15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Daniella

“This way,” Carla says and I smile at her with gratitude. But alas, the universe decides that I haven’t exhausted my daily quota for awkward encounters.

We are walking down a long winding corridor when a stunning man appears from nowhere. It literally feels like he came from nowhere because I’m talking to Carla and the next thing I know, he’s in front of me.

“Jesus!” I clutch my chest and stumble back from the shock of his presence.

“H-hi. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me in a very unnerving way that makes me feel like he is seeing into my soul and knows all my secrets.

“I’m Daniella.”

Silence with this man is dangerous. I feel the need to fill it with words, anything to stop him from looking at me the way he is. I get the impression that he can wield silence like a weapon when he wants to. The fact that he is also incredibly beautiful doesn’t help my nerves.

He is tall, towering over me. He has light blonde hair and green eyes, a combination that would usually make a man look pretty and he does look pretty, but deceptively so.

There’s a hardness in his eyes, a stone coldness that speaks of cruelty beyond my wildest imaginations. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley.

Still, he says nothing to me.

“Vincent, hello. The boss is in the upper room,” Carla says, and I’m grateful for the information. So this is Vincent.

Without taking his eyes off me, he responds. “I know.”

Not even a greeting for me an acknowledgment of Carla’s pleasantries. She doesn’t seem fazed by it though, which tells me that she is used to it.

“Come on Daniella, we have a lot of ground to cover.”

I nod, again, grateful for the rescue. Then I have to sidestep him because he doesn’t move, which in and of itself is awkward.

“Is it something in the water they drink?” I ask.

“What?”

“The men here. Why are they so…” I trail off, but Carla seems to understand.

“It’s the Cosa Nostra. It’s poured into their blood at birth.”

I make an “ah” sound, and we keep walking.

Finally, Carla takes me to a small office near the back of the club. The room is modest but functional, with a large wooden desk that dominates the space. The desk is cluttered with papers, financial records and a computer that looks surprisingly modern compared to the rest of the decor.

The walls are lined with shelves filled with binders and ledgers, each meticulously labeled. A small window high on the wall lets in a sliver of natural light, though the room is primarily illuminated by a warm, overhead lamp.

There’s a filing cabinet in the corner, its drawers slightly ajar, revealing more stacks of documents.

The chair behind the desk is ergonomic, designed for long hours of work, and a small plant sits on the windowsill, adding a touch of life to the otherwise utilitarian space.

The atmosphere is quiet over all and slightly detached from the noise and bustle of the club. It provides a calm environment to focus on the complex financial tasks ahead.

“This will be your workspace,” she says, gesturing to a desk cluttered with papers and a computer. “Your main responsibilities will include managing the club’s finances, tracking expenses and ensuring everything is accounted for.”

I nod, taking a deep breath. “Got it.”

She hands me a stack of files. “These are the financial records for the past month. Go through them and make sure everything is in order. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

Settling into the chair, I begin to sort through the documents on the desk. There are financial statements detailing the club’s income, balance sheets and cash flow statements.

Expense reports list detailed records of all expenditures, including purchases, maintenance costs, and utility bills. Revenue reports break down the daily, weekly, and monthly income from bar sales, entrance fees, and VIP services.

As I flip through the papers, my breath catches as I see Jeremy’s name mentioned over and over. It seems like he had been in charge of a bunch of things here.

His name is listed as signing off on a bunch of expenditures. My heart races as I try to find more but…it’s a dead end.

It’s clear that the financial records are well-organized, a testament to whoever handled them before me. Everything is neatly categorized and easy to follow.

However, the sheer volume of transactions is overwhelming and I can’t help but feel a bit daunted by the task ahead.

Despite the orderly presentation, a few entries do catch my eye. Some transactions seem unusually large or vaguely described, making me question their legitimacy.

While the books appear clean on the surface, I have a nagging feeling that there might be more beneath the meticulously kept facade.

I make a mental note to dig deeper into these questionable entries when I have more time.

For now, I focus on familiarizing myself with the system in place, ensuring I understand the flow of money within the club.

There’s a lot to take in, but I’m determined to prove myself and uncover any hidden truths that might be lurking in the shadows of these records.

Hours go by and my legs begin to cramp, so I decide to go on a little break and explore the club by myself. It is still early so there aren’t a lot of patrons yet, just the DJ setting up, lights being changed, decor being shifted around.

No wonder the club is so popular. Every night is a different experience in the club. I can only imagine the hard work that goes into it.

I wave at a few men who are working, at least the ones who don’t have guns strapped to their hips and scowls plastered on their faces, and some of them even wave back. I get a mocktail from the bar and sip it while I walk around.

“Drinking on the job?”

I turn at the sound of his voice, and my heart rate immediately speeds up.

“What? Oh, there’s no alcohol in this, just a shit load of sugar.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with a stoic expression on his face.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I probably shouldn’t say ‘shit’ to my boss.”

He opens his mouth but seems to think better of whatever he’s about to say, and he closes it back.

“How’s the day going?”

I’m tempted to tell him all about it. I want to tell him about meeting Vincent and how unnerving the experience was. I want to tell him how much I learned going over the club’s books, but most of all, I want to tell him that I missed spending time with him today.

Which is crazy, messed up in fact. There’s no reason for me to want to spend time with him. There’s no reason for me to look up each time someone passes the front of my office and hope it’s him.

There's a very distinct possibility that Jeremy is dead because of him. I simply cannot let myself start missing him.

“It’s going okay.”

He nods and then someone calls him away. I look over and see Lorenzo talking to Vincent. Their conversation seems intense and I wonder what they’re discussing.

Lorenzo’s eyes meet mine briefly and there’s a silent exchange between us that sends a shiver down my spine. Memories of our encounter earlier that morning flood my mind—his touch, his kisses, the way he made me feel alive and vulnerable all at once.

I shake the thoughts away, and make myself go back upstairs to my new office.

Carla checks in on me periodically, offering guidance and answering my questions. I still remember the bartender from my first night here and her warning about keeping my mouth shut and not asking questions.

I’m smart enough to know that Carla wouldn’t be the manager of the club if Lorenzo didn’t trust her explicitly. If he trusts her, she probably knows something about the other parts of the business operations. She might have some insights about Jeremy.

But I have to be smart about asking my questions, one wrong move and I’ll be kicked out on my ass, or worse…

“Carla,” I say casually, “Is there a Jeremy Foster working in this club?”

Her expression tightens slightly, but she shrugs. “There was. Why?”

“His name was mentioned a couple of times in the books, but there’s nothing from him again after the fifth of last month. I just thought I should ask.”

Her face is a mask of indifference. I know my face looks about the same.

“Yes, I remember him. Why do you ask?” she presses.

“I just...It seems like he was really involved with the club and I wanted to know more about his role here.”

Carla hesitates, then sighs. “Jeremy was an accountant here, much like you. I’m not sure of the details, but I do know that he no longer works here.”

I swallow hard, the weight of her words settling over me. “Do you know what happened to him?”

She shakes her head. “No, and it’s best not to dwell on it, Daniella. Focus on your work and stay out of trouble.”

I nod, though the questions still swirl in my mind. “Thanks, Carla. I appreciate it.”

I used to think that I could identify a lie from miles away. My “bullshit-o-meter” has always been a source of pride, but after learning about the double life Jeremy had lived while being engaged to me for more than three years? I’m not so sure.

I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know who is lying to me and whether or not I can even trust my own gut.

***

The club is starting to wind down when I finally finish my tasks. Exhausted but excited, I make my way to the bar where Lorenzo is seated, nursing a drink. He looks up as I approach, a mix of curiosity and something deeper in his gaze.

“How was your first day?” he asks, his voice casual.

“Interesting,” I reply, taking a seat next to him. “I learned a lot.”

“Good,” he says, finishing his drink. “Time to go home. Get your purse.”

I ponder asking him why I have to leave now, but then I don’t bother wasting my breath. I go back upstairs and collect my things, then hurry back down to the dance floor.

“Okay,” I say. I look at him with a smile, tilting my head to the side.

“Remember what I said about the real work that needs to be done?” he asks me.

I frown. “I just worked a whole shift upstairs.”

He nods. “Yes, but the work you do here isn’t the only thing I expect of you.”

“Oh?”

He rises to his feet and reaches out to touch my cheek.

“I own you now, we talked about this. It means that you come home with me and you take care of my needs each night. It’s the most important part of the job.”

I have an urge to slap him. How dare he? But I shove the desire away.

“Fine,” I agree. “However, I get to have the weekends to myself. I don’t work for you seven days a week.”

He ponders this for a moment, the silence stretching out between us. “Fine,” he says.

“Good,” I say snippily. I turn my back on him and start walking toward the door. “Let’s go.”

The drive home from the club is quiet, the hum of the engine is the only sound breaking the stillness. As Lorenzo grips the steering wheel, I sit beside him, trying to quell the nervous energy bubbling inside me.

His presence is reassuring, yet the weight of what I’m stepping into hangs heavy in the air. I glance at him, catching him looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.

When we arrive at his apartment building, Lorenzo takes a deep breath before stepping out of the car. He walks around to open my door, his chivalry unexpected but appreciated.

I walk beside Lorenzo with the confidence of someone who belongs here, even though inside, I’m a bundle of nerves. Lorenzo’s gaze lingers on me and I can’t help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. He’s taking a risk by bringing me here, and I intend to prove that I’m worth it.

We ride the elevator up to his apartment and I feel jittery and nervous about what is going to happen next.

I know that he wants me. I can positively feel his attraction filling up the small space. However, the context of everything between us has changed now.

I feel guilty keeping secrets from him at this point and I’m worried that he can tell that I’m not being totally honest with him.

“Welcome home,” he says to me with a small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lets me inside his lush apartment.

I give him a brief smile in return, stepping out of my pumps and sighing with relief. I turn to ask him where he is planning on having me sleep and what I’m supposed to do about clothing, when he grabs my hand and leads me with him to what must be the master bedroom.

I admire the view of the city and the huge, comfortable-looking bed before he tugs me into the walk-in closet.

I gasp when I see hangers full of designer clothes hanging before me. He points silently to the rows of pumps, flats, and sneakers that are arranged below them.

“I noticed that you wear this brand a lot,” he says to me, opening some drawers and showing me that he had purchased workout clothes and loungewear from my favorite company. Their products aren’t cheap, and I’m stunned at the amount of money he must have spent to get all of this for me.

“Last but certainly not least,” he says, his voice low and rough with desire, “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we might both benefit from these items.

I step closer, and my stomach does a dizzy flip-flop when I see the drawer full of silky, lacy, colorful lingerie. I finger the soft, luxurious fabrics and smile to myself a little. Jeremy was sweet to me, but he never treated me like I was powerful and sexy. Maybe this is the primary reason that I’m so attracted to Lorenzo.

“Pick something out and put it on,” Lorenzo whispers in my ear. Goosebumps race down my spine. “I’ll be waiting in the bedroom.

I look over my shoulder as he leaves, then turn back to the drawer full of pretty things. I select a skimpy, simple babydoll, and set it on the shelf.

Shucking my work clothes, I slip the soft, slippery material over my head and then turn to look at myself in the mirror. I look beautiful and I have a glow about me that’s new. I want to question why this man, who is a criminal, and who might have killed the man I loved, has brought this out in me, but I don’t.

I feel wetness gathering at my core and I turn away from the mirror to grab a pair of sky-high heels from the collection on the floor. I slip them on, ignoring the aching protest of my tired feet. The heels make my legs look miles long and my ass perky as hell.

I strut slowly into the bedroom, and I’m greeted by the sight of Lorenzo’s beautiful, muscular back. He’s standing looking out over the city. I admire the sculpted shape of his ass and the delicious muscles that define his shoulders. Desire makes my head swim for a moment and I try to slow my breathing.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I tell him, taking a few more sexy steps into the room.

He turns toward me, and I see desire flare in his dark eyes as he takes in the sight of me. “I got your size right,” he comments, his voice husky. He crosses the room toward me, his erection leading the way. I admire the size of him and I feel a spike of sharp want pierce through me. I know all too well what that huge dick can do to me.

“Bend over,” he says to me in that dark, deep voice.

I look up at him coyly, then turn toward the bed and place my hands on it. I feel the babydoll slither up over my ass, leaving me exposed. The cool air in the room tickles my wet pussy, making it clench with anticipation.

“Already wet for me,” he says with satisfaction. I feel his fingers trail over my back, and then suddenly, his mouth is pressed to my wetness. I cry out at the instant surge of pleasure that races through my veins as his tongue parts my pussy and laps at me. His sensitive fingers come up to tug at my clit, and I arch back into him, desperate for more.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he says with his mouth against my most intimate flesh. I mindlessly obey, pleasure curling through me and making my legs shake.

He reaches out and grabs my wrists in his large hand, imprisoning them there, then pushes my face down into the bed. I turn my head so that I can breathe, panting with anticipation.

I feel the velvety head of his dick part my lips and I moan as I lift my hips back toward him. The strain of the position I’m in arcs along my back and in my thighs, but I love how trapped I feel, how inevitable his possession is going to be.

“Scream as loud as you want, Tesoro ,” he tells me before impaling me in one swift thrust.

As always, the pain and the pleasure mix within me as he pounds into me. I wonder if my body will ever truly adjust to his size, if I will ever be able to take him all at once without this tearing and claiming sensation.

My face is pressed against the bed so hard that my neck kinks, and my arms cry out to be released. I try to ease the pressure on my arms, and he releases them, but snags a hold of my hair, yanking my head back as he rams into me.

I’m gasping, my breasts bobbing forward with each hard thrust, and I hear myself keening his name over and over, the pleasure so intense that it’s like a living thing within me.

“This pussy,” he pants, tugging my head back even further. “It makes me want to tear you apart, to claim you so that no one else can have you,” he says roughly to me.

“It’s yours,” I moan out. “It’s all yours.”

He makes a rough sound in his throat and then releases my hair. He pulls out of me abruptly and I whimper a little at the disruption. I was so close to my release.

“Come here,” he orders me as he sits on the edge of the bed.

I eye him for a moment, taking in the sight of him breathing hard, his huge cock twitching, desperate for me, and I grin. To reduce this man to this. It makes me feel like a superhero.

I step out of the tall heels and kneel on the bed, my pussy hovering above his dick. I can feel the head tickling against me, but I just look down at him for a moment, enjoying seeing the languorous pleasure in his face. I bend forward and kiss him, tangling my tongue with his. He moans and lifts his hand to cup the back of my head.

I keep kissing him as I sink onto his cock, filling myself one delicious inch at a time. I start rocking slowly back and forth, the pressure against my clit making sharp jolts of pleasure race along my spine. He starts thrusting again, but gently this time, murmuring my name against my breasts.

The sweetness of the way he’s holding me is my undoing, and I come abruptly, shouting his name as the waves of pleasure make my legs shake.

Lorenzo grabs my waist to keep me from tumbling off the bed and follows me over the edge. I feel the heat of his release within me, mingling with the mess I made when I came all over his thighs and the bed. I clutch at his shoulders, panting.

I can feel his lips press against each of my breasts before he leans back a little. I look down at him, then at the bed and the floor.

“I made another mess,” I say, and we both laugh. The companionship between us feels familiar and welcome to me now, even though a corner of my mind says that this should concern me.

“Let’s take a shower,” he says to me, lifting me off of him.

“Thank you for the clothes,” I say sincerely to him.

“Thank you for the sex,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to my lips and then tugging me by the hand into the bathroom.