Dark queen, p.8
Dark Queen, page 8
“No.”
This day is never ending and keeps getting worse.
The tension is thick, Marcello’s violent appetite coming to the surface as he paces my office floor, wearing out the carpet, his hands clenched behind his back.
My brother sits in the chair Carlo favored earlier tonight wearing the same suit jacket he’s been wearing all week, stains splashed up the sleeves. His dark hair is greasy and parted in the middle.
He’s an embarrassment. “Are you going to say something or just scold me with your disapproving glare?” he slurs out.
Moving across the room like a feral beast, Marcello scoops him up by the lapels of his jacket. “Do you know how much damage you caused tonight? You’re reckless and a disgrace to your name.”
He drops him back into his chair, rubbing his hands down his sweater, wiping the remnants of Antonio’s scum off.
“You’re a mess, little brother. And you created unnecessary issues with those fires tonight.”
“I didn’t set them myself. Could have been vandals.” He throws his shoulders up like this is all a joke.
“No, you’re not man enough to do the dirty work yourself. You ordered our men to do it for you.” Marcello swipes a hand over his mouth.
“Luca wasn’t going to do anything.” He flings his arms out in my direction.
“Because Serena’s murder has nothing to do with the Blaydon brothers building sex clubs in the city!” I bellow, gripping the arms of my chair to stop myself from wringing his neck.
“So, we pay for the damage or tell them to fuck off,” he muses, thinking because it’s his mistake it will be overlooked.
My fingers twitch. Marcello balls his fist and plows it into Antonio’s jaw. The impact twists his face as he slams back in his chair, hitting the floor.
“Enough!” I stand, rounding the desk.
Antonio is on his feet in an instant, the punch sobering him up. “You will pay for the damages.” I tilt my head, studying him. He glares at Marcello, his breathing heavy.
“I will deal with the brothers. In the meantime, you’re going to get clean so you can start thinking straight again.” I warn him.
Spitting blood at Marcello’s feet, Antonio jabs a finger into his chest. “Don’t ever fucking hit me again.”
Shoving him away Marcello retorts, “Don’t make me hit you again.”
A heavy silence looms like a thunder cloud, before Antonio wipes his forearm across his bloody mouth storming from the room with one last look at Marcello over his shoulder.
Once he’s gone, I grab a bottle and a glass before taking my seat behind my desk again. “What now?” Marcello asks, flexing his fingers.
“Get me a meeting with the Blaydon brothers.”
“Are you sure you want to take the blame for the fires? We could go with the vandals route.”
Drumming my fingers on the desk, I shake my head. “Let’s get in front of this. We don’t need small problems becoming bigger ones.” I tell him, my attention turning to my computer screen.
With a firm nod of his head, he swipes his hand through his hair and makes a move toward the door. “Send Thomas in, will you?” I call after him.
Tapping my fingers over my keyboard, I bring up the staff list for Vinos and tap on the file for the person I haven’t been able to get off my mind since seeing them tonight.
A minute later Thomas enters the room, his suit coming to stand at the opposite side of my desk, “Sir?” He asks.
I save the file to a memory stick and hand it to him. “Find out everything there is to know about this person.”
Slipping the memory stick into his slacks pocket he bows his head, “Yes, sir.”
Sitting back in my chair, I grab for the glass of whiskey, telling myself it’s intrigue and not jealously pushing my actions as I glare at the picture ID on the screen—the one I’d copied for Thomas.
Simon Greene.
Chapter Eighteen
Alyssa
A light sheen of mist coats my skin from the routine we’ve been repeating for the last three hours, “Lift,” Michael snaps out, with a sharp tongue full of scrutiny, “Enough.” He holds a hand up dismissing us with a grunt.
Jewel walks beside me to the shower rooms, her eyes flitting toward me. “What is it?” I sigh, stopping just outside the door, too tired to deal with her drama or bitchy attitude.
“I noticed Michael paired you with Nathanial today.”
Nathanial is a great dancer, tall and strong. I trust him to lift me and feel at ease with him.“And?”
She thins her lips, folding her tiny arms over her flat chest. “I’ve been working with him.”
“Jewel, I’m just doing as I’m told—not trying to steal your boyfriend. If you have an issue, take it up with Michael.”
Nathanial and I had chemistry on the floor, I’m not going to give that up because of her fragile ego.
“Like you could steal my boyfriend.” She huffs, narrowing her eyes.
If I wasn’t running late for work, I would drag him into the shower with me and let him help me release some of this tension just to spite Jewel. But I made a pact with myself.
I’m not going to put myself in an awkward predicament that can cause drama with my peers or jeopardize my position here.
“Are we done?” I ask exasperated, I have to cover an extra shift at Vinos I don’t have time to play who can be the biggest bitch.
“You’ll be done if you keep getting in my way.” She snides.
It’s one step too far for my own ego to accept, my earlier promise not to cause drama flying out the window. I grab her forearm before she can strut away happy with herself, jerking her against my chest.
“Oh my god, let me go.” She gasps.
Tightening my hold, I lower my voice so I can’t be heard by passing dancers, “Don’t fucking threaten me, you spoilt, little bitch, or I’ll snap your leg and use it as a toothpick.” I bite out, releasing her with gentle shove.
Her eyes are as wide as saucers, mouth agape, her hand wrapping around her arm.
“Now we’re done.” I add, waltzing into the shower room.
“You’re late.” Hannah tuts, wobbling her head like a hula girl on a dashboard in jest as she plays with a bottle of water and forks a mouthful of salad leaves into her mouth at the staff room dining table.
“It’s six on the dot,” I rush out, dumping my things in a locker, tying my apron in place and taking the bread roll Simon offers me, devouring it like a starved animal.
I burn so many calories dancing, I’m slowly trying to unlearn all the bad habits Mom instilled in me.
“The king is at his table.” Simon nudges my shoulder, exiting the room. He looks a little different tonight, a new hair cut maybe?
My stomach dips, thinking about what he just said, a fluttering of butterflies taking flight. Hannah offers me a worried half smile.
“How’s things at school?” she asks to make conversation, watching me add extra plasters to my feet before pushing my feet into my work shoes.
“Exhausting, and painful.” I chuckle wiggling my foot in her direction.
She swipes up her salad and takes it to the trash dropping it in half full. Walking to where I’m looking in the mirror tightening my ponytail.
Her hand rests on my back, “You should take better care of your wellbeing.”
The door swings closed behind her not giving me a chance to digest and reply to her.
I check my face in the mirror, pinching my cheeks to give myself a bit of color before heading out to the shop floor.
Soft music and the purr of voices hums through the room as I scan the occupants. My heart skittering in my chest when my eyes land on Mr. Leto in the raised private area.
“He’s only here because you’re working,” Joelle whispers in my ear from behind jolting my body. I hadn’t even noticed her.
“He never takes his eyes off you.” Her lips tug up into a mischievous smirk.
“Liar,” I scold, feeling naked.
I’m covering Milly’s shift. He would have had no idea I’d be here.
She busies herself making up an order, “I’d wish he’d notice me, but three years—and nothing.” She winks.
I drop my head to sneak a peek over at him. My breath catches when I feel his penetrating gaze burning a hole through me.
Seeing him at the table dressed in a designer suit with perfectly styled hair…he looks like he fell from the pages of a magazine. It’s intoxicating to be in his trajectory.
Joelle pushes a tray in front of me, mouthing, “The king,” before biting down on her lip and cutting her gaze to Luca’s direction. “He likes the bottle placed down and left.” She jerks her head firmly.
My throat dries, and my nipples tighten under my formfitting shirt. I’d gone braless while in a hurry to get dressed and now regretted that mistake.
His very aura makes my heart hammer in my chest. His tense jaw sends a wave of nerves dancing in my blood stream—excitable nerves, exhilaration.
“Sorry for the delay,” I lie, placing the bottle of bourbon on his table and the glass with two ice cubes on a napkin before him.
Turning to leave, he barks out, “Pour.”
The husky, rich tone of his voice incites a nervous giddiness within me.
I should be intimidated.
He’s much older than me, I’d bet his thirties easily, and an air of fear surrounds him, like an invisible fire, keeping most people from even daring to look his way.
Not me, though.
I like the burn.
He has a dominance in his movement. His speech has a way of making you feel inferior to him. And in my fucked up, broken way, I like that too.
His thick lips cause heat to pulse in the lower part of my stomach. My eyes trace down his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
The suit he’s wearing is dark gray tonight and fits to perfection. Strong muscles show through the fabric, summoning the memory of the way the hard planes of his body felt pushed against me.
He’s reading a newspaper like it’s ten years ago despite having two smart phones placed on the table before him. I’m not sure why anyone would need two cell phones.
I pour two fingers worth of the tawny liquid, acutely aware the bottle costs more than my salary, willing my hand not to tremble and spill. “Did you want to eat?” I ask, licking my bottom lip to moisten the sudden dryness.
“Steak.”
His eyes move to mine before dropping to my lips, sending my pulse roaring.
“Rare. I like to see blood on my food.” He closes the paper discarding it on the table.
My lips part, a small puff of air pushing free. His eyes bore into me, loosening every part of my body. He releases me with a jerk of his chin, and I almost lose my footing when I back away to relay his order to our chef.
“You’re blushing,” Joelle gushes, nudging my side. “Did he say something to you?”
Glancing a quick look over my shoulder. I feel the room close in around me when I find his eyes still fixated on me, stripping me bare. I feel my pulse everywhere.
“No, just the usual.” I jerk a shoulder trying not to show how affected I am by him.
“That man,” she sighs, fanning herself.
“What man?” Simon asks, pulling open the fridge behind Joelle and taking out a tonic water. I advert my gaze, jotting down a scribble on my pad.
Smirking, Joelle croons, “That one.” Flitting her eyes in Mr. Leto’s direction.
Rolling his eyes, Simon scoffs, “You know the devil had a pretty face too, right?”
The devil, is that who he is?
Joelle’s glorious laugh brings a smile to my lips, “Don't worry, Si, we think you’re cute too.” She turns to me winking.
“Gee thanks.” He snorts, going back to his customer.
My gaze finds its way back to him.
Mr. Leto.
That man.
That devil.
I sense the moment Marcello enters. The way the atmosphere shifts and all eyes track his every move.
Dressed beautifully in a light suit, mirrored shades hiding his eyes, his towering height descends on the bar.
My pulse jumps in my neck when he smirks in my direction, skimming past me with a hand on my back while murmuring, “Bring me a glass, Preziosa.”
Every inch of my body is aware of the powerful men in my vicinity.
Taking a glass to the table, I place it down in front of Marcello, highly aware of Mr. Leto’s gaze on me.
He’s paying me more interest today than he has before, and it makes me a little on edge.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Marcello, meaning to ask if he’s staying for food. My brain isn’t working around them today.
The corner of his lips twitch as he devours me. “Ravenous,” he quips, his eyes dropping to my chest blatantly. My breath hitches, then accelerates.
“He will have the same as me,” Mr. Leto barks, drawing my attention to him. His eyes have darkened, narrowing on me.
“Yes, sir,” I say in a mocking tone. I turn to leave, hearing Marcello say, “She’s quite something.” My heart blooms.
“She’s a child,” Leto scoffs, dousing me in humiliation.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks as anger tears through my body. Was I a child when he was rubbing his cock into my back?
I linger near a table close by, pretending to wipe it down.
“Her body says otherwise.”
“The body is pointless if the mind can’t handle the things you do to it.”
My heartbeat skyrockets. What the hell does that mean?
I take off to place the order for Marcello’s steak before running to the restroom to splash my face with some cold water, needing to get a hold of myself.
“You’re fine, he’s an asshole we knew this.” I tell myself patting dry my face.
Busying myself with other tables I try not to think about what Mr. Leto said but it’s like a virus in my brain infecting every thought, I can’t focus.
Joelle calls me over for Mr. Leto and Marcello’s order. I think about sneezing in Luca’s before delivering it but rein in the petty bitch inside me.
Taking an even breath, I still my nerves and rapid heart rate walking to where they’re sitting, and placing their food down in front of them.
“Anything else I can get for you?” I ask, looking directly at Marcello, forcing a cool smile deliberately dismissing Mr. Leto.
“We’re good,” he grunts anyway, his tone a clear warning for me to leave them alone.
“Actually, my glass needs refilled.” Marcello smirks a wicked look, dazzling his eyes.
Picking up the bottle, I pour a small amount in the glass and hover it near Luca’s glass.
He twitches his head slightly, giving me permission.
Moving the bottle over his lap, I spill a drop on his crotch, making him startle.
“Oops, so sorry. Must be my childlike hands.” I grin, placing the bottle down and walking away.
Chapter Nineteen
Luca
My crotch is damp. Marcello’s roar of a laughter draws all eyes to our section. I’m going to kill that ballerina.
Getting to my feet, I march through the bar. Gripping her under the arm, to the shock of the barmaid, I drag her to my office, she doesn’t fight it, complying like a good little princess, all the while knowing she’s anything but.
I slam the door behind us.
“Do you have a death wish?” I scorn, angry and turned on all in the same damn breath.
Her face is breathtaking. No makeup, naked, and still the best-looking girl in any room.
Her chest heaves, her nipples poking through her shirt. Is she not wearing a bra?
“Look at this mess. I have a meeting after I leave here,” I fume, gesturing to the wet patch she made.
She lifts her shoulder. “I can blow on it for you.” Her brow quirks, those fat lips offering a knowing smirk.
I want to strip her naked and fuck the life from her over my desk, make her scream so everyone can hear her come undone beneath me.
“You do realize I’m your boss, right? Your disobedience won’t be tolerated,” I growl.
A light giggle of disbelief filters through the air daggering me in the chest, “Tell my boss grinding himself on employees is sexual harassment, so don’t tell me what will and won’t be tolerated.”
My legs close the space between us before I realize I’ve even moved.
Once again, I pin her against a wall, pushing my body against hers. “Are you making threats, little ballerina?” I breathe down on her, and she matches me glare for glare.
She’s exceptional. I want to keep her, but I can’t. Someone killed Serena because of her link to me. I need to stay away. But then she licks her bottom lip, and my cock pushes against the zipper of my slacks, desperate to be slapped against her ass.
Her breathing accelerates, making her shirt gape, offering a view of the swell of her tits.
“Like making wet patches, do you?” I taunt. “I bet your panties are soaked.”
Her lashes flutter, “Not that people can see. Yours looks like you can’t hold your bladder,” she mocks. “Is it an age thing?”
“You’re angry about my comment,” I smirk, pushing further into her. “Yet acted very childlike with your response,” I inform her.
“What do you want from me?” She squints her eyes, and I want to say everything.
“I think it’s you who wants something.” I raise a brow, dropping my eyes to her nipples pushing against the white fabric of her blouse.
“Then give it to me,” she dares, and damn her, I drop a knee and suck her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, flicking my tongue over the small bud, coating her shirt in saliva.
Her hands grab at my hair, a whimper coming from her lips.
I pull away, standing, leering at the wet spot allowing me a clear view of her sexy rosebud nipple.
“Now we’re even,” I state. “Get out.”
When I make it back through to the bar, Alyssa has changed her shirt and is busying herself serving customers. I track her movements for a few seconds, then go back to the table.
