Chapter Four
Dario
I sat in stony silence at our family's private table, drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished surface with my fingertips.
Vittorio lounged across from me, his relaxed posture at odds with the calculating look in his eyes.
The exclusive section of The Gray offered us privacy from prying eyes, but not from each other.
My brother knew me too well, had already noticed something was off.
My mind kept returning to those delicate hands trembling as they gathered broken crystal, to green eyes swimming with tears, to the jolt I felt when our fingers touched.
"You're distracted," Vittorio observed, his voice casual but his gaze sharp. He swirled amber liquid in his glass, the same whiskey that now stained my pant legs. "Something on your mind, brother?"
I shot him a cold look. "The Rossi situation. Vincent's making moves we need to address."
"Bullshit," Vittorio replied with a small smile. "You haven't heard a word I've said about the shipment issue for the past fifteen minutes. Your mind is elsewhere." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "With a certain clumsy waitress, perhaps?"
"Don't start," I warned, but my brother merely raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting reaction from a man who typically disposes of incompetent staff without a second thought." Vittorio took a measured sip of his drink. "Yet you knelt in spilled whisky worth more than she makes in a month to help her."
I remained silent. What could I say? That something about her vulnerability had pierced through my carefully constructed armor? That the fear in her eyes had bothered me in ways I couldn't explain? That the electric current I felt when our skin touched was unlike anything I'd experienced before?
"She was terrified," I said finally, keeping my voice neutral. "Firing her would have been... excessive."
"Excessive," Vittorio repeated with amusement.
"Since when has Dario Luca concerned himself with moderation when it comes to maintaining standards at The Gray?
" I really had nothing to say to that statement.
"Go check on the new waitress.” The smile on his face made me want to scratch his eyeballs out.
"Make sure she doesn't sue or anything. Those cuts looked nasty. "
“You’re an ass, Vittorio.” His laughter followed me as I rose from my chair, straightening my suit jacket with more force than necessary.
"Where are you going?" he called after me.
"To handle something," I replied without turning. I heard him chuckle again before the heavy door closed behind me, muffling the sound.
My jaw tightened as I strode through the main floor of The Gray.
The truth was, I had been thinking about checking on Belle.
The look of defeat in her eyes as she backed away from the scene had stayed with me, nagging at my conscience in a way I found both irritating and impossible to ignore.
But Vittorio's teasing had nearly made me reconsider. Nearly. And, Goddamnit, I should have seen to her injuries myself. I ground my teeth. Pride. This was all about pride. I’d never wanted to take a woman for myself and now I was too stubborn to admit I might have been wrong.
No. I wasn’t there yet.
I nodded to the security personnel stationed discreetly throughout the club.
The main floor was a different world from the one I was headed toward.
Here, everything gleamed with expensive authenticity.
The lighting was designed to flatter, the acoustics engineered to allow conversation while maintaining privacy.
Wealthy patrons sprawled in plush booths, indolent and at ease, or lingered by the bar, movements languid, their every gesture weighted with privilege.
The air hummed with rich laughter. The space enveloped them in luxury that most took for granted but that had been meticulously created to project power and exclusivity.
I reached the nondescript door that separated this glittering fantasy from the utilitarian reality of running such an operation. My fingerprint granted me access, and I stepped into a different world.
The stark fluorescent lighting of the service corridor was a jarring transition from the amber glow of the club.
Here, the walls were a practical off-white, the floors designed for comfort for the staff and durability.
The air smelled of the food they were preparing in the kitchen rather than expensive perfumes and aged spirits.
A staff member carrying a stack of clean bar towels froze when she saw me, her eyes widening in surprise. "Mr. Luca," she stammered, pressing herself against the wall to let me pass.
I nodded in acknowledgment but didn't slow my pace. Behind me, I heard her rushed footsteps retreat in the opposite direction, no doubt to spread word of my unexpected appearance in the staff area.
The effect was immediate. As I moved deeper into the employee section, conversations halted mid-sentence.
A group of bartenders gathering near the stockroom scattered like startled birds, their laughter cutting off abruptly.
Two security guards straightened their postures, their expressions shifting from relaxed to professional in an instant.
"Sir," one greeted me with a respectful nod.
I lifted my chin but said nothing as I continued past them, aware of the whispers that followed in my wake.
My presence here was unusual enough to cause a stir.
I rarely ventured into the staff areas unless there was a problem to address.
The fact that I was here now, minutes after the incident with Belle, would certainly feed the rumor mill for weeks.
Especially since I had no intention of firing her.
The thought irritated me, but not enough to turn back.
I approached the employee break room, slowing my steps as I neared the door.
Through the small window, I caught a glimpse of auburn hair.
Belle sat alone at a small table, examining her palm.
Even from here, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the careful way she held herself, as if trying to take up as little space as possible.
Was she… Was she crying?
For a moment, I hesitated. This was foolish. I should send someone else to check on her. A manager, the medical staff member we kept on duty during busy nights. Anyone but me.
Yet I couldn't make myself turn away. The memory of her kneeling in that mess, blood mixing with spilled whiskey, her voice breaking as she begged not to be fired... it pulled at something inside me I'd believed long dead.
I straightened my shoulders and pushed open the door, my decision made.
The soft gasp that escaped her lips as she looked up and saw me standing there sent an unexpected warmth through my chest. Her wide green eyes, still glittering with tears, locked with mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
I found Belle sitting alone at a small metal table, her injured hand extended in front of her as she examined a cut on her palm.
The fluorescent lighting washed out her complexion, making a few smudges of dried blood on her skin stand out in stark contrast. When the door closed behind me, she jumped to her feet like a startled deer, nearly knocking over her chair in the process.
Her eyes widened as she recognized me, a mix of fear and confusion flashing across her features.
"Mr. Luca, I..." she began, her voice trembling slightly. The way she said my name, soft and uncertain, stirred something in my chest that I immediately tried to ignore. "About what happened upstairs, I want to apologize again for—"
I raised my hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Let me see," I commanded, though my voice came out softer than I intended. I gestured toward her injured hand.
Belle blinked, clearly taken aback by my request. After a moment's hesitation, she slowly extended her hand, palm up, revealing a jagged cut that ran from the base of her thumb across her palm.
It wasn't deep enough to require stitches, but it looked painful, the edges red and inflamed.
A fresh drop of blood welled from the cut as I watched.
Without thinking, I closed the distance between us and took her hand in mine. Her skin was soft and cool against my fingers as I gently turned her palm toward the light for a better look.
"It's not that bad," she said quietly, though she winced when I carefully probed the edges of the cut.
"It needs to be cleaned properly," I replied, my thumb absently stroking the uninjured part of her palm. I realized what I was doing and stopped, though I didn't release her hand. "Do you have a first aid kit in here?"
As if on cue, the door opened behind us. A wide-eyed young man in a server's uniform appeared, clutching a white plastic box with a red cross emblazoned on the front. "Mr. Chen said you might need this, sir," he said, his gaze darting nervously between Belle and me.
I nodded, taking the kit with my free hand. "Thank you."
The server lingered for a moment, clearly curious about the unusual scene before him. I turned my head slightly, fixing him with a cold stare that had sent much braver men retreating. He got the message, backing out of the room with a mumbled "Yes, sir," the door swinging shut behind him.
I turned back to Belle, who was watching me with a mix of wariness and something else I couldn't quite identify. Fear for certain, but I thought I saw curiosity as well. I gestured toward the chair she'd been sitting in.
"Sit," I said, setting the first aid kit on the table and opening it. She complied without a word, her movements cautious as if she expected me to suddenly revert to the cold, intimidating boss everyone at The Gray feared.
I pulled up another chair and sat facing her, our knees nearly touching in the small space. Taking her hand again, I placed it gently on my thigh, palm up, and began removing antiseptic wipes and bandages from the kit.