That was exactly what this room felt like. Forbidden. And he had ordered me into it.
I knocked once and realized that my palms were as humid as the air around me. Tendrils of hair were already sticking to my skin from the moisture. My clothes, too, felt saturated. I’d probably have to peel them off after my shift.
His deep voice hit me square in the chest a few seconds later, which made my stomach drop to my feet. “Venire.”
He had told me tocomein Italian.
After placing my heels back on, I took a deep breath, and then opened the door.
* * *
Steam envelopedme as soon as the door opened. I took another deep breath, this time breathing in the sweet smell like it actually was tobacco. I felt when it touched my lungs, and knowing it was mixed with his essence, I hesitated to exhale.
I hoped when I walked out, it would cling to me. Then later, when I was alone in bed, it would remind me of him.
Once the smoke cleared, he stood in the middle of it, a towel wrapped around his slim waist. He was sculpted, muscles in all the right places, and his skin was slick, glistening with sweat. Over a hundred candles burned above our heads, coming from the archaic chandelier. An Italian tenor sang what seemed like a romantic song in the background.
Aniello was coming from his private sauna, heading to the deep, claw-foot tub in the center of the room. It was custom-made, with a concavity that perfectly fit his body. He’d have no trouble relaxing his back against it without slipping down.
He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. When it was wet, it was black, and it made his eyes and features stand out even more.
We stood there for a second, neither of us saying anything, until I lifted my eyes as if to say…you rang?
He made me wait another few seconds before he spoke. “Godfather,” he said.
“The movie?” I automatically blurted, not thinking.
He had me at a severe disadvantage. He was standing across from me, almost completely naked, steam coming from his skin. His eyes were as indifferent as ever, but his body…on fire.
His hooded eyes never left mine. He was waiting for me to correct myself.
“A drink,” I said, and turned too fast.
The floor was slippery, my heels had no grooves, and I started to go down before his hand wrapped around my arm, keeping me on my feet.
“Take your shoes off, Midnight Rose,” he said, letting me go, as if I was the one who was burning through the fabric ofhisshirt, if he had one on. “You fall and I don’t get my drink.”
My heart was in my throat—from more than the near fall—and I felt feverish, which was probably why the next words slipped from my mouth. I was sick in the mind, and it diseased the filter in my mouth.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d still get it. What’s a little blood, right?”
Even with all the steam, I felt the change in the atmosphere instantly. It became charged, as if a live wire was sitting on the floor somewhere, water from the bath creeping toward it.
“My drink,” was all he said in response.
“Yes, sir.”
I took my shoes off, keeping my eyes adverted as I moved toward the bar in the outer room, and he moved toward the tub. I caught a flash of white as the towel was removed from around his waist and dropped to the floor. Looking away, I could hear him stepping into the tub and submerging.
It was so hot in there, I thought I might pass out. Even in the outer room, which was like a private dressing room, it felt close to a few degrees before hell. I grabbed for a napkin on the wet bar and fanned myself for a second. He was waiting for his drink, though, so I started to get to work.
The Godfather was made with the finest whiskey or bourbon and mixed with amaretto. It was served in a classic whiskey glass that had his initials etched into it. In my opinion, it was one of the finest and most sophisticated drinks we offered, and everything about it made me think…MALE. It was a drink made for a man.
It was a drink made for Aniello Assanti.
Knowing he couldn’t see me, I did something I should have never done. I tasted it. The golden liquid flowed like honey down my throat—it was fiery from the bourbon but with a hint of sweetness from the amaretto. It distinctly reminded me of spiced almonds, and I wanted to slam back the entire glass.
Instead, I squashed the sudden impulse and took careful steps back to the room he was in. The water came to his chest in the tub, and the smell of tobacco was even stronger. This time, though, it was tinged with the smell of smoke.
