"Belle," I said, withdrawing my hand as soon as politeness allowed.
"Just Belle? Like Madonna or Cher?" His smile widened, showing perfect teeth.
I poured his bourbon with a steady hand. "Yep.” I smiled at him. “Just Belle."
He accepted the drink, taking a small appreciative sip. "Excellent. You have a good pour, Belle. Not too generous, not too stingy. That's rare in establishments like this. They either tryto impress you with heavy pours or maximize profits by shorting you."
"Thank you," I replied, unsure how to respond to his assessment.
"You're new here, aren't you?" Vincent swirled the bourbon in his glass, watching the light play through the amber liquid. "I don't recall seeing you before, and I'm something of a regular."
I nodded, keeping my expression neutral but pleasant as I wiped down the already spotless bar. "A few weeks."
"And already working the main bar on a Friday night? Impressive." His gaze was evaluative, almost clinical. "You must have caught someone's eye."
My hands stilled momentarily before I forced myself to continue cleaning. "I'm a quick learner. And pay attention when someone tries to teach me something."
"I'm sure you are." Vincent leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "Do you enjoy working for the Luca family?"
The question caught me off guard. Most patrons didn't explicitly connectThe Grayto the Luca family, even though Dario's ownership wasn't a secret. Something about the deliberate way Vincent phrased it made me uneasy.
"The Grayis a very good place to work," I said carefully.
"Indeed. Dario runs a tight ship." Vincent's eyes never left my face. "He has quite the reputation for... taking care of his people."
I grabbed a towel and began drying glasses that were already dry, needing something to occupy my hands. "I wouldn't know about that. I'm just a bartender."
"Oh, I doubt that very much." Vincent's smile was knowing now. "Dario Luca doesn't personally intervene when 'just bartenders' have trouble with handsy patrons. That was quite the scene last week, I hear."
My breath caught in my throat. How did he know about that? I'd been careful not to discuss the incident with anyone outside of management, embarrassed by both the attention and my reaction to seeing Dario's darker side. "I'm sorry. This isn’t something I’m comfortable talking about. If you’ll excuse me, please." I wasn’t sure if I was more upset that this man knew about the incident when Dario had banned a patron because he’d grabbed me or that my reputation was already taking a hit. Was I going to be regulated to Dario’s fling of the month? Week? Yeah. This is why that fucking kiss had been a bad idea.
I set the glass I was polishing aside and turned away, but Vincent shot out his hand, not grabbing me but landing on top of my hand, trapping it between his hand and the glass. He didn’t threaten me, but he effectively stopped my retreat. "Just one more drink, please. A Negroni this time. I've heard they're your specialty."
I swallowed hard, unnerved by his knowledge of my preferred cocktail to make. It was such a small detail, but the fact that he knew it suggested he'd been asking questions about me. The thought made my skin crawl.
"Of course," I managed, reaching for the bottles with hands that weren't quite steady. As I measured gin, sweet vermouth, and Campari, I felt Vincent's eyes tracking every movement. His interest wasn't sexual, at least not primarily. This felt more like an assessment, like I was being evaluated against some unknown criteria.
"You have lovely hands," Vincent commented as I stirred the drink. "Dario has always appreciated beautiful things. Beautiful, useful things."
The implication hung in the air between us, making my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. I set the finished Negroni before him with more force than necessary, a few drops splashing onto the bar.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" I asked, my voice tight.
Vincent's smile was almost sympathetic now, as if he understood exactly how uncomfortable he was making me and found it amusing. "Not at present. But I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other, Belle." He raised his glass in a small toast. "I make it a point to know all of Dario's... interests."
I turned away, heart hammering in my chest. I didn't know who Vincent Rossi was, beyond his name and his expensive suit and the calculated way he'd tried to unsettle me. But I knew, with instinctive certainty, that he was dangerous in ways I couldn't begin to comprehend. And somehow, I had caught his attention simply by catching Dario's attention first.
Vincent took a slow sip of his Negroni, savoring it with exaggerated appreciation. "Perfectly balanced," he pronounced. “Especially considering you’ve not worked here long.”
I concentrated on pouring an order from the floor carefully and precisely, refusing to let him intimidate me into fucking up. I didn’t meet his eyes, instead concentrating on my pour. "I'm good at my job."
"I'm sure that's part of it." Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar again. "What was your impression of the Luca brothers when you met them? Are they what you expected?"
My throat tightened. The calculated casualness of his question couldn't mask its intent. He wasn't making conversation. He was conducting an interview. "I haven't met all of them," I said carefully. "Just Mr. Luca and briefly his brother when he came through the club."
"And what do you make of Dario?" Vincent pressed. "Is he always so... protective of his staff?"
My hands began to tremble slightly as I added bitters to the cocktail I was preparing. The reference to Dario's protective behavior when that drunk had grabbed me set off alarm bells.How much did this man know about that night? Who had told him?
