Chapter Seven
Dario
I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching how it caught the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the frosted glass panels of the private tasting room.
The space above The Gray had been designed for moments like this, for savoring the nuances of rare spirits in privacy and comfort.
But right now, I couldn't focus on the liquor's notes or the way it coated the inside of the glass.
Not with Marcus standing across from me, wearing that infuriating knowing grin I wanted to punch off his face.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," I growled, setting my glass down harder than necessary on the polished mahogany counter.
Marcus's grin only widened as he placed his empty tasting glass beside mine. "I haven't seen you this worked up over a woman since... well, ever."
"I'm not worked up," I insisted, straightening my cuffs unnecessarily. "It's a professional courtesy. The staff should be familiar with the new menu items."
"Of course," Marcus nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "And you personally invite all the waitstaff to private tastings of drinks worth several hundred dollars each. How thoughtful of you, boss. When do I get my turn?"
I glared at him. "When did you get so comfortable giving me shit? I liked you better when you were all formal."
Marcus laughed, the sound echoing through the room. "I was only formal because you were one bad day away from putting your fist through a wall. Or someone’s face." He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. "After Valentina and that mess, you weren't exactly approachable."
The mention of Valentina sent a familiar cold anger through my veins.
Six months since I'd discovered her sleeping with a family rival, and still her name left a bitter taste in my mouth. Under normal circumstances, I’d have killed her for her betrayal.
Not for the infidelity. I chose not to have sex outside a current relationship to prevent any…
misunderstandings. I also never had sex without a condom.
While I expect my partners to do the same, reality wasn’t always in the same ballpark.
Mainly because money was a temptation and every crime family in city was gunning for me, because the Luca family sat at the head of the table, so to speak.
I’d learned over the years money and power were big aphrodisiacs.
Valentina was the type of woman who loved both.
So when Vincent Rossi approached her with a promise of more wealth and power if she could give him the goods to take me down, Valentina hadn’t hesitated.
"What does Valentina have to do with anything?" I asked, my voice deliberately neutral.
"Nothing," Marcus shrugged. "That's the point. Blue Belle is nothing like Valentina. She's the perfect palate cleanser after spending years in bed with a shark."
I couldn't argue with that assessment. Where Valentina had been calculated ambition wrapped in designer clothing, Belle was... different. Genuine in a way that had become foreign in my world. Her awkwardness should have irritated me. Instead, I found it strangely compelling.
"Belle has excellent taste," I said, reaching for my glass again. "Her insights would be valuable for the new menu."
"Sure," Marcus nodded, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Her taste. That's what you're interested in."
I chose to ignore the jab, though the phrase, “among other things”, hung in the air between us.
Women had been throwing themselves at me since I was twenty.
Some wanted my money, others my power, a few just wanted the bragging rights of bedding a Luca.
Belle might pretend to be different, but underneath that wide-eyed innocence, she wanted something too.
They all did. "So when is she coming up? " I asked, glancing at my watch.
Marcus cleared his throat, suddenly finding the bottom of his empty glass fascinating.
My eyes narrowed. "Marcus."
"She refused," he said simply, meeting my gaze with unexpected directness.
"What?" The word fell between us like a stone.
"She said, and I quote, 'Please thank Mr. Luca for his invitation, but I don't think it's best for me to see him outside of work.'" Marcus's expression was carefully neutral now, all traces of his earlier amusement hidden. "She was very polite about it."
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. When none came, I felt a strange heat crawl up my neck. "She refused."
"Yep."
"Me."
"Confounding, isn’t it?"
I moved away from the counter, needing to put physical distance between myself and this unexpected information.
Women didn't refuse me. They pursued me, plotted to get my attention, manufactured reasons to cross my path. The fact was, if it hadn’t been for the fact Belle was aware of the expense of the alcohol she carried, or if she hadn’t had the visceral reaction she did when she realized I was the one she’d run into, I’d have suspected she’d set me up.
But I actually saw the sweat erupt over her face the second she realized who I was.
I saw the genuine reaction in her eyes. A woman trying to get my attention didn't decline personal invitations.
"Is this the first time a woman's ever refused to go on a date with you?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence.
I turned sharply. "It wasn't a date."
"Of course not," Marcus agreed, though his tone suggested otherwise.
"It wasn't," I insisted, annoyed at my own defensiveness. "It's a professional tasting."
"Right."
I paced the length of the room, my mind racing.
This made no sense. I'd seen how she looked at me that night with the spilled whiskey, felt the unmistakable charge between us when I'd bandaged her hand. Even when I’d caught her gaze across the room, that chemistry was there.
Real. And now she was refusing to even be in the same room with me?
"Did she say why?" I asked, hating how much I suddenly needed to know.
Marcus hesitated. "Just what I told you. That she didn't think it was best."
"Best for who?" I demanded.
"She didn't elaborate."
I stopped pacing, a new thought striking me. "Valentina. Did Valentina speak to her?"
Marcus's expression shifted slightly. "Not that I'm aware of, but..."
"But what?"
"They were seen in the service corridor together the other night. Brief conversation. Belle looked upset afterward."
That explained it. Valentina had poisoned the well, fed Belle some twisted version of our history designed to keep her away from me. The realization should have cooled my interest. Instead, it only intensified my determination.
"Go tell Belle this isn't optional," I said, my voice dropping to the tone I used when I expected absolute obedience. "The tasting is part of her duties as a member of my staff. She needs to understand what she’s serving."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You're ordering her to spend time with you?"
Put that way, it sounded desperate and more than a little controlling. Things I wasn't. "I'm ordering her to do her job," I corrected. "If she's going to serve these drinks, she should know what's in them."
"Because you're so concerned about the education of your waitstaff," Marcus said dryly.
"Just go get her," I snapped.
Marcus held my gaze for a long moment before a laugh burst from him, genuine and unrestrained. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day Dario Luca resorted to pulling rank to get a woman's attention."
"Are you done?" I asked coldly.
"For now," he replied, still chuckling as he headed toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob. "What if she still refuses?"
The question caught me off guard. What would I do? Force her compliance and risk destroying whatever spark existed between us? Or accept her rejection and wonder what might have been?
"She won't," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Tell her the tasting is scheduled for tomorrow at noon. She'll be compensated for her time, of course."
"Of course," Marcus echoed, amusement still dancing in his eyes as he left the room.
When the door closed behind him, I turned back to the counter, staring at the row of glasses waiting to be filled with our new specialty cocktails.
Tomorrow at noon, Belle would be here in this room, sampling each one.
I would watch her face as she tasted them, see her genuine reactions, hear her unfiltered thoughts.
I'd orchestrated deals worth millions with less planning than I was putting into this simple tasting.
I reached for my abandoned glass, draining the last of the whiskey in one burning swallow. What the hell was happening to me? I was Dario Luca. I didn't pursue women. I didn't have to. Yet here I was, practically commanding a waitress to spend time with me because she'd had the audacity to say no.
For the first time in years, I felt something unfamiliar stirring beneath my carefully maintained control. Something that felt dangerously like vulnerability.
Later, after night had fallen over the city, I looked out at the view from my office window.
A sea of glittering lights against darkness greeted me, seeming to laugh at my expense.
My thoughts kept drifting to Belle's rejection, each mental replay stinging more than it should have. She was probably punishing me, thinking I’d known Valentina would come after her and hadn’t protected her.
She’d come on the second invitation. Even the most conniving women looking to get their claws into me wouldn’t risk turning me down a second time.
I drummed my fingers against the polished wood, waiting for Marcus to return with his latest update on the situation.
The door opened without a knock, a liberty only Marcus would take, and the man in question strode in looking infuriatingly amused. "She still says no," he announced without preamble, dropping into the chair across from my desk. "Even after Wilson explained it was a professional opportunity."
I scowled at him. "Did you tell her other staff would be present?"