Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Pfeiffer
I don’t decide to go to Velvet—my heart decides for me. That’s the only explanation.
After I’ve made sure Dad is settled with his favourite Mexican food and the TV remote, I change into a fitted dress and spend longer than usual in front of the mirror applying my make-up and curling my hair. Then I glance once more at Vivienne’s reply to my text message.
For once, it’s friendly, but I don’t spend too long questioning it because I have other things on my mind.
It’s happening. I’m going to see Fiero.
Another week has passed since Remo paid me a visit, and every day since he walked through the door, I’ve battled the urge to run back to Velvet, and back into Fiero’s arms.
I have to be sure I’m doing the right thing.
My heart is in disrepair and it’s hammering.
Nerves climb up my stomach and cling to my throat the closer I get to the club. I park my car in the usual spot and walk across the lot.
When I see Dante at the door, a panicked thought occurs to me. What if Fiero has moved on? The generous deeds have slowed down—no one new has been around since Remo showed. What if I’ve missed my chance?
Dante watches me approach with narrowed eyes, then beams when he recognizes me. The relief is so immense I could drop to my knees.
“Miss McAllister,” he says, his shoulders twitching. “It’s good to see you. So good in fact, I could hug you…” His smile falls. “But I’d probably get shot.”
“Hey Dante.” I smile even though my lower legs are trembling. “It’s good to see you too. Can I go in? Vivienne’s expecting me.”
“Yes she is.” He winks knowingly and steps to one side.
A sense of warm familiarity joins me as I descend the steps to the club. I pause at the bottom and breathe. Here, on the precipice, I can still hope I haven’t left it too late. Once I step through that curtain, there’s no turning back.
I take a deep breath, push back my shoulders and walk through the heavy velvet.
Vivienne is waiting at the podium, just like she said she would. A smile flickers across her face and she beckons me with a blood red fingernail.
I follow her across the lounge, through the doors to the staff area and into the changing room. As soon as the door closes, she releases the longest sigh I’ve ever heard.
“Thank God you’re back.”
I’m taken aback by the relief on her face, but I don’t want to give her false hope. “I’m not ‘back’ Vivienne. I’m just visiting.”
“Whatever.” She waves a hand about. “He’s fucking miserable. And everyone’s paying the price.”
I gasp. I’ve never heard Vivienne swear before. But, despite myself, warmth flickers in my chest.
“Do you still have my old uniform?” I ask her.
“I do…” She hesitates. “But Il Diavolo bought something for you before you left. He had it specially designed. I think, perhaps… if nothing else comes of this evening, at least he’ll get to see you wearing it.”
She lifts a garment bag from one of the lockers and hooks it over a door, then slowly lowers the zip.
My breath catches.
The dress is nothing like the uniforms we wear on the floor.
It's red. The deep, decadent red of expensive wine. The colour of temptation. The colour of sin.
Black lace curves across the bodice in delicate patterns, cutting away at the waist to reveal bare skin, then disappearing into fitted satin that falls to mid-thigh, while the back…
The back is completely open.
Heat floods my face and I forget I’m standing with someone who’s made no secret of the fact she never wanted me here. “Vivienne…”
She looks at the dress. “I know.”
I step closer and run my fingers over the fabric. It’s impossibly soft and decadent.
“He designed this?”
“He commissioned it.”
My pulse flutters. “Why?” I whisper.
Vivienne gives me a look that suggests I'm the stupidest woman alive.
“Because he’s in love with you. He always has been.”
I swallow, loudly.
“I’ll leave you to get changed,” Vivienne says, walking back to the door.
I wait until I hear the door close then change carefully into the dress. It fits perfectly. Like someone measured every curve of my body without ever touching me.
Looking back at my reflection I see myself as if for the first time. My posture exudes confidence, even if my heart doesn’t feel it. This dress has so much main character energy I’m not sure I can fulfil its potential.
The door opens again and Vivienne takes a breath.
“Well. Pfeiffer…”
I’d smooth my hands over the dress but my palms are sweating furiously.
“What if I’m too late?” I whisper, nervously.
Vivienne's expression softens.
“If it was too late, Pfeiffer…” She glances at the dress. “…that would have gone up in flames. There’d be nothing of it left.”
I fill my lungs one last time and nod at my reflection. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Vivienne steers me through the club. The familiar bass provides a deep pulse while my heart thumps erratically.
Jaws drop to the plush carpet as I pass in my stunning couture dress and heels, but my breaths truly speed up when we stop outside the VIP lounge.
Vivienne bends to my ear. “The Di Santo’s are here,” she whispers. “Are you going to be okay? After, you know… last time.”
I nod, concealing a shudder. How could I forget? I’d never been so terrified, nor so grateful to Fiero.
Vivienne snaps open the rope clips and I walk through to another heavy curtain. When it parts, my lungs evacuate.
Familiar men in dark suits sit around the long table, each of them free of their masks. My gaze slides from one end to the other, halting only when it lands on him and my heart outright stops.
There he is, sitting at the head of the table with his brothers on one side, the Di Santo’s on the other. Just like the last time I saw the Di Santo’s in this room, there’s an extra man I haven’t seen before perched on the end like an afterthought.
The second my presence is noted, all conversation dies in an instant.
My heart thumps like an earthquake cracking concrete. In sickeningly slow motion, Fiero’s eyes lift and lock onto mine, and the entire room disappears.
He looks wrecked. Not physically—God, physically he still looks like the muscled God he is—but emotionally. Like he hasn’t slept since he left my apartment.
Before I can breathe properly, the man perched at the end reaches for my waist lazily, tugging me toward him.
I blink in disbelief.
Is this really fucking happening? Again?
“Well, hello, sweetheart.”
I feel one specific pair of eyes burning into us both from across the room.
The man slides his hand across my hips to the upper curve of my ass and my blood stills in my veins. Please not again.
Tension makes the room throb and I become aware of everyone watching with bated breath.
The man’s hand starts to slide lower but before he can cup a cheek, I wrap my fingers around it and prize it away.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say to him with a sweet smile.
He laughs. “Why? You taken?”
My eyes lock again with Fiero’s. His are ablaze with fury and desire—every hot emotion I can think of.
“Yes.”
The man smirks. “Tell me who and I’ll blow out his eyeballs, sugar.”
My smile grows and I point to the head of the table.
“Him.”
Every head in the room turns toward Fiero, but Fiero never looks away from me—not once.
“Oh fuck,” I hear the guy whimper under his breath. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, sir. If I’d known—”
Fiero doesn’t even register the guy talking. Instead, something dangerous and final yet unreasonably soft cracks apart behind his eyes.
He pushes his chair back and stands slowly, those blackened eyes hooked on me from across the room.
“No,” he says firmly.
No?
My breath catches and he walks solemnly around the table toward me. I’m terrified of what he’s going to say.
“You’ve got it all wrong, cucciola.”
I hold my breath and pray it’s not too late.
The room falls completely silent as he steps right up to me, stopping at my chest.
“I belong to you.”
My mouth falls open and I breathe him in, my eyes roaming his face trying to drink in every detail. He touches a finger to my chin, and lowers his lips.
Then he kisses me so softly I come up onto my toes for more.
My fingers knot into his shirt pulling him closer, not caring that we’re being watched by a room full of mob men.
His hands remain in his pockets but I gently pull them out and place them on my bare waist. I feel his lashes against my cheeks when his lids lift in surprise.
A low sound leaves his throat and he presses into me gently, not taking an inch more than I’ve offered.
Behind him, I know his brothers are watching. I know everyone is. And I don’t even care.
Because for the first time since all of this started, Fiero isn’t choosing revenge, or fear, or loyalty, or expectation. He’s choosing me.
And when he deepens the kiss, his forehead pressed against mine like he can’t believe this is real either, I realize something I think I knew all along.
I’m choosing him too.