Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“So… we can keep this between us?”
“I already told you I have to tell Mr. Luca.” Mr. Wilson spoke kindly, but I could tell he wasn’t going to give in. “Besides, you’re not as intelligent as I thought you were if you truly believe neither of them know Rossi cornered you.” I knew Dario saw me. “They need to know you don’t feel comfortable serving him.” I hadn’t said I didn’t want to serve him, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually say so.
“Don’t tell them that. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to pick and choose my tasks. I’m fine. Really.”
Mr. Wilson stood straighter, his attention fixed on something across the room. I turned to look over my shoulder and my gaze collided with Dario’s. He stood at the far end of the bar, his gaze unblinking. His immaculate suit fit him to perfection, highlighting his muscular frame in a mouthwatering display, his presence alone commanded attention. And he was looking directly at me.
I hadn't seen him up close since that disastrous tasting, since I'd kissed him and then run away like a coward. Since I'd overheard his confession to his brother about being unable to stay away from me. I still wasn’t certain how to take that particular conversation. Neither man seemed happy about the situation though, so I would be smart to fear his attention.
"Belle." My name hadn’t sounded like a question or a greeting. Dario Luca was summoning me.
"Mr. Luca. I was just leaving."
He didn't acknowledge my statement. Instead, he took three deliberate steps toward me and reached for my hand. "Come with me."
"I—" I glanced at Mr. Wilson, whose expression had gone carefully blank. Two of the bartenders setting up for tomorrow exchanged meaningful looks, and a member of the cleaning crew suddenly found the floor fascinating.
"It's late," I said, the feeble protest sounding pathetic even to my ears. "My shift is over and I’m tired."
"I'm aware." Dario's voice remained low, controlled, but there was an edge to it that hadn't been there before. Something had changed. Vincent Rossi's visit? "Come with me, Belle."
"Is everything okay?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice.
"It will be." He looked down at his extended hand, not forcing the issue but there was no doubt he meant for me to take his hand. "Please." The "please" caught me off guard. Dario Luca didn't strike me as a man who said that word often.
I nodded, swallowing hard as I placed my hand in his gingerly. When he took a firm hold of mine, I fell into step beside him. My hand tingled in his grasp and I was sure my palms were now sweaty as fuck.
As we moved away, I felt the weight of stares on my back. What were they thinking? That I was being fired? Called in for questioning about Rossi? Or worse—that I was exactly what Valentina had accused me of being: Dario's latest plaything? I tried to twist my hand free of his grasp but he held on, not letting me go.
Dario guided me down a corridor I'd never had reason to use. Unlike the utilitarian service passages, this hallway featured sleek black walls with subtle gold accents, plush carpeting that swallowed our footsteps, and lighting that seemed to flow around us like liquid. This section of The Gray was just as opulent as the rest of the place, but… more. Like this was a special place for special people. We passed several unmarked doors before stopping at a private elevator tucked into an alcove.
"Where are we going?" I managed to ask as he withdrew a keycard from his pocket.
"My private residence." He swiped the card, and the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss. "We need to talk, and I prefer not to do it where we might be interrupted." His private residence. The implication sent a flutter of panic through my stomach. I hesitated at the threshold of the elevator. "Belle." Dario's voice softened marginally. "I'm not going to harm you. But after Rossi's visit tonight, we need to have a conversation."
The mention of Rossi decided me. With a defeated sigh, I stepped into the elevator, my curiosity competing equally with my apprehension. Dario followed, and the doors closed with quiet finality, sealing us into a space that suddenly seemed much too small for both of us. The elevator was mirrored, multiplying Dario's presence until it felt like he surrounded me. I kept my eyes fixed on the illuminated buttons, watching as he pressed one labeled simply "P" for penthouse.
The elevator began its ascent, and I could hear his breathing, controlled but deeper than normal. When I dared a glance at his reflection, his jaw was clenched, a muscle working beneath the skin. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and I quickly looked away, heat flooding my face. He still hadn’t let go of my hand.