Chapter Five #3
Background fucking noise, my ass. I could hear the chattering die down, heads turning my way, the music and I the only things catching people’s attention.
If I got out of this alive and unscathed, I would kill Milk. And I would enjoy it thoroughly.
My foul thoughts calmed me as I let the music own my body, becoming a partner with every rising and falling note.
The woman who’d taught us this technique had said the waist movement was the power of the dance, but most important, you had to let the music talk to your body.
I worked on my hand placement, twirling my wrists with the beat of the traditional goblet drums, the echoes of the flute, mixed with the luring of the oud, and then attuned my body until it became one and the same with the enchanting secrets of the music.
I twirled my waist and lifted my hips to the language of the instruments, freed the muscles around my hands and neck, letting my ankles and the pads of my feet get familiar with the ground.
I was no Milk, but a dance like this could break any tension in a room, seduce any man or woman who bore witness; it could touch souls that never bargained to be touched.
The eyes on me had doubled in number, and I made eye contact with several people, loving the way wineglasses were stopped an inch before lips, too distracted by the dance.
Sensual hypnotism was real, and it was a weapon I didn’t wield often. But now I had Kareem’s undivided attention and knew I had gotten us that invite.
My gaze shifted to Elio, once again catching his stare.
This time, I didn’t look away as I put on a show for him, going extra soft with my movements, my hands moving up my hips to the deep indent of my waist, where he liked to touch me, then I dragged my gentle caress to the sides of my breasts before moving up to my neck where his lips had once made a home.
His eyes followed my hands, and I felt my skin heat up under his lustful scrutiny.
A smile curled onto my lips as I flattened my palm, dragging it up my neck to my chin as I twirled my head around, moving my waist in the other direction when we neared the end of the performance.
The dancers had informed me that we were never to go near Kareem, but I knew my mission would be successful if he called me right after.
With the way he watched me like one would watch a piece of art, I should have absolutely no problem.
The finishing lure of the music had my legs taking me around in a sensual twirl, aligning my hip movements with my wrist, stomach, and waist, slow and steady at first before I increased the pace.
It felt like I was falling into the music. A possession I knew was contagious, contagious to the point that I wasn’t ultimately surprised when my last move after the music came to a drum-and-abrupt stop, and left the room in a graveyard silence.
My gaze shifted to the entrance of the back room to catch Milk standing there, jaw hanging as she looked at me, unblinking, entirely still.
A single hard clap had my attention snapping back to Kareem, who was on his feet, clapping with a massive smile on his face, shaking his head as his eyes gleamed with astonishment. His clapping brought everyone out of their daze as they joined in with chants of appreciation.
Kareem made his way over, extending his hand toward me as I removed my veil.
I placed my hand on top of his too-soft one, the wrinkles by his eyes pronounced as he kissed my knuckles. “You were beautiful. It was an honor to watch you,” he said as he helped me off the stage, and another band started setting up.
“It was an honor to dance for you, Kareem.”
He laughed boisterously, hand to his stomach as he sat down and ushered me onto his lap. I draped my arm over his shoulders. The game was on.
My gaze slipped to Elio, who was purposefully looking away, his jaw clenched hard as he lit a thick cigar, placing it between his lips, cheeks hollowing when he pulled hard on it.
He didn’t look as frustrated as I kind of hoped he’d look, no, he looked like he didn’t have any worries, dressed in a short-sleeved black shirt that showcased his arm tattoo, his hair a little wet and roughly slicked back, no stubble on his face—he looked better than he did when I was around him.
“You flatter me,” the man said with a grin, drawing my notice when his hand moved up my hip, an action that seemed to grab Elio’s attention.
Those eyes finally rose to catch my gaze as he let the smoke out of his mouth—thick and white, mixed with the atmosphere, it was the same color as his eyes right now. “What is your name, beautiful?”
“Zahra,” I said, looking away from the man who I felt was seconds away from yanking me away. To kill me? Kiss me? Fuck me? His eyes said it all.
All hope wasn’t lost.
“Zahra,” Kareem pronounced slowly, “I must say, you rival my wives. What would it take to wed you so you can dance like that for me every day? I have never seen a performance that spoke directly to my soul.”
I flattened my hand on his chest and smiled. “It would be most desirable to wed a man as generous as you are and a sin to deny such a proposal, but I already have someone who speaks to my soul, just like the music did.”
Elio looked away.
Kareem smiled. “It is a shame. Your someone is fortunate; they should kiss the ground you walk on. If they don’t, you should leave them.”
I laughed wistfully. “If only that were possible, Kareem. The man in question complements my being. You can’t leave someone like that.”
Elio looked back, locking eyes with me from underneath his lashes. His face still wore no expression, but those eyes … the way he looked at me … My body flushed with heat.
He turned his face away again.
“Allow me to introduce you to my companion today,” Kareem said, gesturing to Elio. “This is Elio Marino, the most genuine and generous man I have ever met.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marino.”
“Hm.” Elio gave what could be considered a nod if you looked close enough.
Kareem regarded him with a smile. “What did you think of the performance, Marino?”
“Good.”
This mother—
Kareem laughed, looking back at me. “A ‘good’ from him is like heaven’s blessing. He is a man of few words.”
“I can see that.” I smiled, lowering my tone. “Thank you for your very kind word, sir.”
He stiffened, hesitated, then gave another infuriating “Hm.”
He put the cigar between his lips, indicating he was done talking.
Kareem indulged me in a conversation about how he was excited to be on the cruise; he also invited me to all his events here and within Mexico until the end of the cruise.
I knew I had him wrapped around my finger.
Mission accomplished—for that part.
Elio didn’t speak again, acting as if I were nonexistent.
He only looked at me when I rose to get myself a strong drink at the bar.
It irked me that he was pretending I wasn’t there.
I took the shot the bartender placed in front of me and threw it down my throat. The tension in my muscles relaxed almost immediately at the burn.
“Zahra Faizan.”
The drink almost came back up my throat as I snapped my head to the side, and the burn became hotter when my eyes took in the person the voice belonged to.
Bright, almost blue eyes stared back at me, a small crooked smile on his lips as he leaned against the bar, gloved hands, like his cousin’s, holding a whiskey glass.
He wore a dark gray long-sleeved shirt that broadcast his biceps, and black slacks over solid thighs, a familiar form I had not expected to see here.
A form I should not be seeing here.
“Vitale Conti,” I stated.
His eyes twinkled. “That was quite a performance. To think you were holding out on me all those times.”
Almost like I could feel his eyes on me, I turned in Elio’s direction, and yeah, he was watching.
This is not good.
I looked back at Vitale. He was Manuel’s distant cousin, a year older than I was, intelligent, relentless, and not so fucking foolish. Which had me trying to figure out why the fuck he was here.
“How’s the Conti estate these days?” I asked, even though I couldn’t hide my discomfort.
“Surviving,” Vitale said, bringing the glass to his lips without looking away from me as he took a sip. “How are you these days?” He swirled the contents of his glass.
“Surviving,” I responded as he watched me with those calculating eyes. I looked around before settling my focus on him again. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What is everybody doing here? I’m having a good time.”
“Vitale,” I ground out.
“I wanted to see you,” he stated, setting the glass on the table and moving closer to me.
I inched back instinctively; the resemblance he bore to Manuel always had a way of making me raise my guard.
I usually managed it well but it had been a while since I’d seen him.
“I see some things never change,” he said softly.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t be here either. It has been years, Faizan. My patience is growing very thin.”
“Your statement has a tone that I do not like,” I said.
His hand wrapped around my arm suddenly, yanking me closer to him. “I am not your puppet.”
“I didn’t me—”
His grip tightened into a painful grasp, cutting me off as he spoke through clenched teeth. “I hold the other end of this fucking string, Faizan.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I am at my wit’s end with you. We had a deal.”
“And it’s still standing.”
“Is it?”
“Vitale—”
“Problem?” Elio’s voice had my heart almost flying out of my throat as Vitale let go of my arm suddenly but didn’t take his eyes off me.
I took a few steps back from him as I swallowed, looking up at Elio. “N-no problem.”
Vitale picked up his glass and then looked at Elio, the taunting smile back on his face. “We were just having a friendly catch-up.”
Elio’s gaze dropped to the reddening bruise on my arm and then to me; something cold and vacant reflected in his eyes as he looked back at Vitale, the whiskey glass in his hand, the sharp edge of the counter, and then Vitale’s neck.
How could one speak and show without speaking and showing?
The smile on Vitale’s face faltered.
Vitale did not do well with threats. They were merely a challenge to him.
But this challenge might very well get him killed, and that would not happen. Not on my watch.
I stepped closer to Elio. “It’s fine. We were just catching up. We haven’t seen each other in years.” It wasn’t a lie, but Elio didn’t budge or take his eyes off Vitale.
Then I focused on the foolish one who couldn’t see his own life flashing before his eyes. “Vitale, please.”
Vitale reluctantly stood straighter. “I’ll go explore the party. Nice seeing you here again, Zahra.” And then he raised his glass to Elio with a slight nod and that damn smile. “Marino.”
He brushed past us after giving me one last pointed stare before saying, “Call me sometime.”
Elio’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.
I let out a breath. “He was Manu—”
Elio raised a finger, stopping my statement without looking at me. “Do not … speak to me,” he said then turned to leave, but I reached out to grab his arm, moving to stand before him.
“I want to speak to you.”
“I gave you a chance. Multiple times.”
“I know, but just give me another one. I’ll clear everything up,” I said, my eyes searching his vacant ones. “Please? The benefit of the doubt?”
He looked away from me, his jaw clenching like this request was the last thing he wanted to grant.
“If you still don’t want to speak to me after I explain everything that went on in that bus, I promise I’ll back off,” I pressed.
After a few seconds, his gaze met mine again and the silence stretched between us, increasing my doubts, drawing in defeat before he surprisingly nodded. “Okay,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the entrance. “Come with me.”