I grab her arm. “Why?”
In hushed tones she murmurs. “She’ll want one of us to go wait tables back there.”
I frown. “Good tips though, right?”
“Not good enough to be in such close proximity to nine certified murderers in one go thanks very much.”
She whirls around and hurries away. I don’t know why she bothered—Vivienne’s gaze hasn’t wavered from me once.
Fiero’s Head of House purses her lips as she comes to stand directly in front of me. “Pfeiffer, can you serve in the VIP lounge please?”
“Um, of course.” I smile professionally. “But, you know I’m a better host than I am a waitress.”
“I know.” She doesn’t return my smile. “But Il Diavolo requested you.”
“Right.” I smooth my hands down my dress as my heart jumps into my throat.
“Just take their drinks orders, collect the empty glassware, serve the appetizers. Anyone can do it.”
She walks away, muttering something under her breath that sounds like, “Even you.”
Part of me wants to stop her and demand to know what her problem is, but I’ve never been a confrontational person and right now I have more pressing concerns—like how I’m going to serve a roomful of criminals without looking like I’m half a tremble away from collapsing.
I take a deep breath and head toward the ropes. Dante gives me a curt nod then lets me in.
The first thing I hear is laughter—smooth and easygoing. There seems to be real camaraderie between the men. Smoke curls across the room as Italian phrases pepper the air. I try tolisten because I love the Italian language but I have a feeling it’s not sweet nothings they’re bantering back and forth.
My shoulders feel suddenly heavy with the weight of a stare from the far end of the table. I glance up timidly to see the brother I saw as I waited for the elevator doors to close. He’s removed his mask, as have the other brothers, and it’s only now I can see the devastatingly handsome likeness between the Belluccis.
The one I saw outside the elevator doesn’t lift his glare from me once, making nerves skitter down my spine as I approach the table. The youngest, Brando, the one who helped me patch up his older brother, doesn’t pay anyone much attention. He just sits still, quietly turning a blade over in his fingers.
A vision of the blade Fiero used on my uncle flashes across my lids, momentarily stealing my breath.
When I glance to his side to see Fiero, he’s watching me. As if he can read my mind, he uncurls his fist on the table, giving me a glimpse of the deep cut across his palm he got from the blade when he fucked me with it.
When I audibly suck in a breath, he closes his fist again, leaving my gaze to slide left to the third brother, Cassio.
He’s looking over at me with an unreadable expression. It could be contempt or it could be pity. Maybe it’s both. Either way, it makes me feel restless and uneasy.
One of the Di Santo’s spots me hovering and beckons me over.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“We’ll have a round of your finest whisky. In fact, just bring the bottle and some lowballs.”
I nod and turn to leave but another voice halts me.
“And a vodka on the rocks for me. Double.”
I glance over at the man who made the additional request. He’s grinning almost lecherously at me, his greedy gaze moving over my curves like they’re made of caviar.
It’s only now that I notice he doesn’t look as sharp andformidable as the others. His suit looks cheap over his slight frame and his watch looks definitively mass market, not subtly extravagant like the others’.
“Coming right up.”
I feel a heated gaze on my back as I leave. It belongs to Fiero. I would recognize that sensation in a crowded room—and have, as Hallie so astutely pointed out.
When Dante lets me back into the main lounge I feel like I can finally breathe.
