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)
A particularly jagged piece of crystal sliced deeper into my palm as I grabbed it. I hissed in pain but didn't stop. The blood mixed with the spilled whiskey, turning it a sickening shade of pink.
"Please," I whispered, more to myself than to Dario, who remained motionless above me. "Please, I'll do anything."
I was vaguely aware of the watching crowd, of whispers starting to spread like ripples across the club. I imagined what they saw. Likely seeing me a pathetic girl on her knees, literally bleeding for her mistake, begging the notorious Dario Luca for mercy. The humiliation burned hotter than the cuts on my hands.
In the two weeks I'd worked at The Gray, I'd seen Dario from a distance several times. He moved through the club like a shark through dark water, everyone yielding in his path. I'd heard the staff whisper about him. Rumor had it he was coldly efficient with unflinching standards. How people who displeased him simply disappeared from The Gray, never to be mentioned again. Grant it, that last part was more fantasy than reality — I hoped — but as I saw his shoes beside me, splashed in a couple hundred dollars worth of rare scotch, I would well imagine he could make one little mousy, daydreaming, klutz disappear. Especially since I’d probably ruined his shoes, and definitely wasted what was a small fortune in alcohol.
I reached for another shard, larger than the others. My blood-slicked fingers slipped against the smooth crystal, sending it skittering across the floor. A sob of frustration caught in my throat.
"I'm sorry," I said again, the words a broken record. "Mr. Luca, I'm so sorry." I barely registered the pain to my fingers, too consumed by the catastrophe unfolding around me. The crowd's whispers grew louder, the weight of their stares heavier. Any second now, Dario would call security. I'd be escorted out, unemployed again, maybe even charged for the damage. I kept my eyes down, focused on gathering the scattered pieces, as if somehow collecting every shard might salvage my job.
"Christ, would you stop?" A voice cut through my panic, low and controlled but with an unexpected gentleness that made me freeze.
I heard the soft rustle of expensive fabric, as Dario Luca — the Dario Luca — knelt beside me on the wet marble floor. His tailored suit pants made contact with the spilled whiskey, the liquid immediately seeping into what I knew must be a very expensive garment. So, add it to my tab, I guess. I stared at him, uncomprehending. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Why wasn't he yelling? Why wasn't he firing me on the spot?
"Leave it," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it during my few glimpses of him around the club. "You've already cut yourself." He glanced at my already bleeding hands, his brows drawing together slightly.
I couldn't process his words, couldn't reconcile this moment with everything I'd heard about him. My panic had a momentum of its own, driving my hands to continue gathering shards even as my brain struggled to catch up. I reached for a particularly large piece of crystal, its edge glinting dangerously in the amber light.
"I said leave it." This time his words had more force behind them, though still not angry. Before I could react, Dario reached out, his hand moving to stop mine. Our fingers collided over the broken shard. The contact sent an electric current shooting up my arm, across my chest, settling somewhere low in my stomach. I gasped softly, the sound barely audible even to my own ears. His hand was warm, solid, the skin surprisingly calloused for someone who spent his days at a desk. Of course, what did I really know about the man? He might be a hands-on kind of guy.
Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as our hands remained frozen together over the broken glass. I finally dared to look up. Dario's gaze, those piercing blue eyes I'd been trying to avoid, locked with mine. They weren't cold as I'd expected, not at the moment. Something flickered in their depths, something that made my breath catch and my pulse stutter. I couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't think beyond the point where his skin touched mine.
The club around us faded to background noise. Dario’s gaze held questions I couldn't understand. The slight furrow between his brows deepened as he studied my face with an intensity that should have frightened me but instead made heat bloom in my cheeks. "You're bleeding," he said, his voice dropping even lower, meant for my ears alone.
I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close we were, of how many people were watching this strange tableau. "It's nothing," I managed, my own voice barely above a whisper.