“Shut up,” he snarls. The bartender comes up and Paolo orders two glasses of champagne. He hands me one of them, and he raises his glass to mine. I tilt my head.
“Clink the fucking glass,” he says, but his lips form a tight smile.
I look over my shoulder and spot Settimo watching us from across the room, standing next to his brother.
I turn back to Paolo and roll my eyes before clinking his glass and taking a sip. “Smooth,” I say, bringing it from my lips.
“I need you to listen to me, Alexa.Reallylisten to me. If you don’t do anything I say from here on out, fine, but do this.”
I stare at him, waiting.
“Stay awayfrom that guy.” He speaks to me firmly, like he always does, but this time there’s something else there. Fear.
“That guy? You mean your boss?” I smirk. It’s foolish and there’s no way I’m not going to pay for it later, but fuck, it feels so good. Better than sex, as they say. And I’ve come to find Ireallylike sex.
I feel powerful, and all I want in the world right now is to inject Paolo with more of that fear.
“He’s dangerous, Alexa. I don’t know what he’s made you think, but—”
I belt out a laugh, throwing my head back dramatically. “He’sdangerous? What are you, a kitten?”
“Goddamn it, would you listen to me?”
“You know what I think, Paolo? I thinkyou’rescared of him. What happened? Did he threaten you? He didn’t seem to like the bruises you left on me. Did he mention those?”
Paolo inhales a slow breath and exhales steam. “Do you honestly believe he cares about you?”
I don’t say anything, but the way Settimo looked at me when I took my scarf off… He seemed genuinely bothered, maybe even sorry. He made love to me when he knew I needed it, completely ignoring his own desires, and the way he kissed me today was about more than sex. I think.
I think he does care about me. But more than that, I’m starting to care about him.
“You’re a game to him. He likes that he’s fucked my girl, and he’s getting off on rubbing it in.”
“Yourgirl?” I pinch my face, disgusted.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. You bet me in a fucking poker game and drove me to his house where you ordered me to have sex with a man I barely knew. This is your fault.”
Paolo’s eyes widen and fear is clear on his face now. Fear, not anger, not defensiveness, certainly not remorse. We stand in silence for several seconds until his discomfort rubs off on me and I feel like I’m missing something.
“What?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “What do you mean youbarelyknew him?”
Oh shit.
I shrug as casually as I can. “I’d heard of him, of course.”
“At the funeral,” he says, his breathing heavy, “you asked who he was. Why?”
I don’t answer.
“Tell me what you did right fucking now.”
“Why do you even care?” My voice is loud, nearly a yell, and Paolo looks around nervously. He locks eyes with a man at the other end of the bar and waves as if to say “we’re all good here”.
He turns back to me and hunches over so we’re close. This isn’t one of his intimidating things, I think he just doesn’t want anyone to hear us. He doesn’t look angry.