Chapter Four #2
"This might sting," I warned as I tore open an antiseptic packet.
Belle nodded, her teeth catching her lower lip in anticipation.
I dabbed at the cut carefully, watching her face rather than my task.
She inhaled sharply but made no sound, her green eyes fixed on our joined hands.
"You don't have to do this," she said after a moment. "I can take care of it myself."
"I’m sure you can," I replied, continuing to clean away the dried blood from her skin. "But I'm already here." What I didn't say was that the thought of leaving her to tend her wounds alone bothered me in ways I couldn't explain, even to myself.
The room fell silent except for the subtle sound of our breathing and the distant thump of bass from the club above us. I worked carefully, cleaning the cut well before applying antibiotic ointment. I couldn't remember the last time I'd performed such an intimate task for another person.
As I worked, I became acutely aware of the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips, of the subtle floral scent that clung to her hair, of the way her breath caught whenever our skin made contact.
Each small reaction sent a corresponding jolt through my system, a current of awareness that intensified the longer we remained in this strange bubble of intimacy.
I selected an appropriate bandage and applied it carefully. I glanced up, finding her gaze already on me, watching my face with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
Neither of us looked away. The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with something I hadn't felt in years, if ever.
This close, I could see flecks of gold in her green eyes, could count each freckle dusting her nose, could track the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat.
Her lips parted slightly, and I found my gaze drawn to them, wondering if they would feel as soft as they looked.
The thought startled me back to reality. What was I doing? She was an employee, a waitress who'd been at The Gray barely two weeks. I was her boss, and I was sitting in a break room, tending her wounds like we were... what? What was this?
Yet I couldn't bring myself to pull away. Instead, I finished securing the bandage, my touch lingering longer than necessary as my. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers, matching the erratic beat of my own heart.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room. She still looked up at me, searching for something. Confusion and intrigue warred on her expression. "I don't understand why you're doing this."
Neither did I. The thought was unsettling.
I operated on logic, on careful calculation, always weighing risks against rewards.
Nothing about my behavior in the last hour could be categorized as logical.
I'd ruined an expensive suit, barely noticed as I knelt in spilled whiskey worth thousands, and was now personally bandaging a cut that any of my staff could have handled. All for a woman I barely knew.
"You were injured," I said finally, my voice low. "It happened in my club." The explanation sounded hollow even to myself.
Belle studied my face again. "I don't think the owner typically bandages employees' cuts," she said softly, a very small hint of challenge in her voice.
I still held her wrist and was disturbed at how much I savored the feel of her skin.
I could feel her pulse, quick but steady, beneath my touch.
I should have released her then, should have stood up, established the proper distance between employer and employee.
Instead, I found myself tightening my grip slightly, drawing her hand closer.
"I guess I’m not a typical owner," I replied, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
Belle's breath caught audibly, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. "No," she agreed, her eyes never leaving mine. "You're definitely not what I expected."
I knew I was crossing a line, knew that every second I remained sitting here, holding her hand, looking into her eyes, I was venturing further into territory I'd always avoided. Yet I couldn't seem to make myself stop.
"Mr. Luca —" she began, but I cut her off.
“Dario.” I have no idea why I gave her permission to call me by my first name, but I wasn’t taking it back.
Belle hesitated, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Um, Dario.”
The sound of my name on her lips sent a jolt of heat through my body like I’d never experienced.
The fire settled low in my stomach. For a wild moment, I considered pulling her toward me, discovering if her mouth tasted as sweet as it looked.
The thought terrified me almost as much as it tempted me.
The sound of the break room door swinging open shattered the moment between us.
I looked up to see several staff members hovering in the doorway, their expressions ranging from shock to undisguised curiosity.
They froze when they realized I had caught them staring.
I recognized the head bartender, a couple of servers, and one of the kitchen staff, all gawking at the unprecedented sight of Dario Luca, feared boss and notorious hardass, personally bandaging a new waitress's injured hand.
I felt Belle tense beside me, her fingers curling slightly in my grasp. She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold imperceptibly, keeping her hand in place as I finished securing the bandage.
My expression hardened into the mask I typically wore, my jaw tightening. "Is there a problem?" I asked, my tone sharp enough to cut glass.
"No, sir," the head bartender answered quickly. "We were just checking on Belle."
"Were you?" I raised an eyebrow. "All of you. At once."
They shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, exchanging nervous glances. The kitchen staff member muttered something about getting back to work and retreated. The others hesitated.
"Mr. Wilson wants to know if Belle will be returning to her shift," one of the servers ventured after an awkward pause.
Though my expression remained cold, my thumb traced a final, gentle caress against Belle's wrist before I released her hand.
The contradictory signals seemed to confuse her.
I watched a flash of uncertainty cross her features before she lowered her gaze to the bandage now neatly wrapped around her palm.
"She won't," I said flatly. "She's done for the night."
Belle's head snapped up. "But I can—"
"You'll be fine," I interrupted, my voice softening slightly despite my attempt to maintain my usual clipped tone. "Take the rest of your shift off. With pay."
The onlookers' eyebrows rose collectively at this unprecedented show of generosity. I could practically see the rumors forming in their minds, speculation about what Belle might have done to earn such consideration.
Belle herself looked no less surprised. "Mr. Luca, that's not necessary. The cut's not that bad, and I need the—"
I raised a hand, stopping her mid-sentence.
"It wasn't a suggestion," I said, meeting her eyes with an intensity that dared her to argue further.
"You're injured on company property. Take the night off, rest, come back tomorrow.
" My tone left no room for debate, though my words were more considerate than my usual directives.
I stood, gathering the used first aid supplies and setting the box on the table. The other staff members scattered at my movement, suddenly remembering urgent tasks elsewhere. Only one server lingered, a young woman with a concerned expression.
"I can take her home," she offered hesitantly.
I considered this for a moment before nodding. "Thank you." I turned to Belle, who was still sitting, looking somewhat dazed by the entire interaction. "Do you have everything you need?"
She nodded, finally rising from her chair, her shoulders slumped. "Yes. Thank you for..." she gestured vaguely toward her bandaged hand, "for this. And for not firing me." A small, uncertain smile appeared briefly on her lips though she didn’t look up.
"Goodnight, Belle," I said, my voice betraying nothing of the turmoil beneath.
I turned and walked toward the door. As I reached the threshold, I found Marcus waiting just outside, his expression carefully neutral but I knew he missed nothing.
"A word," I said to him as I passed, expecting him to follow.
We moved a short distance down the corridor, far enough that our conversation wouldn't be overheard. I turned to face him, keeping my voice low.
"Keep an eye on her," I instructed. "For security reasons."
Marcus's expression didn't change, but I caught the subtle flicker in his eyes as he tracked Belle’s form briefly before returning to me. She gathered her things with her friend's help. When his gaze returned to mine, I saw knowledge there that made me uncomfortable.
"Security reasons," he repeated, his tone flat but somehow still managing to convey skepticism.
"Yes," I replied firmly. "She was injured at The Gray. We need to ensure there are no complications."
"Of course," Marcus said, his voice professional but I thought I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Any specific concerns I should be watching for?"
I hesitated, aware that what I wanted to say would be far beyond professional concern for an employee. I wanted him to make sure she got home safely, check that she had food, and to make sure there was adequate security.
"Just get eyes on," I said instead. "Let me know if she needs anything." I barely suppressed the wince. Yeah. Let me know if she needs anything. That wasn’t subtle at all.
Marcus nodded, but the look he gave me made it clear he understood more than I was saying.
"I'll have someone drive them home and take them inside.
Both of them." I was pretty sure he added the last to give me plausible deniability when Vittorio questioned me about this whole incident.
Because I knew that conversation would be happening later.
"Good." As I walked away, I allowed myself one last glance back. Through the break room doorway, I could see Belle standing with her friend, her bandaged hand pressed against her chest. Her expression was a complex mixture of confusion and relief. Was she that worried about losing her job? I’d have to look into her finances.
No! Not my business.
I forced myself to continue walking, to put distance between us before I did something foolish.
The logical part of my brain, the part that had built an empire and had kept my family safe and in power for a long time, was screaming warnings at me.
She was an employee. She was young, vulnerable.
She knew nothing of my world or of who I really was.
Nothing about her should have caught my attention.
Yet something deeper, something I thought I'd killed years ago, refused to be silenced. It whispered that her eyes were the truest thing I'd seen in years, that her trembling hands had touched me inside.
Marcus fell into step beside me as we approached the elevator that would take us back to the main floor. "You know," he said conversationally, "in the eight years I've known you, I've never seen you personally bandage anyone's wounds before."
"There's a first time for everything," I replied tersely, jabbing the elevator button with more force than necessary.
"Indeed there is," Marcus agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Indeed there is."
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, my reflection in the polished brass wall showing a man in perfect control.
But beneath the expensive suit, beneath the cold expression and rigid posture, something had shifted.
Something fundamental had changed in the space of a single evening, and I wasn't entirely sure I could — or wanted — to go back.
As the elevator doors closed, I knew with absolute certainty this wasn't the end. Whatever had begun tonight would continue, whether I willed it or not. The question was no longer if our paths would cross again, but when. And what would happen when they did.