“Come.” He doesn’t ask, but it’s obvious he’s letting me decide.
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I take his hand, just noticing how soaked it is. I bump into something, but I’m too dazed to check what. He leads me through the maze of tables, and I follow along, as if on autopilot.
He stops at the sliding glass doors and presses a finger to the scanner before the door opens for us.
I hate feeling like this. This isn’t me. I’m strong and opinionated, not the measly, frozen little girl fear turns me into. But I can’t help it. No matter how much I run, I never truly feel safe. Being back here, in this city, has obviously hit me harder than I realized.
We reach the end of the long hallway, and just before the elevator, we turn right into a room.
The room screams money, with polished mahogany accents, a grandiose crystal chandelier, and a chair fit for a king. Leon brings me to the maroon velvet couch, making sure I sit down before tapping away on his phone. My gaze is stuck to the floor, the panic still holding me captive. A knock sounds at the door, snapping my head up.
“Thank you,” Leon says, grabbing a tray with a single glass on it.
He hands me the glass, and the sweating, cool surface of it is comforting.
“Drink,” he says, and I obey without second-guessing.
As the first sip of my favorite drink hits my taste buds, any dams I’ve held fall, along with a tear spilling from my eye.
I don’t dare look up, hoping he doesn’t notice. Being vulnerable and frightened is bad enough, but other people noticing it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
CHAPTER 10
Leon
Arock settles in my stomach as I trail the tear from her clear blue eye down to her soft lips. She’s obviously in shock.
Her hair is tied into a ponytail, so I can appreciate the long line of her neck. Her dress is more modest this time, but it still fits her like a glove, the dark blue fabric tracing every curve on her body. She’s ethereal, but the sight of the sadness in her eyes is excruciating.
Her expression when that man grabbed her elbow is etched into my brain. The typically cat-like eyes widened with fear. Her smartass mouth was parted, and she looked like she couldn’t get enough oxygen into her lungs. She seemed terrified.
I practically teleported there, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. In nine years of owning casinos, never have I ever grabbed a customer by the throat in the middle of the floor. Yet, I’m proud of the self-control I showed by not killing him right then and there. Dom will handle it, I know.
I’m not one for violence. Even being born into a mafia family, I prefer to outsource the bloodshed to my men. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I wish to be the one to kill him. My hands itch with the need to feel his life drain right in front of my eyes. Mychest, on the other hand, can’t bear leaving Alex alone when she looks like this.
She wipes the tear away with a smooth touch to her cheek and shoots me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you.” Her voice is shaky, which turns the rock in my stomach into a boulder.
“It was the least I could do.” Keeping people in this establishment safe is my responsibility.
She simply shrugs her shoulders.
Yes, the encounter must have been uncomfortable for her, but the way she froze tells me there’s more hiding underneath. We haven’t known each other long, but I know this reaction was out of character for her. I want to know why. Ineedto know why.
Still, I decide to give her a minute and walk to my dry bar. Rakia sloshes as I pour it into a glass, but I don’t drink it. I reach the couch and sit next to her, far enough so that our bodies don’t touch, but close enough that I feel the heat her skin radiates.
“Talk to me,” I say, bringing my hand to wrap around hers. This time, she doesn’t wince, and I revel in the warmth of her hand in mine.
With another fake-ass smile, she turns to me. “What’s there to say? He was drunk and didn’t let me leave.”
I don’t believe that it’s the complete story for a second, but the look on her face tells me that’s all I’m going to get. No matter how much I want to know, I can hardly blame her for not sharing her life story with a person she just met.
“So, this is your office?” she asks, breaking my silence. Her eyer are still watery, but her shoulders seem more relaxed, and her fists are no longer clenched.
“Yeah.”
“Quite understated,” she notes, and I bark a laugh.
“Yeah, I was going for a modest look.”
