“What about the job? Does he always employ ballerinas? Is that part of the donation agreement?”
“No.” Grinning, he winks, then swipes the pad of his thumb at the corner of his mouth before getting to his feet. “You’re the only one—and that was on me.”
Thud.
“You?” I exclaim louder than I mean to. Hannah furrows her brow in our direction, and I shrink a little in embarrassment.
“I thought you’d be entertaining.”
Leaning in toward me, drowning me in his sheer size, his breath tickles my earlobe as he says, “And I wasn’t wrong.”
His dark chuckle chases behind him like a shadow as he walks away. My heart pounds, palms sweaty.
Hannah hurries over toward me, her fingers tightening around a cloth. “What was that about?”
She doesn’t look like the happy, beaming Hannah I’ve become accustomed to. There’s a strain in her voice, her features weary.
“I’m not entirely sure.” I sigh, getting to my feet. “How did you know about me when I came in for the job?” I ask, my eyes locked on her features.
Removing his empty glass and wiping the bar she adverts her gaze, “Marcello told me you’d be coming. Just said to be nice and make you feel welcomed.”
She dumps the cloth and fidgets with her polished red nails. “Is there something going on with you two?” Her voice catches on the words.
She likes him.
Giving her arm a squeeze, I say, “No. Thanks for looking out for me. I appreciate you.”
I hurry to grab my things and a grateful sigh leaves my lips when I find Simon waiting for me out back. “Ready?” He grins over at me as I slip into the passenger seat.
“Ready.” I mimic, pulling my seatbelt on and taking a deep breath. He’d offered to drop me off this week so I make curfew.
Instead of asking me questions about talking with Marcello or being done later than usual, he gives me my space, and unlike most people, I like him.
The radio plays low through the car, rain dusting the windscreen as we drive in silence. Hannah’s words play on repeat in my mind
“They’re dangerous men.” Her warning should strike fear inside me, but giddy excitement bubbles to the surface.
I kind of like danger.
“Are you getting out or…?” Simon’s voice jars me from my thoughts, I hadn’t realized we pulled up.
“Sorry.” I giggle, leaning over to dump a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for the ride.” I call, stepping out into the rain I make a run for it.
Once back in my dorm room I strip out of the wet clothes and into a sleep short set throwing myself under the covers.
Sleep evades me, instead, I lay awake staring up at the ceiling replaying the day’s events, lingering on Luca and his intoxicating presence.
Chapter Fifteen
Luca
Hanging my suit jacket on the back of a chair, I roll up the sleeves of my shirt and head to the liquor cabinet, feeling the burn of my father’s gaze on my back.
I worked from my home office today, not wanting to bump into the little ballerina at Vino’s.
Marcello found tormenting me all too amusing, and because he’s my mother’s only nephew, I allow him certain freedoms and liberties, but my temper has been frayed lately.
The cool exterior I used to wear so effortlessly has become increasingly harder to portray.
Rage, grief, and irritation lives in my veins, a constant humming vibrating beneath the surface.
We all harbor a darker self-most are too afraid to ever tap into. Mine is seeping through the cracks, covering me in this thunderous cloud of craving blood and retribution for things that were already settled.
Animosity drips from me, and I can’t shake it. My mother’s death plagues me, and now Serena’s…
There’s no room for a girl like Alyssa in my world. I can’t afford to have any connection with another woman after what happened with Serena.
It’s not safe.
But there’s something different about her. She’s managed to slither under my skin without any effort.
She’s nothing to me, no one—a random fleeting encounter of two people. We’ve spent a handful of minutes in each other’s orbit, yet she’s left an imprint on me, burrowed in like a seed wanting to grow.
I pour an extra finger of whiskey, and my shoulders loosen as I knock it back.
Seeds can only grow if you nurture them. I’m not going to feed this thing. I’ll starve it until it withers.
If Marcello is going to insist on keeping her working at Vinos, I’ll make it unbearable for her—force her out.
“Have you run out of whisky, son?” my father’s strained voice calls out to me from his high-back chair.
The crackling fire makes the room stifling. His paper-thin skin sags on his weary bones, his cheeks hollow. The man is a shell of the powerful force he once was.
“You always have the better bottles.” I raise a brow, looking over at him.