Chapter Twenty-Three Ella
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ella
Tense silence fills the car on the drive to Palermo. Gualtiero is brooding, and I keep my gaze fixed on the window, doing my best to ignore him.
When we arrive at the club, we enter through a side entrance, bodyguards closing in around us.
Gualtiero grips my hand as he guides me through long corridors, doors lining one side. Offices and storage rooms, probably.
The bass from the music grows louder with every step, vibrating through the walls. By the time we reach a set of double doors, it’s pounding through my chest.
Two security guards pull them open. Music crashes over me.
The space beyond is huge and dimly lit, flashes of light cutting through the darkness in sharp bursts. It’s almost disorienting, the constant flicker making my eyes strain.
I’m glad I don’t have epilepsy. The lights alone would do me in.
God, I hate clubs. Rhia and I always preferred bars. Places where you can actually talk.
This here? This isn’t my scene at all.
Still, there’s no denying it’s popular. Even midweek, it’s packed. There are people everywhere.
How anyone finds this fun is beyond me.
The crowd parts as we move through. Heads turn. Conversations pause. It feels surreal, like something out of a movie.
We head toward a roped-off section and climb a wide staircase to the upper level.
Up here, the space opens out into a horseshoe shape, with high railings overlooking the dance floor below. Three bars are spaced along the curve, surrounded by low sofas and chairs. Every seat is taken.
Laughter cuts through the music. Women in barely-there dresses perch on the laps of men in suits, their heads close together as they shout over the noise.
We keep moving.
Another rope is lifted for us without question. There are fewer people here, and it becomes easier to breathe.
Gualtiero releases my hand, presses a brief kiss to my temple, and leans in.
“I have to take care of some business. I won’t be long. Enjoy yourself.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
He crosses to a group of men in the corner. They’re on their feet the second they spot him.
I turn away. Gripping the railing, I look down at the chaos below.
Great. He drags me all the way out here just to abandon me.
Why couldn’t I have stayed in bed?
I exhale slowly, tension settling into my shoulders. There is nothing about this I enjoy.
I don’t know anyone. The music is deafening. My ears are going to ring for days. And the lights, flashing relentlessly, put me on edge.
At least I’m up here.
Down below, people are packed together, bodies pressed tight, moving in a chaotic rhythm. Women in tiny outfits, men in fitted shirts, hips swaying, hands wandering.
It’s a blur of skin, movement, and heat. Alcohol flows freely. Gualtiero must be making a fortune.
I watch for a while, but grow bored.
My gaze shifts toward the nearest bar. I need a drink.
For a second, the idea of getting properly drunk tempts me. But I can’t afford that. I need to stay alert.
In case an opportunity to escape presents itself.
Nothing else matters.
I look around, paying closer attention to my surroundings now that a flicker of hope has taken hold.
Oriana and Alonso stand nearby, scanning the area relentlessly for threats. I turn my back to them again, but now that I’m aware of them, it’s like I can feel their eyes on me.
How am I supposed to get away from them?
There are security guards at every roped-off entrance, and that’s just up here.
Even if I made it down to the lower level, how would I get out?
My heart sinks.
Still, I decide to test the ropes… literally.
I glance toward the spot where Gualtiero had been sitting, but he and the other men are gone.
Searching the upper level, I don’t spot him anywhere. Good.
Gualtiero always seems to know where I am. With him gone, that’s one less thing working against me.
Keeping my movements casual, I make my way toward the nearest exit, stopping here and there as if I’m just watching the crowd below.
In my peripheral vision, Oriana and Alonso follow.
If I can just get down to the dance floor, maybe I can disappear into the crowd.
Decision made, I approach the guards at the rope. They don’t move.
“Can you let me through? I’d like to go dancing.”
One of them glances past me.
I turn slightly and catch Oriana giving a subtle shake of her head.
“Sorry, Miss. Can’t do that,” the guard says.
I spin around, irritation flaring.
“Seriously, Oriana? We’re in a club and I can’t go dancing?” I raise my voice over the music.
“I’m sorry, Miss O’Neil,” she replies, sounding anything but. “The boss wants you to remain on this level.”
“Come on, Oriana. I thought we made some progress earlier,” I say sweetly, just to get under her skin.
Alonso’s eyes widen. I wonder what version of events his imagination is running with.
Between the gift and her reaction earlier, I’m sure he’s filled in a few entertaining blanks.
“Is that how the handprints got on your jacket?” Alonso asks, far too innocently.
God, I could kiss the man.
I beam at him, and he winks back.
Oriana flushes deep red, then turns sharply and stalks off, only to stop a few steps away, remembering she’s supposed to stay glued to me.
I blow her a kiss and head for the bar. Being an unpredictable, bisexual menace is exhausting work.
Think escape, Ella. Think.
There has to be a way.
“I’ll have a chocolatini,” I tell the bartender.
Of all the chocolate martinis out there, this one is my favorite. Creamy, sweet, indulgent.
Just what I need. Maybe that will help me work out a plan.
Taking a long sip, I close my eyes, savoring the taste and hoping for inspiration to hit.
My eyes snap open when a tall blond man steps up beside me, leaning casually against the bar.
“Let me get you another one of those,” he says, nodding toward my half-empty glass. “That look of bliss on your face just now… I’d like to see what else could put it there.”
I roll my eyes. Men can be so unimaginative with their lines.
I turn to him, looking him up and down.
He’s fairly attractive. Not Gualtiero level, but still. Designer jeans, button-down shirt, polished.
“You’re very direct.”
“No point wasting time,” he says, a hint of arrogance in his tone. “When I see something I like, I go after it.”
“Do you always get what you want?” I ask, already bored with this conversation. It’s painfully dull.
“Most of the time.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but this won’t be one of those times.”
I slide off the stool, ready to walk away.
“Oh, come on, gorgeous. Let’s just talk,” he says, following me. “I’ve been watching you. You look bored. And the guy you came with clearly doesn’t care if he leaves you on your own.”
No, he doesn’t.
I hesitate.
Oh, what the hell. It’s not like I have anything better to do.
“Fine,” I more or less grumble.
Blondie grins and places a hand on my elbow, guiding me toward a couch along the wall.
I stiffen. I don’t like that he’s touching me.
But we don’t make it to the couch. Gualtiero is already striding toward us.
Fast.
His expression is dark, his jaw tight, his entire presence radiating anger.
I stop in my tracks.
What has him so worked up now?
Blondie’s hand is still on my elbow when Gualtiero reaches us.
He doesn’t even look at me.
His gaze locks onto Blondie’s hand. Like it’s something offensive that needs to be removed.
Blondie goes pale.
What a wimp.
Though even I have to admit, Gualtiero looks capable of anything right now.
“If you value your life,” he says, his voice low and lethal, “you’ll take your hands off my woman. Now.”