Il Diavolo.
I can still feel the fear I experienced when he first walked into the club. His presence still makes me hold my breath the first few heartbeats when he enters the room. But what started out as territorial dominance on his part quickly became a willing offering of myself to him. Like a moth drawn to the flame I was parched with longing—for his chemistry and the fire that burns in me whenever he’s close.
And now that he’skilledthe man who abused me and he’s offered to pay my father’s medical bills, I know there’s more to what this is than just sex.
There’s only a small blemish in the picture that I can’t quite put my finger on. He seems to be battling with something and isn’t telling me what it is.
I have a persistent feeling we have history. I keep racking my memory to recall moments from high school but I get crickets. My brain has shut down that part of my life, no doubt to protect me from everything my uncle did.
I stand behind the podium trying to focus on the reservation list glowing on the screen in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting back to the call I made to the doctor’s office. To Dad’sconfused smile as I spoke in hushed tones about how urgently we needed an appointment.
“You okay?”
I glance up to see Hallie leaning against the side of the podium holding a tray of martinis aloft.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically.
Her expression says she doesn’t buy it for a second.
“How’s your dad?”
I smile this time, grateful that she’s thought to ask. “I’ve got him a doctor’s appointment this week. Hopefully we’ll get some answers soon.”
Hallie winces sympathetically. “Shit. He isn’t getting any better?”
I sigh tightly, swallowing a lump in my throat. “He still forgets things, but then sometimes he’s completely normal again and I start thinking maybe I imagined it.”
Hallie smiles sadly. “From everything you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like you’ve imagined it.”
I exhale shakily. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Before she can speak again, the heavy velvet curtain at the entrance parts and every cell in my body reacts instantly.
Fiero’s here.
His presence seems to reach out to me independent of our senses.
He saunters into the lounge with his brothers surrounding him like a moving wall of tailored suits and dark coats. Though they each wear a mask, I can feel their gazes coast across me, ambivalent.
The four Bellucci brothers walk through the room, the energy shifting around them like a storm front rolling in.
The club is full tonight and every single pair of eyes swivels in their direction.
My pulse starts hammering embarrassingly fast.
Fiero’s gaze sweeps across the club, missing me entirely. The gazes of his brothers follow, one in particular sliding through melike a spear. I wonder again what they could possibly have against me.
I must be reading into the little I can see of their expressions beneath the masks—it doesn’t make sense that they would hate me for no reason.
I watch Fiero continue toward the VIP lounge, not looking at me once. My heart sinks deeper with every footstep.
Maybe I imagined the softness in his eyes this morning. His request to trust him, to let him touch me. The way he held me tight while I cried everything out, and braced himself against my hammering fists.
Maybe he simply has a short attention span and now he’s onto the next thing.
My focus sticks to him and the rejection burns.
All four brothers disappear through the ropes while waitstaff subtly scramble into perfect efficiency around them.
