“I know all I am is a pawn in whatever game everyone is playing. Less than a pawn, whatever that is. But, the truth is, I don’t want to play this game. I just want to make enough money to pay my bills and have a place to live. It doesn’t even have to bea nice place. Just someplace where I’m safe and I have a sturdy roof over my head.” I was babbling now, but I wasn’t altogether sure I could stop myself from having a full blown panic attack. “This place pays so good, Mr. Wilson. And the tips? I can’t make this kind of money anywhere else. I’m not looking to cash in or anything. I don’t want—”
“Hush now, Belle.” Mr. Wilson wasn’t unkind. In fact, he stepped closer and laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Nothing is your fault, and you’re not getting fired.” Yeah. That wasn’t exactly true though, was it? I’d kissed Dario. He hadn’t been the one to initiate that encounter. He’d damned sure finished it though.
“So… we can keep this between us?”
“I already told you I have to tell Mr. Luca.” Mr. Wilson spoke kindly, but I could tell he wasn’t going to give in. “Besides, you’re not as intelligent as I thought you were if you truly believe neither of them know Rossi cornered you.” I knew Dario saw me. “They need to know you don’t feel comfortable serving him.” I hadn’t said I didn’t want to serve him, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually say so.
“Don’t tell them that. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to pick and choose my tasks. I’m fine. Really.”
Mr. Wilson stood straighter, his attention fixed on something across the room. I turned to look over my shoulder and my gaze collided with Dario’s. He stood at the far end of the bar, his gaze unblinking. His immaculate suit fit him to perfection, highlighting his muscular frame in a mouthwatering display, his presence alone commanded attention. And he was looking directly at me.
I hadn't seen him up close since that disastrous tasting, since I'd kissed him and then run away like a coward. Since I'd overheard his confession to his brother about being unable to stay away from me. I still wasn’t certain how to take thatparticular conversation. Neither man seemed happy about the situation though, so I would be smart to fear his attention.
"Belle." My name hadn’t sounded like a question or a greeting. Dario Luca was summoning me.
"Mr. Luca. I was just leaving."
He didn't acknowledge my statement. Instead, he took three deliberate steps toward me and reached for my hand. "Come with me."
"I—" I glanced at Mr. Wilson, whose expression had gone carefully blank. Two of the bartenders setting up for tomorrow exchanged meaningful looks, and a member of the cleaning crew suddenly found the floor fascinating.
"It's late," I said, the feeble protest sounding pathetic even to my ears. "My shift is over and I’m tired."
"I'm aware." Dario's voice remained low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that hadn't been there before. Something had changed. Vincent Rossi's visit? "Come with me, Belle."
"Is everything okay?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.
"It will be." He looked down at his extended hand, not forcing the issue but there was no doubt he meant for me to take his hand. "Please." The "please" caught me off guard. Dario Luca didn't strike me as a man who said that word often.
I nodded, swallowing hard as I placed my hand in his gingerly. When he took a firm hold of mine, I fell into step beside him. My hand tingled in his grasp and I was sure my palms were now sweaty as fuck.
As we moved away, I felt the weight of stares on my back. What were they thinking? That I was being fired? Called in for questioning about Rossi? Or worse—that I was exactly what Valentina had accused me of being: Dario's latest plaything? I tried to twist my hand free of his grasp but he held on, not letting me go.
Dario guided me down a corridor I'd never had reason to use. Unlike the utilitarian service passages, this hallway featured sleek black walls with subtle gold accents, plush carpeting that swallowed our footsteps, and lighting that seemed to flow around us like liquid. This section ofThe Graywas just as opulent as the rest of the place, but… more. Like this was a special place for special people. We passed several unmarked doors before stopping at a private elevator tucked into an alcove.
"Where are we going?" I managed to ask as he withdrew a keycard from his pocket.
"My private residence." He swiped the card, and the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss. "We need to talk, and I prefer not to do it where we might be interrupted." His private residence. The implication sent a flutter of panic through my stomach. I hesitated at the threshold of the elevator. "Belle." Dario's voice softened marginally. "I'm not going to harm you. But after Rossi's visit tonight, we need to have a conversation."
The mention of Rossi decided me. With a defeated sigh, I stepped into the elevator, my curiosity competing equally with my apprehension. Dario followed, and the doors closed with quiet finality, sealing us into a space that suddenly seemed much too small for both of us. The elevator was mirrored, multiplying Dario's presence until it felt like he surrounded me. I kept my eyes fixed on the illuminated buttons, watching as he pressed one labeled simply "P" for penthouse.
The elevator began its ascent, and I could hear his breathing, controlled but deeper than normal. When I dared a glance at his reflection, his jaw was clenched, a muscle working beneath the skin. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and I quickly looked away, heat flooding my face. He still hadn’t let go of my hand.
Now my breathing quickened. The faint scent of his cologne filled the small space, expensive but subtle. I became acutely aware of my disheveled appearance compared to his immaculateone. My worn uniform beside his tailored perfection, my high ponytail against his perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair.
I risked another glance at him. His eyes had darkened, pupils dilated in a way that couldn't be explained by the elevator's subdued lighting. His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes, and the naked hunger there made my breath catch in my throat.
"Mr. Luca, I—"
The elevator chimed softly, announcing our arrival, and the doors slid open. The moment shattered, but the tension remained, coiled between us like a living thing. Dario gestured for me to exit first and I stepped out of the elevator on unsteady legs. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I entered his private domain. Whatever waited beyond those elevator doors, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing between us would be the same after tonight.
I stepped into a world that seemed to exist in a different universe from the dark, pulsing club below. Dario's penthouse stretched before me in a stunning expanse of gleaming marble, rich leather, and warm woods. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the city sprawled below, a carpet of twinkling lights against the night sky. The space was masculine, every element carefully selected for both beauty and comfort. I stood frozen just inside the entrance, suddenly acutely aware of the chasm of wealth and power that separated us.
"Make yourself comfortable," Dario said, moving past me toward a bar that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. Crystal decanters caught the light, amber and gold liquids gleaming inside them. I remained near the door, arms wrapped around myself like a shield. "You wanted to talk about Vincent Rossi?"
Dario's hands stilled on the crystal stopper he was removing. "Yes. But first, a drink." He glanced over his shoulder. "Whiskey? Or would you prefer something else?"
"Whatever you're having is fine." My voice sounded small in the vast space. He nodded and poured two fingers of amber liquid into matching crystal tumblers. When he turned and walked toward me, two glasses in hand, I couldn't look away from his face. His intense gaze and the slight tension in his jaw told me he was serious about whatever he was about to say. Or do.
