"What's going on?" I ask as trepidation creeps down my spine.
"Damiano has asked me to take over."
"The club?"
"Among other things, I'm now overseeing the hospitality arm of Damiano's business."
My eyes widen. "What about Paolo?"
Surely my manager is more experienced in the industry than someone who was working as a security guard?
"He's gone."
"What? Why?"
"Some of his decisions lately were…questionable."
Giorgio's gaze flickers to my elegant black dress, the usual uniform for hostesses at the club. Realization hits me. It's because of the corset Paolo asked me to model the other night. Damiano made his displeasure about that pretty clear, but I never imagined he would dismiss Paolo over it.
My former manager was here, like I was, from the day La Stanza Rossa opened, and he worked at one of Damiano's other clubs before that.
"Is that why you called me in here? To tell me you're in charge?"
"Yes, and to make Damiano's expectations clear." There's a flash of sympathy in his eyes and I know I'm not going to like what he says next. "You will be allowed to continue working here as long as your presence doesn't cause a distraction."
I purse my lips. "What sort of distraction?"
"Jealousies with other staff members, problems with the clientele, that sort of thing."
"What sort of problems with the clientele?" I demand. My customer service has always been impeccable.
"Issues with our male patrons. You are to avoid physical interactions with them."
Now I understand. I think about the way I greet men like Gregorio Farnese. "You mean like hugging them?"
Giorgio nods. "Yes, precisely that."
I grit my teeth, irritated that what I see merely as a friendly gesture is being outlawed.
"Is there anything else?"
"If I believe there is any risk of trouble, I will pull you off the floor. Damiano will not forgive any lapses in security, not where you're concerned."
"What has Damiano said about me?"
"Only that you're off limits and your safety should be our number one priority."
That's as good as marking me as his in front of everyone. I don't know how to feel about that. It's both overwhelming and comforting at the same time. Giorgio gives me an expectant look and I realize he's waiting for a response.
"Okay." There's no point in arguing about this with him. He's only the messenger.
He nods, dismissing me. Trying not to get upset that Damiano is managing every aspect of my life, I go to put my things in my locker.
When I open it, I find the black leather purse I left here the other night, but my phone is missing. The tablet I use for work is there, however, so I check what's on tonight's agenda.
There's a group coming in for a birthday celebration whose only request is that we keep the champagne flowing. That's easy enough. I'll make sure there's a bottle waiting for them when they arrive and ask the servers to keep them topped up.
A table has been reserved for Vittorio Bardi, a local businessman who expects groveling service. He's not my favorite client. Luciano Vetti, a renowned plastic surgeon, is also expected. He's very particular about his wine but he tips well. I guess I won't need to rely on tips if I'm going to be Damiano's wife.
