“The wife’s name is Esmeralda,” Jessa whispers to me. “She’s an heiress to a massive fortune from her father’s steel empire. Her husband is Tobias. He’s half German half Monegasque.”
“Mone- What?”
“That’s what they call people from Monaco. I don’t know what he does. He never talks about it.”
“You’ve had conversations with them?”
Jessa’s pale skin turns pink. “Some.”
I raise one suspicious brow at her. “You’ve been to their yacht.”
She reddens more. “A few times.”
“How was it?”
“Memorable,” she says, dragging the back of her hand over her brow. “Definitely memorable. But those memories are for me and me only. Off you go.”
I keep my distance from the Werners, allowing the more experienced staff to serve them while I run around getting orders from the other guests that start to trickle in.
Sometime later, De Rossi appears. I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch him cross the VIP area. He’s wearing all black today-black suit, black shirt, black tie-like a shadowy god who’s come down to walk among his disciples. His presence cuts through the room, drawing eyes to him.
A fluttering sensation explodes low inside my belly. I want to pretend like I’m immune to his pull, but every time I look away, my gaze keeps gravitating back to him. The Werners stand up to greet him with warm smiles and take turns embracing him as if they’re old friends.
I wonder how they know each other. Does De Rossi join them on their yacht? Has he slept with Esmeralda?
I shouldn’t care, but I do. I register every glance and touch between him and Esmeralda, and each one feels like the sharp prick of a knife. God, it irritates the hell out of me.
De Rossi sits down and looks over his shoulder. His dark gaze settles on my body and sends a shiver down my spine. Esmeralda and Tobias take note. She raises one elegant hand and waves me over with a flick of her wrist.
Crap. I can’t ignore her, not when I need to show De Rossi how good of a server I could be.
Clutching my tray to my chest, I make my way to the booth.
“What can I get you?” My tone is affable, but I do my best not to look at De Rossi. Who knows what he might see spelled out across my face?
Esmeralda’s lips part in a genuine smile, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Beside her, her husband gives me a nod of acknowledgement.
“How are you tonight?” she asks.
I catch a whiff of her perfume-Opium by YSL. Cleo wears the same one. “I’m doing well, thank you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ale.”
“I don’t remember seeing you here before. Are you new at Revolvr?”
“I am. I just started working here last week.”
“Well, you picked a great place. I know our friend-” she places her hand on De Rossi’s shoulder “-treats his servers very well.”
“She’s not a server,” De Rossi cuts in.
“What is she then?” Tobias says before taking a sip of his drink.
“Ale’s on our custodial team. We were short on staff tonight, so she’s filling in.”
So much for getting a promotion. I do my best not to let my disappointment show and force myself to meet his gaze. “Happy to help however I can.”
The coldness in his eyes throws me off. I frown. What’s changed since Monday? He accepted my apology and gave me a job. I thought we were past all this.
“You have a good attitude,” Esmeralda notes. “You’d be smart to hold on to this one,” she says to. “And with a face like that, there’s no reason to keep her hidden away. Isn’t she beautiful, Tobias?”
“You look just like a young Monica Belluci,” her husband comments. “It’s uncanny. I’m sure you’ve gotten that before.”
Heat blankets my cheeks. “Thank you, that’s a very kind compliment.”
A seductive smile appears on his wife’s face. “We’d love to invite you to the after-party we’re hosting on our ya-”
“I don’t pay my staff to stand around and be admired, Esmeralda,” De Rossi says in a harsh tone.
The temperature drops. Tobias’s eyes narrow and Esmeralda shifts uncomfortably.
“Ale, stop preening and bring us another bottle of champagne with a few glasses.”
Preening? My grip tightens around the tray. “Of course.” The smile I give De Rossi is deadly.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Esmeralda says pleasantly, but her expression is perturbed. “Do stop by throughout the night.”
Since my hopes for a promotion are firmly in the gutter now, and my presence seems to piss of De Rossi, I think I might. After all, who am I to say no to his important guests? “Gladly.”
When I return with the champagne, he watches my every move as I serve him and the Werners. His behavior toward me seems to have warned them off talking to me again, but they thank me as I hand them their glasses. I’m about to leave when De Rossi closes his hand around my wrist and tugs me down until my ear is in line with his lips. An electric current erupts over my skin. “Don’t get any ideas.” His voice is like a bite of a poisoned whip. “That after-party isn’t for the likes of you.”
Heat explodes over my cheeks. The likes of me? What exactly does that mean? A spoiled princess? A lazy bimbo? I thought I’d proven to De Rossi he was wrong about me. What else does he want me to do?
I jerk my wrist out of his grip and walk away without a second look. Inside my chest, an angry fire burns.
The likes of me.
Maybe he recognizes exactly the kind of worthless scum you are.
It’s an intrusive thought, and it’s far from the first time I’ve had it. I’ve been Googling how to get rid of these thoughts, because every day they seem to be multiplying. Images of dead, bloodied bodies. Memories of their screams.
No, I won’t engage with it. I saved a girl. It took me a long time, but I eventually did the right thing. Doesn’t that count for something?
You murdered dozens first.
The voice in my head becomes Lazaro’s. Some days, you were so calm while you did it, I thought maybe you’d finally grown to like it like I did.