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He now seems nervous about asking. I’m not one to indulge in personal questions with my staff unless it suits me.
“I’m afraid just a quiet evening in tonight,” I say with a charismatic smile. A slight red flushes his cheeks, and he leaves.
By quiet evening in, I meant I have a certain nightclub to stake out. I’m positioned across from Balmere club and I’m parked on the corner. Far enough out of sight, but close enough for my lens to zoom in when necessary. Tonight, I opted for a short caramel wig and some glasses. I added some prosthetic makeup, like I often do, to adjust my facial features. When my father had hired four women to teach me how to use makeup to cover up my scar, he hadn’t realized my interest was in how it could mask me in a completely different way.
Like clockwork, Luca’s most lucrative business partners meet him at eleven every Friday night. When he’s not in town, his second in command, Ivan, handles the dealings on his behalf. That’s how tonight should’ve and would’ve gone down—had Luca remained on his course back to Italy.
The club itself is exclusive. A fantasy of desires where only few make it in. But like any club there is always a hopeful line-up outside. Most of them will never be allowed in, but they line around the corner anyway, hoping it might be their lucky night. Because what’s more tempting than the unknown and what is rumored to be the greatest night of one’s life?
Right on cue, a woman in a long red dress steps out of a car. I recognize her immediately and take a quick snap. I don’t need the photo to identify her, but it may come in handy one day as evidence or blackmail. I’m not a good person but an opportunist. Camille Blanchet stands out like a beacon. I recall her and Luca briefly speaking at her sister’s art gallery only nights before. It was the same night Luca broke into my apartment and exposed my secret world.
So what does the daughter of Darius Blanchet require from the likes of Luca? Or is it perhaps a more personal occasion? The two seem well suited together. I scoff. Luca has numerous lovers but none are a romantic relationship. Some are high profile, some not. Is Camille another notch in the belt? She is beautiful after all.
She’s permitted to enter immediately, which is a dead giveaway she has an appointment. It’s not unusual to recognize some of the members Luca deals with. I’m intrigued by some more than others. I wonder what they might need and the propositions they present.
A knock on my window has me jumping out of my skin. A security guard built wider than my door is peering in through the passenger side window. Fuck. I half hide the camera. That’s when I realize he must’ve walked around the block and come at me from the back instead of the front knowing where my attention would be. Have I become sloppy?
He speaks through the window ever so quietly, but I can lip read just fine. I sigh. Fuck.
“Mr. Armani would like to have a moment of your time inside.”
7
LUCA
Idon’t know whether I should be impressed by my little stalkers tenacity still showing up outside one of my clubs or infuriated. My men have pieced together her movements, I’ve realized her routines were like clockwork leading up to six months ago when she first moved to New York.
I’ve seen many men consumed by addictions and obsessions, but my little stalker is out of her depth. She showed up every Friday night because that’s when I make most of my business deals. Or if I was in Italy, then Ivan would do it on my behalf. She’s clued into my illicit dealings, so how long might it be until someone else does too? I’ve killed many before for sticking their nose where it didn’t belong. It’ll most likely be the same outcome for this little snake.
“Do you want us to bring her in boss?” Lorenzo, the head of my security, asks. He’s always with me and has full disclosure of most of my activities.
“Yes. Rough her up a little. Not too rough though, I’ll deal with her myself.”
She just can’t help it. From the way she runs outside my mansion every day to the minor details of being at every legal event I’ve attended for the last six months. Arabella Barone has a sick obsession with a death wish. So why haven’t I snuffed it out already? Simply because I don’t want too…yet.
There’s something about the little viper that intrigues me. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet but I am certain I’ll discover the reason behind it soon.
“Now where were we?” I ask Camille. She seems out of place here. Not in the way she appears because all kinds of beautiful and wealthy creatures lie here. But in the way of her desperation. I light my cigar and inhale.
She looks around the main room that hosts a handful of poker tables. Naked women and men dance in highlighted tubes and can be purchased by anyone for the night depending on the highest bidder. We’re in a private booth that looks over the controlled chaos. I take a sip of my whisky. Now that I know a certain little stalker is being dragged into my office, I want this conversation to be over. Fast.
Camille swallows, but her gaze has been glued to Samantha, one of our highest paid exotic dancers. She wears nothing but a blue mask and blue beads around her neck. The rest of the goods are on display and for sale.
“She’s beautiful,” Camille says admirably. It’s not missed. The desire. The want and the need to touch.
“If all you came to do was partake in the ambiance then I shall leave you to exactly that,” I say and go to stand.
“Wait! No!” She outstretches her hand but flinches under my cutting glare and is quick to recoil. She’s lucky she didn’t touch me. I don’t take well to being touched; some people have even lost their hands for it and depending on my mood—their lives. She swallows hard. “My father has started compiling a list of appropriate candidates for my marriage.”
“Surely you did not come to me with something as boring as your marital status,” I grit out.
Despite herself, she keeps her composure. “I come with a proposal. If you might be so willing, a marital agreement between us.” I scoff but she continues. “Or I give you the name of the man my father intends to marry me off to.”
Now, I try to hide the smile. How often those who are within the social circles I grace find themselves drawn to me. Drawn to the dirty work they themselves are not willing to do.
“Whatever do you mean?” I ask before I take a swig of whisky. That’s when I see her. Ara cursing the security guards who bring her in. She’s not causing a commotion. Probably because she doesn’t want to draw more attention to herself. I hide the smile as I admire the sloppy clothes, short wig, and contacts. Her face even looks slightly different from when I saw her last. Makeup, perhaps? Interesting. I wonder how many aliases she goes by. Bright blue eyes lock on me, and I’m equally impressed she sought me out in the dimly lit space. From this angle I most likely look like the predator lurking in the dark. Although I requested for them to take her directly to my office, I still feel like my property is being taken away.
I need to wrap this up because my next meeting has arrived.
