Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
On the other side of the glass, a light goes on, and seductive music slides through my body.
A girl appears, and she’s dressed in a lingerie set that looks expensive. And sexy. So sexy.
She starts to dance, and she’s mesmerizing. Long legs. Beautiful blonde hair. A body I could only dream about. And you can see she’s enjoying what she does as she gets lost in the music, moving her body.
I turn to watch Massimo, but he’s making notes on his phone, occasionally lifting his eyes to watch the dancer. It suddenly occurs to me that this isn’t sexual for him. Oh, I’m sure he appreciates it. Who wouldn’t appreciate a beautiful woman dancing to a sexy song in front of them? But she doesn’t interest him, other than she wants to work for him.
I relax, no longer feeling as if I’m out of my depth.
This is a job interview.
I sit back in my seat and sip my champagne.
When it’s over, and the girl disappears, I turn to Massimo. “She was really good.”
“She was.”
“Did she get the job?”
“She did.”
I drain my glass, and like a gentleman, he refills it with more Cristal.
He puts down his phone and gives me his full attention. “So what do you think of the peep room?”
I look around the dimly lit room. It’s comfortable. Well appointed. Lux but comfortable. Immaculately clean.
After all, people indulge in their wildest fantasies in this room.
“I like it. I can see why The City magazine calls it ‘exquisite and delectable’ and The Online Chaser describes it as ‘the club to blow your senses, no pun intended’.”
He laughs, and I really like the sound of it. “You googled Lair?”
“I wanted to know what I was getting myself into today.”
His smile slowly fades. “I hope it didn’t disappoint.”
“Not at all.”
The temperature in the room has increased. Or perhaps it’s the champagne. Or maybe it’s the way Massimo is looking at me. Those dark eyes, as black as midnight. It feels like they have their own source of molten heat as they fix on me.
The air seems to spark. Goosebumps pebble my skin. All because of the way he’s looking at me.
I have to clear my throat.
“Do you come to a show regularly?” I ask.
“I used to indulge. But that has changed since Nico passed away and I gained new responsibilities.”
His face shows no emotion when he mentions his brother.
“Currently, I only vet the performers, but eventually, I will give that responsibility to Eve as I’m pulled further away from the club.”
“I’m sorry about Nico,” I say. “When I heard the news I thought about you.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
I put down my glass. I think the champagne has gone to my head.
His eyes dart to mine. “You did?”
“Of course. He was your brother, and you were close. It hurt to know you’d be hurting.”
Something flickers in Massimo’s eyes. Surprise. Maybe gratitude. I don’t know, because he doesn’t say anything.
“For a while, I thought he faked his own death,” I say, unable to stop myself, because yep, the champagne has gone to my head and invaded my vocal cords. “I mean, it seemed so unreal that he survived all those years as a don, only to get shot by an ex-lover. But then I remembered the world we live in and how predictably unpredictable it is.”
I play with the stem of my champagne glass, remembering the day I learned he’d died. My friends had just dumped me and I hadn’t left my bed for days. The news came on the TV, and I sat up so quickly my bowl of popcorn tipped over and scattered across the bed. Don Nico De Kysa had been shot dead by an ex-lover.
“I would’ve thought you felt his death was some kind of retribution,” Massimo says, his voice sharp but not cold.
“Me too,” I say honestly. Because this champagne is an apparent truth serum. “Truth be told, I kind of wished he did fake it.”
Massimo turns fully toward me. “Why would you wish that after he killed your father? I thought you would blame him for everything that followed your father’s death.”
“No, I blame the fallout on the people who did those shitty things to me. Tony and his sons. Harrison. My supposed friends. They didn’t do that because my father was dead. They did those things because they’re assholes.” My throat is dry, so I take another sip of champagne, which, given my loose tongue, is probably a bad idea. “My father was a bad man, Massimo. I learned a lot of things about him in the weeks following his death. But he was my father, and I loved him, and in his own way he loved me too. But he woke the devil when he kidnapped Bella De Kysa, and I know if someone kidnapped the person I loved, it would awaken the devil in me too.”