Chapter 7
ROMERO
I watch her try to make a dignified exit from the ballroom, trailed by a scowling man who looks about ready to kill her. I don’t make a conscious decision to follow them, but my feet start moving in that direction anyway.
Someone calls my name behind me. Could be Remington, could be Julian. Frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Only one thought pulses in my head—protect her.
It’s fucking insane. I don’t even know this woman.
But something about her being helpless in that police station a few days ago, her desperate attempt to charm her way into getting my help, awakened instincts I thought were long dead inside me.
And now, seeing the sheer horror on her face as those drinks spilled down her shirt has them roaring back in full force.
I distracted her.
If I hadn’t held her gaze, she might have been able to prevent that disaster. The guilt gnaws at me as I lengthen my strides, following my mystery woman and the furious man into a hallway. He grabs her arm roughly and drags her through a doorway, too angry to bother closing the door.
I position myself just outside, close enough to hear every word.
“What the fuck is your problem?! I told you not to fuck up!” he explodes, saliva flying from his mouth, his face a deep shade of red.
“I’m–I’m sorry, Fred.” Her voice is small, defeated, and she’s keeping her head down like a scolded child. “I didn’t see the man moving towards me and—”
“You should have seen him! You should have been paying attention! That’s your fucking job!” His voice gets louder, more vicious. “I knew I shouldn’t have recruited you for this.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides. The urge to walk in there and shut his mouth permanently is overwhelming.
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Go change out of that wet uniform and go home.”
“Go home? But the event isn’t over yet. I can still—”
“You think I’m going to let you go back out there?” He scoffs in disgust. “Go the fuck home. And don’t worry about your pay. You worked for two hours; you’ll get the two hours pay.”
“But Fred, I—”
“That’s enough. I need to get back out there and take your place. I’m not having this argument with you right now, Leni.”
Leni.
She stares at him quietly for a moment, her shoulders shaking like she might start crying—but she doesn’t. She just lifts her head and turns around. I duck behind the door, hoping she doesn’t turn right and see me.
She turns left, body stiff as she disappears into another doorway down the hall. Once I’m sure she’s not coming back out, I adjust the lapels of my suit and step into the room. “This is how you treat your employees?” My voice is calm, belying my anger but laced with authority.
He spins around, surprise flickering across his face before recognition kicks in as he takes in my clothes. He straightens, suddenly remembering his manners. “You shouldn’t be here, sir.” Ah, he must have seen me with Julian earlier.
I glance around the room casually. “This is exactly where I should be. It looks like you need a refresher course on New York’s labor laws.”
“What are you talking about?” He squints at me, confusion mixing with growing alarm.
“Verbal abuse, creating a hostile work environment, harassment.” I tick off each violation on my fingers. “These could all land you in a nasty little mess with the Department of Labor.”
“Harassment? I didn’t touch her. Isn’t that going too far?” He finally stops playing innocent, realizing I could cause serious problems for him.
“You screamed at her in front of a guest, Fred,” I stress his name, tapping my chest before he can argue they were alone. “That counts as harassment—and my name carries significant weight.” I hand him my card as I speak.
He gulps audibly. “She–she spilled those drinks. I needed to put her in her place so she can–”
“Doesn’t matter. Harassment is harassment, and I’m sure if I look into your books, I’ll find plenty of things you’re not keeping in compliance with. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
A muscle twitches in his cheek. “Why are you doing this?”
Good fucking question.
Why am I threatening some catering manager I’ve never met over a waitress I barely know? I don’t have the answer—and I don’t want to dig too deep for one, either. So I just turn around, satisfied that he’ll think twice before speaking to any of his employees like that again.
I leave him standing there, probably wondering what the hell just happened, and make my way to the room my mystery woman disappeared into. No, Leni—her name is Leni. Is that short for something?
The door reads ‘Powder Room’ with a women’s restroom sign next to it, so I just lean against the wall, waiting for her to come out like some goddamn stalker.
“I said no!” Leni’s loud, panicked voice has my spine pulling away from the wall.
An indecipherable male voice replies, too low for me to make out the words, but I don’t need to hear his part of the conversation. Her tone tells me everything.
I yank the door open, and my patience shatters at the scene in front of me. Carlo Benini—Julian’s dusty, perverted excuse for a cousin—is gripping her arm while she’s struggling to break free. The sight of his meaty hands on her triggers something primal in me.
Before I can think it through, I’m crossing the small space and my fist is connecting with his face. He falls to the floor like a sack of potatoes, blood already gushing from his broken nose, staining his expensive shirt. My knuckles sting, but the pain feels good. Righteous.
I shake out my hand as I glance back at Leni. Her eyes are wide, shocked, maybe a little impressed. Fuck, she is trouble.
Carlo might be a disgusting old toad and was clearly harassing her, but he’s still Julian’s cousin—a retired old cop with connections that still reach high up. The thought does nothing to cool my anger.
“The lady said no.” I scowl down at him.
He struggles to his feet, one hand clutching his bloody nose, but I don’t offer him help. Let him suffer.
“How dare you?” he snaps when he finally makes it to his feet. “Do you know who I am?”
Driven by cold rage, I seize his meaty arm and drag him out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind us.
Then I shove him against the wall. “I know exactly who you are, Carlo. There’s nothing you can do to me.
” I savor every word. “But you—I can ruin you. What do you think Julian will do when I play the recording of you harassing that woman? Protect you or deny your relation to him as hard as possible?”
Carlo’s eyes bulge. “You’re bluffing.”
I chuckle darkly. “Okay, let’s go to Julian then. Let’s see what he decides.” I turn and take a few steps towards the ballroom.
“Wait!” Carlo grabs the tail of my jacket but drops it when I level a glare at him. “You’re such a bastard,” he growls as he skulks away.
Fuck, that was close.
What if my bluff didn't work?
What the fuck am I even doing?
I should be back in the ballroom, schmoozing with the guests, trying to get Julian to tell me what he knows about Katie. But instead, here I am, playing hero for a woman I barely know. I’m nobody’s fucking hero.
But I still wait outside the door, anxious to make sure she’s okay before I leave. She’s had a hell of a night.
A few minutes later, she exits the restroom in black pants and a white shirt, her golden-red hair pulled up into a loose bun, bangs resting just above her eyes. And Jesus, even after all that, she still looks like she stepped out of a damn movie.
“What’s your name?” My question comes out harsher than I intend, but she only chuckles tiredly.
“No ‘are you okay’?”
She’s holding it together better than I expected. I study her, looking for signs that she might break down, but there are none. Tough girl. “You’re obviously handling yourself well. You’re not as pale as you were earlier. Now tell me your name.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t know. Something tells me nothing good will come from you knowing my name, so maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”
“I already know you’re Leni. I could just go meet your boss and ask for the full version.
” I jerk my thumb down the hallway where Fred is probably still nursing his wounded pride.
“He might be less than pleased with me after the way I spoke with him, but he’ll tell me anything I ask him to.
” He’d be too scared for his business to do otherwise.
“How did you speak to him?”
“Let’s just say I let him know where he stood with the law regarding the way he spoke to you earlier.”
She doesn’t seem all that surprised or angry that I overheard the confrontation with her boss. She just gives me a perplexed look. “You have a savior complex, don’t you?”
Even though I had a similar thought earlier, I chuckle in amusement, thinking she’s joking. But she doesn’t even crack a smile. “Oh, you’re serious? Well, no one’s ever accused me of being a hero before.”
Now she laughs.
“I don’t know why not,” she says with wry humor. “Thank you for tonight, Romeo.” She turns to leave, then pauses and looks back. “My name is Charlene Barlowe, but I generally go by Leni.”
Charlene. Leni fits her better.
She’s quirky, funny, strong—and with a damn good head on her shoulders despite whatever circumstances led her to serving drinks at rich people’s parties.
I stare at the door down the hallway long after she’s disappeared through it, then square my shoulders and force myself to head back to the ballroom.
“Where the hell have you been?” Julian asks the moment I step beside him, his eyes scrutinizing my face.
“Sorry, I had some urgent matters to attend to.” My gaze meets Carlo’s, and he immediately looks away. I smirk. “What happened to your nose, Mr. Benini?”
“He fell down the stairs,” Julian answers, his voice flat with disbelief. “Anyways, the person I want you to meet is here.” He signals someone behind me, and I follow his gaze with growing dread.
A young woman separates from a circle of perfectly groomed socialites and glides towards us. I suppose she could be considered beautiful if traditional beauty is your thing—straight dark hair, pretty face, all the right proportions.
I don’t stare long enough to catalog her individual features. I’m not interested.
“Romero, this is Arianna DeMarco. And I’m not saying this because she’s my daughter, but she’s the most beautiful woman here.”
“Stop it, Dad.” Arianna’s practiced laugh grates against my ears, and my teeth clench. It’s not that her laugh is bad—I just don’t like it. And in any case, she isn’t the most beautiful woman here tonight. That title belongs to someone who wasn’t draped in fine clothes and jewelry.
Arianna extends her perfectly manicured hand towards me, and I shake it politely. “Nice to meet you, Miss DeMarco.”
“Please, call me Ari.”
I nod but don’t reply. I won’t be around her long enough to call her anything.
She exchanges a glance with her father, and he chuckles. “A man of few words, our Romero. But that’s good. Arianna doesn’t speak much either. You two will make a perfect match, don’t you think?”
My tie suddenly feels like a noose around my neck, choking me. I breathe through my nose, resisting the urge to tug at it. Instead, I smile politely. “Miss DeMarco is not for the likes of me, Julian. She deserves better.”
“Nonsense.” Julian waves an authoritative hand. “She deserves you. There’s no man more perfect for my daughter than you. She recently got back from Paris where she studied the arts. Tell him, Ari.”
I sigh internally when Ari launches into what sounds like a rehearsed speech about the Paris College of Arts and its prestigious curriculum. My eyes roam the ballroom as I wonder if Julian would be offended if I suddenly had to leave.
Ten more minutes, I promise myself. Then I’m out of here.
As my gaze bounces through the crowd, something catches my attention from the doorway. The open doorway. I squint, and my chest expands, my heart doing something violent behind my ribcage as I meet familiar stormy gray eyes.
Leni.
She immediately looks away, backing into the hallway and closing the door. But not before I see the pain flicker across her face.