A girl just can’t get a break from assholes. Fuck. Elena shouldn’t have dragged me here.
I start toward the exit, angrier this time, and release a shaky exhale when I reach outside. I turn a corner and am met witha small, neatly trimmed garden featuring flowers and a few benches. This place looks like a heck of an expensive club.
A slow exhale pulls from my lips.
If only I could stay here….be away from the world. But nope, I can’t. Not when I’m busy being my sister’s shadow.
Cold wind bites at my skin as my eyes dart around the garden, mentally calculating where the lipstick could have landed.
I wouldn’t put it past Elena to have intentionally dropped it so she could ditch me for a hunk she’d spotted. After all, we’d arrived at the club about forty minutes ago. And she’s eye candy—the typical twenty-four-year-old blonde, blue eyes, and model-like figure that turns heads wherever she goes.
That’s why she’s getting married off tomorrow to Dominic Moretti. As if on cue, the wind whistles like it knows his name, and I shiver at the sheer weight of it. The name of one of the most powerful men in New York. Ruthless leader of the Moretti Mafia and the only business mogul who has arteries feeding half of New York’s economy straight into his pockets.
In the legal world, they call him a fucking god, but in the underground world, we call him the mafia king. And I wouldn’t wish marrying a man like that even on my worst enemy.
Swallowing thickly, I fiddle with my phone in my hands, turn on the flashlight, and walk hurriedly toward a spot in the garden.
It takes a few minutes, but I spot the stupid lipstick nestled between two flowers. Grabbing it, I make my way back inside through the sweaty mess of people and to the patio.
The moment I step onto the patio, I see a back. It’s not Elena’s, it’s the same broad shoulders I encountered a few minutes ago. I hold my breath, watching how his hand moves away from his face to reveal the faint lines of a cigarette burning bright red against the dull neon light that spills into the patio. He’s smoking.
The familiar, rich, woody scent engulfs me as I take small steps further onto the patio. I could wait here until Elena finds me. Or I could—
“It’s rude to stare.” His voice interrupts me, and I shiver at the texture. Husky with a deep baritone that strikes something in my belly. That’s odd; for me, I mean. I’ve never reacted this way before.
His hand disappears to his face again and reappears. This time, I notice his suit rolled up to his elbows and a pattern of dark ink covering the exposed part of his arm.
My heart flutters wildly.What the fuck?
“Well, it’s rude to spill wine on someone and leave without an apology,” I shoot back, although with less anger than I intended.
He takes another puff of smoke. Then he turns and, for the first time in a while, my pussy tingles.Fuck,Bella. Get it together!
The first few buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a strong expanse of chest that holds another swirl of tattoos.
The moment I catch his eyes, nervousness mingles with whatever is going on in my stomach. His stare feels …intense. Like his stormy greys are digging into my soul. I’ve never had anyone look at me like this before.
“So you followed me for an apology.” He tilts his head, dragging a sharp gaze down my frame. My breath hitches, suddenly aware of the stain on my dress.
“Bold of you to assume I don’t have important things to do with my time.” I’m proud of how my voice comes out without a stutter.
There’s a pause as he takes another drag, smoke curling around his face.
“Picking up lipsticks isn’t important.”
I gasp, my eyes widening at the realization that he’d been watching me.
“You were watching me?”
He says nothing, but his gaze drops to my cleavage. Then he releases a grunt that shakes my stomach. My cheeks heat up, and I bite my lips, thankful that he can’t see it.
“Wa-watching a girl searching for her lipstick in the dark seems to me like stalking,” I continue. Somehow, the dark, hooded glint in his eyes already tells me how this night will end. I could tap out now if I want. But I don’t. “Don’t you have something more interesting to do?”
Maybe it’s the years of being starved of attention or the way the dark hides that I’m not the beauty standard. Whatever it is, I’m enjoying being in the spotlight, at least for once in my life.
And it’s like he senses it.
He drops the cigarette to the floor and kills the light with his shoe. Then he starts toward me with the gait of a man who walks like he owns the world. The nerves in my bones chill. I’m both terrified and excited.
