A rush of voices from the kitchen, along with pots and pans banging, slipped in between us as he became quiet. Then he cleared his throat.
“Shit. I’m sorry, Ro—”
“Midnight Rose,” I corrected him before he could say my real name.
He nodded but didn’t say it. “Look, what I did was fucked up. I should have walked you to your car. Anything I say is an excuse, but it’s the damn truth. You make me nervous. I can’t read you. I get nothing from your face. I get nothing from your body language. I like you, Ro—I like you. I want to spend more time with you. And I thought I fucking blew it at the festival. At the end, I wanted to let you go so I didn’t do something, or say something, that would make you not pick up the phone. Then you didn’t. So I came here for you.”
“You came here for me?”
“I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this place if it wasn’t for you. But I know the rules. My brother wanted you as his wife, and I know why it was allowed.”
Because Warren Dalton, his father, was a high-profile government official who had enough power to keep Club D in business until the day he died.You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yoursand all of that. The Dalton’s got what they wanted, and so did Club D. For whatever reason, Richie wanted me, and Club D was willing to make that happen because I was as good as extortion if the Daltons ever tried to turn sides.
If that ever happened, I would’ve been a dead pawn.
“Is that all you’re going to do?” Ben said. “Stare at me?”
“I’m thinking,” I said.
Even though I stood on steady feet, meeting his eyes, I was in the middle of a weak moment. Had I just answered my own riddle? Was that what had happened to me? Richie and his family were doing something they’d agreed not to, and then somehow, I became the bloodied pawn in this fucking game?
This entire scenario might have come down to Club D thinking what happened was no big deal. Richie was dead, and they got to keep the worker who lost a chunk of her memory. I was perfect because I had a reboot that erased the transgressions.
“What about?”
That’s the problem with using thinking as an excuse—people want to know what about.
I shrugged. “Just trying to remember,” I said. There was no better moment for my memories to return to me.
If this turned out to be nothing but a game of extortion gone bad, why was I wearing this dress? What was the point? Aniello probably had nothing to do with this.
He was in my life because of Cilla. He was looking for her that night. He needed my help because he was wounded, and I was there. Those four guys? I belonged to this club, therefore him, just like all the other girls. Laws to them were laws. Period. And this business was all about the money. Nothing more. Nothing less. I was a valuable worker—like a fine piece of club furniture—that fit in between the lines.
I sighed, and suddenly I felt so tired. The feeling was never completely physical, though my bones seemed to ache from the sharp pains coming from my heart.
Ben ran his hand down his tie and took a step forward. I held my hand up and he stopped.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said. “But it is what it is. Even if you can’t remember what happened between you and my brother, you know the rules.”
“I do,” I whispered. “So why are you here?”
He watched me for a minute before he finally spoke. “Like I said, for you.”
The room seemed to grow colder, and I shivered. He took another step forward but then stopped, looking to his right.
Even though I didn’t jump, I sucked in a breath, and my entire body seized up for a second when I followed the direction of his eyes.
Aniello Assanti stood in the doorway of the pantry, watching us. The same look was in his eyes as when he sat down to conduct business with the men who came to see him. The thrill of the hunt made him seem alive when any other time he was as cold as a beautifully carved statue in a wintry graveyard. But even statues emoted some emotion. I wasn’t sure Aniello was even capable of that, unless his mind was on his work.
The two men stared at each other for a tense minute before Ben stood straighter, running a hand down his tie again.
“We’ll talk soon, Rosalia,” he said.
He went to pass Aniello, but Aniello didn’t move out of his way.
He just stared at Ben, like he expected him to read the look in his eyes or hear the thoughts in his head. Then, while he stared at Ben, he said to me, “My room,Rosalia.”
More than him standing in the doorway and ordering me to his private bath suite, the sound of my name coming from his mouth in this place made me feel almost uneasy. What was he doing? They never used our real names. Never. It almost seemed like he did it to prove a point. Hadn’t he done the same thing after Ben had said it at my place?
