Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
His thumb moved almost imperceptibly against my wrist, just the slightest pressure, but it sent another jolt through my system. I watched his pupils dilate slightly, wondering if he'd felt it too. From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement at the edge of the gathered crowd. A tall man with a striking resemblance to Dario watched us with open curiosity, one eyebrow raised in what might have been surprise. I recognized him vaguely from staff briefings. Vittorio Luca, Dario's brother and right-hand man had an intensity to his stare that made me even more conscious of how strange this moment must look to outsiders. I had serious doubts Dario Luca ever knelt in spilled whiskey.
The spell broke with the sound of hurried footsteps. A server, Elena, I thought her name was, rushed over with a dustpan and several towels. "Mr. Luca, let me take care of this," she said, her voice professional but tight with tension.
Dario didn't move immediately. His eyes held mine for another breathless moment before he finally released my hand and rose to his feet in one fluid motion. I felt the loss of his touch like a physical thing, my skin suddenly cold where his had been warm.
I scrambled up awkwardly, my wet uniform clinging uncomfortably to my knees. Blood from my cut hands had smeared in places on my hands and arms. I must have looked like a complete disaster, standing there trembling in front of him.
"I'm—I'm so sorry," I stammered again, unable to think of anything else to say as I lowered my gaze. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "About your suit. Your shoes. Everything."
Dario glanced down at his ruined clothing as if noticing it for the first time. His expression remained unreadable, but something about the set of his shoulders seemed less rigid than before. "It's just fabric," he said finally. His gaze returned to mine, searching for something I couldn't identify. "Go get those cuts taken care of." Though his voice was soft, kind even, I’d hadn’t been issued a suggestion. Even in this strange moment, his words carried the unmistakable weight of command. I nodded quickly, backing away from him, from the mess, from the crowd that still watched us with undisguised interest.
"Yes, sir.” The words came automatically but the delivery didn’t make them any less earnest. I turned and hurried toward the service area, weaving between tables with far less grace than I'd shown earlier.
The weight of his gaze followed me. I didn't turn around. Didn't need to. I felt that stare between my shoulder blades, intense and unwavering as I retreated. My skin tingled with awareness, my body somehow attuned to his attention in a way I'd never experienced before.
I pushed through the swinging doors into the service corridor and immediately leaned against the wall, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. What had just happened out there? Why had Dario Luca, a man known for his coldness, his ruthlessness, knelt beside me on a wet floor? Why had he looked at me like I was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve? And why, despite the disaster, despite my near, certain termination, despite everything, why did my body still hum with electricity where his fingers had touched mine?
I looked down at my shaking, bleeding hands and wondered if I'd imagined the whole thing, if the shock of the moment had somehow distorted my perception. But the memory of his blue eyes, of the unexpected gentleness in his voice, felt more real than anything else in the chaos of the evening.
I pushed myself away from the wall. Whatever had just happened, I still had a job. For now. Or, at least, I hadn’t been fired yet. I was taking the win until the score was overturned after review. Or something like that. Right now, though, I needed to clean up, bandage my hands, get back out there before anyone decided I was shirking my duties. But as I made my way to the employee restroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted, that the world I'd been navigating for the past two weeks had subtly but irrevocably changed.
Chapter Four
Dario
I sat in stony silence at our family's private table, drumming an impatient rhythm against the polished surface with my fingertips. Vittorio lounged across from me, his relaxed posture at odds with the calculating look in his eyes. The exclusive section of The Gray offered us privacy from prying eyes, but not from each other. My brother knew me too well, had already noticed something was off. My mind kept returning to those delicate hands trembling as they gathered broken crystal, to green eyes swimming with tears, to the jolt I felt when our fingers touched.
"You're distracted," Vittorio observed, his voice casual but his gaze sharp. He swirled amber liquid in his glass, the same whiskey that now stained my pant legs. "Something on your mind, brother?"