"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room. She still looked up at me, searching for something. Confusion and intrigue warred on her expression. "I don't understand why you're doing this."
Neither did I. The thought was unsettling. I operated on logic, on careful calculation, always weighing risks against rewards. Nothing about my behavior in the last hour could be categorized as logical. I'd ruined an expensive suit, barely noticed as I knelt in spilled whiskey worth thousands, and was now personally bandaging a cut that any of my staff could have handled. All for a woman I barely knew.
"You were injured," I said finally, my voice low. "It happened in my club." The explanation sounded hollow even to myself.
Belle studied my face again. "I don't think the owner typically bandages employees' cuts," she said softly, a very small hint of challenge in her voice.
I still held her wrist and was disturbed at how much I savored the feel of her skin. I could feel her pulse, quick but steady, beneath my touch. I should have released her then, should have stood up, established the proper distance between employer and employee. Instead, I found myself tightening my grip slightly, drawing her hand closer.
"I guess I’m not a typical owner," I replied, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
Belle's breath caught audibly, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. "No," she agreed, her eyes never leaving mine. "You're definitely not what I expected."
I knew I was crossing a line, knew that every second I remained sitting here, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, I was venturing further into territory I'd always avoided. Yet I couldn't seem to make myself stop.
"Mr. Luca —" she began, but I cut her off.
“Dario.” I have no idea why I gave her permission to call me by my first name, but I wasn’t taking it back.
Belle hesitated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Um, Dario.”
The sound of my name on her lips sent a jolt of heat through my body like I’d never experienced. The fire settled low in my stomach. For a wild moment, I considered pulling her toward me, discovering if her mouth tasted as sweet as it looked. The thought terrified me almost as much as it tempted me.
The sound of the break room door swinging open shattered the moment between us. I looked up to see several staff members hovering in the doorway, their expressions ranging from shock to undisguised curiosity. They froze when they realized I had caught them staring. I recognized the head bartender, a couple of servers, and one of the kitchen staff, all gawking at the unprecedented sight of Dario Luca, feared boss and notorious hardass, personally bandaging a new waitress's injured hand.
I felt Belle tense beside me, her fingers curling slightly in my grasp. She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold imperceptibly, keeping her hand in place as I finished securing the bandage.
My expression hardened into the mask I typically wore, my jaw tightening. "Is there a problem?" I asked, my tone sharp enough to cut glass.
"No, sir," the head bartender answered quickly. "We were just checking on Belle."
"Were you?" I raised an eyebrow. "All of you. At once."
They shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, exchanging nervous glances. The kitchen staff member muttered something about getting back to work and retreated. The others hesitated.
"Mr. Wilson wants to know if Belle will be returning to her shift," one of the servers ventured after an awkward pause.
Though my expression remained cold, my thumb traced a final, gentle caress against Belle's wrist before I released her hand. The contradictory signals seemed to confuse her. I watched a flash of uncertainty cross her features before she lowered her gaze to the bandage now neatly wrapped around her palm.
"She won't," I said flatly. "She's done for the night."
Belle's head snapped up. "But I can—"
"You'll be fine," I interrupted, my voice softening slightly despite my attempt to maintain my usual clipped tone. "Take the rest of your shift off. With pay."
The onlookers' eyebrows rose collectively at this unprecedented show of generosity. I could practically see the rumors forming in their minds, speculation about what Belle might have done to earn such consideration.
Belle herself looked no less surprised. "Mr. Luca, that's not necessary. The cut's not that bad, and I need the—"
I raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. "It wasn't a suggestion," I said, meeting her eyes with an intensity that dared her to argue further. "You're injured on company property. Take the night off, rest, come back tomorrow." My tone left no room for debate, though my words were more considerate than my usual directives.
I stood, gathering the used first aid supplies and setting the box on the table. The other staff members scattered at my movement, suddenly remembering urgent tasks elsewhere. Only one server lingered, a young woman with a concerned expression.
"I can take her home," she offered hesitantly.
I considered this for a moment before nodding. "Thank you." I turned to Belle, who was still sitting, looking somewhat dazed by the entire interaction. "Do you have everything you need?"
She nodded, finally rising from her chair, her shoulders slumped. "Yes. Thank you for..." she gestured vaguely toward her bandaged hand, "for this. And for not firing me." A small, uncertain smile appeared briefly on her lips though she didn’t look up.
