Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Pfeiffer
For the first time in a month I walk into the club with no one holding a metaphorical gun to my head. For the first time, I feel like I can see the extraordinariness of it—the genius thinking that went into its creation.
Free of the shackles of obligation and imprisonment, I can appreciate why this is one of the most coveted and exclusive nightclubs in New York.
The atmosphere is sumptuous and sexy, the lights low and luxurious.
Without staring—I’ve trained myself not to—I know that the outfits our guests wear are couture, the gems staggeringly authentic.
But members need more than money to get a table here—they need connections, or—as I’ve slowly come to realize—something to lose.
Ideally a reputation or a questionable enterprise worth billions.
I wear the host outfit with more pride than usual tonight, enjoying the way it elongates my legs and makes me feel sexy and expensive.
I feel different wearing it tonight. Come to think of it, I’ve felt different regardless of my outfit, ever since Fiero showed me the picture of Callum’s body parts floating in a pool of blood.
Markedly different.
Ten hours ago I walked out of his penthouse apartment a changed woman. The change didn’t happen overnight, although the events that led up to the evening certainly accelerated things. I’ve been changing little by little every day for the last month.
Sexually, I’m a completely different person.
Fiero has taught me about pleasure—not just how I like to receive it but how I like to give it, too.
Since losing my virginity, I’ve discovered how sexual I really am.
I’m almost annoyed I waited so long, but then again, I wouldn’t have wanted to lose it to anyone else.
And that brings me on to Fiero.
Il Diavolo.
I can still feel the fear I experienced when he first walked into the club.
His presence still makes me hold my breath the first few heartbeats when he enters the room.
But what started out as territorial dominance on his part quickly became a willing offering of myself to him.
Like a moth drawn to the flame I was parched with longing—for his chemistry and the fire that burns in me whenever he’s close.
And now that he’s killed the man who abused me and he’s offered to pay my father’s medical bills, I know there’s more to what this is than just sex.
There’s only a small blemish in the picture that I can’t quite put my finger on. He seems to be battling with something and isn’t telling me what it is.
I have a persistent feeling we have history. I keep racking my memory to recall moments from high school but I get crickets. My brain has shut down that part of my life, no doubt to protect me from everything my uncle did.
I stand behind the podium trying to focus on the reservation list glowing on the screen in front of me, but my mind keeps drifting back to the call I made to the doctor’s office. To Dad’s confused smile as I spoke in hushed tones about how urgently we needed an appointment.
“You okay?”
I glance up to see Hallie leaning against the side of the podium holding a tray of martinis aloft.
“Yeah,” I lie automatically.
Her expression says she doesn’t buy it for a second.
“How’s your dad?”
I smile this time, grateful that she’s thought to ask. “I’ve got him a doctor’s appointment this week. Hopefully we’ll get some answers soon.”
Hallie winces sympathetically. “Shit. He isn’t getting any better?”
I sigh tightly, swallowing a lump in my throat. “He still forgets things, but then sometimes he’s completely normal again and I start thinking maybe I imagined it.”
Hallie smiles sadly. “From everything you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like you’ve imagined it.”
I exhale shakily. “Yeah, I suppose.”
Before she can speak again, the heavy velvet curtain at the entrance parts and every cell in my body reacts instantly.
Fiero’s here.
His presence seems to reach out to me independent of our senses.
He saunters into the lounge with his brothers surrounding him like a moving wall of tailored suits and dark coats. Though they each wear a mask, I can feel their gazes coast across me, ambivalent.
The four Bellucci brothers walk through the room, the energy shifting around them like a storm front rolling in.
The club is full tonight and every single pair of eyes swivels in their direction.
My pulse starts hammering embarrassingly fast.
Fiero’s gaze sweeps across the club, missing me entirely. The gazes of his brothers follow, one in particular sliding through me like a spear. I wonder again what they could possibly have against me.
I must be reading into the little I can see of their expressions beneath the masks—it doesn’t make sense that they would hate me for no reason.
I watch Fiero continue toward the VIP lounge, not looking at me once. My heart sinks deeper with every footstep.
Maybe I imagined the softness in his eyes this morning. His request to trust him, to let him touch me. The way he held me tight while I cried everything out, and braced himself against my hammering fists.
Maybe he simply has a short attention span and now he’s onto the next thing.
My focus sticks to him and the rejection burns.
All four brothers disappear through the ropes while waitstaff subtly scramble into perfect efficiency around them.
Hallie studies my face carefully.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep,” I say too quickly.
She raises a brow.
“Pfeiffer—”
I force a bright smile onto my face. “Yeah?”
“What’s going on?”
I shrug lightly. “What do you mean?”
“Il Diavolo…”
“What about him?” I frown.
Her eyes thin. “You blushed like a schoolgirl when he walked past. Do you have a crush?”
I contort my mouth into a grimace. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I glance up at the ropes now firmly locked in place and feel my stomach drop another inch. “What would someone like him see in someone like me anyway?”
She cocks her head to one side. “You really don’t see it?”
I breathe in tightly and fold my arms. “See what?”
“He watches you, Fi. All the time.”
I exhale through pursed lips. “That’s not true. He didn’t even acknowledge me just now.”
“He looked kinda busy,” she rationalizes. “I mean all the other times. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you seek each other out when the room gets crowded. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how he took a bullet for you…”
“He didn’t ‘take a bullet’ for me,” I protest. “He just happened to be there.”
“Yeah,” she smirks. “From right across the other side of the room.”
She shakes her head and turns to deliver the drinks, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “It’s okay to like someone you know. Even if it is Il Diavolo.”
I watch her walk away, an unspoken response on the edge of my tongue. If she were to put that to any of his brothers, I think they’d fervently disagree.
Movement through the curtain pulls my attention again.
Five more men enter, and they’re not wearing masks.
I recognize one straight away—Cristiano Di Santo, the head of the New York Italian Mafia.
I don’t know the others—haven’t brushed up on my knowledge of mafia family trees in a while, or ever—but I assume they’re his closest capos.
Cristiano nods at me as he passes and I freeze. The few photographs I’ve seen of him on the internet make him look dangerous, but he looks even more intimidating up close and in person. And they’re all packing guns—it’s obvious from the bulges beneath their jackets.
They head directly for the VIP area and one of the security guys lets them through the ropes.
Hallie appears at my side fanning herself, “Oh lord, that was some serious testosterone. You think it might be flammable?”
“With the amount of gunpowder they’re carrying, I’d say highly.”
She smirks then groans. I follow her gaze to see Vivienne heading our way.
“Okay, gotta go.”
I spin to face her. “Go where?”
She grins apologetically. “Literally anywhere but here!”
I grab her arm. “Why?”
In hushed tones she murmurs. “She’ll want one of us to go wait tables back there.”
I frown. “Good tips though, right?”
“Not good enough to be in such close proximity to nine certified murderers in one go thanks very much.”
She whirls around and hurries away. I don’t know why she bothered—Vivienne’s gaze hasn’t wavered from me once.
Fiero’s Head of House purses her lips as she comes to stand directly in front of me. “Pfeiffer, can you serve in the VIP lounge please?”
“Um, of course.” I smile professionally. “But, you know I’m a better host than I am a waitress.”
“I know.” She doesn’t return my smile. “But Il Diavolo requested you.”
“Right.” I smooth my hands down my dress as my heart jumps into my throat.
“Just take their drinks orders, collect the empty glassware, serve the appetizers. Anyone can do it.”
She walks away, muttering something under her breath that sounds like, “Even you.”
Part of me wants to stop her and demand to know what her problem is, but I’ve never been a confrontational person and right now I have more pressing concerns—like how I’m going to serve a roomful of criminals without looking like I’m half a tremble away from collapsing.
I take a deep breath and head toward the ropes. Dante gives me a curt nod then lets me in.
The first thing I hear is laughter—smooth and easygoing.
There seems to be real camaraderie between the men.
Smoke curls across the room as Italian phrases pepper the air.
I try to listen because I love the Italian language but I have a feeling it’s not sweet nothings they’re bantering back and forth.
My shoulders feel suddenly heavy with the weight of a stare from the far end of the table.
I glance up timidly to see the brother I saw as I waited for the elevator doors to close.
He’s removed his mask, as have the other brothers, and it’s only now I can see the devastatingly handsome likeness between the Belluccis.