shifted, the beat deepening, vibrating through the soles of my feet and up into my chest. Around us,The Graypulsed with life. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes laughed and danced and flirted. As always, most of them were spending more on a single round of drinks than I made in a day. The lighting changed with the music, washing everyone in electric blue before fading to deep purple. Through it all, I mixed drinks like I’d been doing it years instead of weeks.
I still hadn't processed what I'd overheard between Dario and his brother. The raw vulnerability in his voice when he'd admitted he couldn't stay away from me haunted my thoughtsat night. Part of me was terrified by the intensity of his interest. Another part, a part I wasn't proud of, thrilled at having his attention.
"Bourbon, neat. Blue Label Johnny Walker if you have it." The voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to find a distinguished man watching me from across the bar. He leaned casually against the polished surface, his posture relaxed but somehow commanding. His suit was impeccably tailored, charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes that probably cost more than my monthly rent. His face was handsome in a sharp, deliberate way, all angles and careful grooming. When he shifted his weight, I noticed a slight limp, though he carried it with such confidence it seemed more like a stylistic choice than a discomfort.
"Of course, sir," I replied, reaching for the bottle. "Would you like water on the side?"
He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "How refreshing. A bartender who doesn't automatically assume I want ice with my bourbon." He extended his hand. "Vincent Rossi. And you are?"
I hesitated before taking his hand. Something in his manner set off warning bells, though I couldn't pinpoint why. His grip was firm but not aggressive, his skin cool and dry against mine.
