Chapter 8

Lea’s POV

"Ugh! Today is so stressful," I said, my gaze fixed on the crowd.

The coffee shop shift was long, but the bar shift was longer. The air was thick with smoke and cheap perfume, as the music filled the room, adding to the stress.

I carried a heavy tray of empty glasses back to the bar, as I dropped it while looking at my red hands.

I needed the money, I always needed the money. I was an orphan and for me, it means my life was work.

"New customers, Lea take it!" My manager said, as he pointed to a table in the corner.

My gaze drifted to the direction, it was a man with two women. "Gosh! I hope this customer is nice," my voice was low but steady, as I walked towards them.

"What can I get you?" I said, putting on my flat, professional smile.

And then, his blue almond eyes met mine. The man was leaning back in his chair, utterly relaxed, like he owned not just the table but the entire room.

His hair was dark and perfectly messy in a way that looked expensive, and dangerous. He had a sharp jaw covered with just the right amount of stubble, his lips were thin and pink, complementing his looks.

He wore a black shirt which was open at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat and a hint of his chest, as a tiny silver chain glinted against his skin. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms corded with muscle. He had the look of old money and new sin.

"He's definitely a playboy, but a beautiful one," I thought, my gaze fixed on him, my cheeks flushed.

But I quickly drifted my gaze to the two women. They were blondes, practically identical, and wore very small dresses that left nothing to the imagination, as they draped themselves over him like accessories.

"Babe, order us something," their voices were soft purrs as they touched his arms, his chest, giggling like this was a foreplay.

His gaze was slow and deliberate, as it moved from my face down to my body, taking in every inch of my plain black bar uniform.

The way he looked at me felt physical, like his hands were already on me.

"Beautiful," he said as he whistled, a low appreciative sound that made heat pool in my stomach against my will.

"I want you," he said, his voice a dangerous rumble, cutting through the music. His eyes never left mine, as the intensity in them made my breathing rapid.

"Xavier baby, you have us," the two blondes pouted, as one touched his chest, the other his thigh.

He didn't even glance at them, his eyes stayed locked on mine.

"Xavier?" The name sounded familiar but who cares, I thought, forcing myself to stay professional.

"I meant for drinks. What do you guys want to drink," my voice was flat, my gaze fixed on him even as my heart rate picked up.

"I said what I want," a sinful smirk played on his lips, slow and devastating. "And I'm looking right at her."

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I hated that he could see it. "Then you're out of luck," I looked at the blondes, breaking his gaze with effort. "Ladies? A drink?"

They ordered expensive champagne which I wrote down, ready to leave and get away from those piercing blue eyes, but his hand shot out, as he grabbed my wrist firmly. His touch was warm, possessive, sending electricity up my arm. "We're not done."

"Yes, we are," I tried to pull my arm away, but his grip was strong.

He stood up in one fluid motion, his body towering over me. He was tall and the way he moved was predatory, graceful.

He pulled me close, his chest almost brushing mine, as he guided me away from the table, toward a dark corner near the restrooms.

"Let go," I hissed, trying to tug free.

He said nothing, just kept walking with absolute confidence, pulling me along like it was already decided.

When we reached the shadows, he turned me and pushed me gently but firmly against the wall, his body boxing me in, one hand still on my wrist, the other pressed against the wall beside my head.

He was close, so close I could feel the heat radiating from him. He smelled like whiskey and expensive cologne that made my head spin.

"Get off me," I said, my voice was cold, but wavered.

"You talk too much," his voice was low and sexy. His free hand reached up to touch my face, his fingers trailing along my jaw with maddening slowness.

"Is two girls not enough for you? Find another toy," my voice was loud, as I slapped his hand away from my face, my palm stinging from the contact.

His amusement faded, as his blue eyes darkene. "Do you know who I am?" His voice was deep, commanding.

"I don't care!" My voice sharp and steady.

"Let me fill you in," he leaned closer, his lips near my ear, his breath was hot against my skin, sending unwanted shivers down my spine.

"I'm Xavier Aubert."

The name hit me this time like a punch to the gut. Everyone in this city who worked in dark places knew that name.

Xavier Aubert. The billionaire playboy and dangerous Mafia don. Theo Gaspard's best friend, a man who owned streets and judges.

My eyes widened, as my breathing became rapid and shallow. He saw my recognition, as a slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.

"Xavier the mafia don," he said, his lips still close to my ear. "You've heard of me, haven't you, beautiful?"

"So what?" I whispered, refusing to appear weak even as my heart hammered against my ribs.

"So," his hand moved to my waist, his fingers spreading possessively across my hip, "I can do whatever I want." He said it simply, a statement of fact. "In this bar, in this city, and…with you."

His thumb stroked small circles on my hip through the fabric, and I hated how heat pooled low in my belly.

"Shut up. You can't do anything to me, you fucking pissed gigolo. A playboy with too much money and too little sense. Now, go back to your bimbos."

His smile vanished instantly, as his face went cold and hard. In a flash, he grabbed my jaw with one hand, his fingers pressed into my skin firmly, forcing my face up to look at him.

"Don't call me that." His voice was quiet, deadly, full of threat that made my blood run cold and hot at the same time.

I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened just enough to keep me still.

"You think your words hurt me?" He said, as he leaned in even closer, our faces inches apart.

"You're a server in a bad bar, and I own the man who owns this bar. I could break you with a phone call, I could have you on your knees begging in seconds."

The way he said "on your knees" made my stomach flip, the words dripping with dark promise.

"Then do it," I spat the words, refusing to back down even as my body trembled. "Call! Have me fired. It won't change what you are."

"You're interesting," he said, his thumb stroking my cheek almost tenderly, the gesture at odds with his grip on my jaw. "Most people beg when they know my name. They offer me anything I want."

"I'm not most people," my voice was steady despite the fact that I could barely breathe with him this close.

"No," his hand moved from my jaw down to my throat, wrapping around it with deliberate slowness.

He didn't squeeze, just held me there, his thumb finding my racing pulse. A dark smirk played on his lips as he felt how fast my heart was beating. "You aren't. What's your name?"

"None of your business,” his hand tightened slightly on my throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he could.

"I could find out. I could know everything about you by morning. Where you live, where you sleep, what you look like when you wake up."

The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it sent a forbidden thrill through my body.

"Then why ask?" I managed to say, my voice coming out breathier than I intended.

"Because I want to hear you say it," his face moved closer, his lips hovering just above mine. "I want to hear it from these pretty lips."

We stayed like that, frozen, his hand on my throat, our mouths so close I could almost taste the whiskey on his breath. The air between us crackled with tension, thick and electric.

But he released my throat slowly, his fingers trailing down over my collarbone before he stepped back just enough to give me space. The sudden loss of his heat left me cold and aching in ways I didn't want to acknowledge.

"I will come back for you, beautiful," his voice was certain, absolute.

“Don't bother,” I said, as I rubbed my throat where his hands had been.

"Oh, I will," he straightened his shirt calmly, rolling his shoulders like a predator stretching. Like he was in complete control while I was falling apart.

"And I won't let you go the next time. Next time, you'll tell me your name. You'll tell me everything I want to know."

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle. "You feel it too," he whispered, his eyes searching mine. "This thing between us. You can fight it all you want, beautiful, but it won't change the fact that you're already mine."

"I'm not…"

"You are," he cut me off, his voice dropping to that dangerous rumble again. "You just don't know it yet."

He turned, as he walked back to his table with the confident stride of a man who'd never been denied anything in his life. He said something to the blondes, as they laughed.

I stood against the wall, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my chest. My face burned where he'd touched me. My throat still felt the ghost of his hand. My body was betraying me, still humming with unwanted desire.

Xavier Aubert,” I whispered, looking at the crowd. He knew my face, he said he would come back.

I walked back to the bar, my hands shaking as I poured the champagne for his table, giving the bottle to another server. "Take it. I can't."

I went to the small staff room, as I sat on a broken chair.

My life was already a mess. Mirabelle was gone, I knew she was lying to me. Now this, a mafia don in a bar.

“I had to go back out there. I had to finish my shift,” I said, as I stood up, my legs weak.

I walked back onto the floor, as my gaze drifted to his table, but he was gone. The blondes were gone, the table was empty. Just empty glasses and a large tip.

He was gone, but would he come back?