Daredevil

It would have been wise not to stare at him. Only someone with a death wish would look directly into those black eyes. I knew that much, and yet I couldn't look away.

His dark hair resembled an unruly mass of silk, and my fingers suddenly itched to dive in and savor the feel of it. His face was a compilation of perfectly carved lines, sharp, symmetric, captivating. His full lips had been made for sin, and my mind eagerly sent me more than a few ideas on how they might be used…

My stubborn eyes fell lower, where the final lines of his tattoo swirled on his neck. His black shirt covered most of the pattern, but my imagination was already working on forming the entire picture. God, this was reckless. I should have minimized my contact with him, not fucking provoked him! But my eyes continued to roam until I saw one side of his lips curl up into a smug smirk. Fuck.

Dragging my gaze away from him, I finally turned on my professional mode, dutifully reciting the best options on the menu. My gaze flickered between the two men, but I concentrated on Mr. Abramo. At least his gray eyes didn't seem to devour me. He listened and smiled, nodding at the options he found interesting.

The predator remained silent… which only made my anxiety grow. I was dreadfully aware of his eyes on me. I didn't miss the way his head slightly tilted, as if he assessed where he should sink his teeth into first. My insides twisted, but I focused on talking about the best wines to complement the dishes. It was the only thing saving me from having a panic attack right in front of them.

“Nicole…” the predator drawled the name, reading it from the tag on my uniform. “That's not your real name, is it?”

My lips parted, but no words came out. Should I try to lie, he would know. I was too nervous to hide anything. But telling the truth might only turn out even worse. Finally, I went with, “Why would you say that, sir?”

Mr. Abramo chuckled. “Give her a break, Grey.”

The predator leaned back in his seat, and my stupid eyes dropped to his unbuttoned collar, following the intricate swirl of ink. Shit. Someone should have slapped me for staring again.

“I'm merely curious, and the name somehow doesn't suit you,” the predator—Grey—crooned, making my gaze snap back to his face. A wicked smile curved his sinful lips. “The name is one thing, though. The wig… is quite an interesting choice, too.”

My stomach dropped to my knees. God, he was suspecting something, wasn't he? Emidio Abramo was a member of the Mafia, so maybe this Grey was, too. Perhaps he knew Ardian; he knew Ardian was looking for me. I was royally screwed if that was the case. Suddenly, my breath became shallow, the high-pitched tone filled my ears, and my heart began to hit against my ribs like a wild animal.

“For fuck's sake, Grey… Can we just order food? I'm seriously starving here!” Mr. Abramo's grumbling wasn't enough to ease the tension within me. Not when Grey's eyes were still on me. “Grey—”

He lifted his hand, and Abramo sealed his mouth shut. A smirk danced on his lips as he leaned toward me. “I'd like to hear more about it.” He gestured at my wig. “Indulge me.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “I… like changes,” I managed, struggling to keep my voice even. “But I still haven't decided what I will go with.”

Grey breathed out a laugh. “Blond, if I may suggest. Not too bright, though.”

My heart might have stopped at that moment.

“What are you, a hair colorist now?” Emidio scoffed before turning to me. “I'd like to order what you recommended, including the wine. Sounds like a good choice.”

I barely reined in my rising panic and smiled. “Certainly.” I nodded, memorizing his order. Then I shifted my gaze to Grey. “And you, sir?”

“The same.” He drew his thumb over his bottom lip, drawing my attention there again. I must have seriously had a death wish!

“Of course.” I smiled nervously. “I'll return with your order soon.”

I turned around and darted to the kitchen. My body rattled. My mind raced. I quickly typed the order and started looking for the right wine. “Breathe, Poppy,” I mumbled, climbing on my toes to reach for the bottle. “Just do your job and pretend that nothing's wrong.”

I held on to my own advice as I returned with wine and starters. The black-haired predator refrained from asking me more questions, but his eyes surveyed my slightest movements. The same thing happened when I brought the rest of the dishes they had ordered, and I was close to crying with relief after presenting the final plates.

As soon as I finished, I bowed, turned around, and stormed down from the entresol. I found Nate standing by the main counter and rushed toward him. “We need to talk,” I hissed, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him to the small antechamber on the side of the bar.

“I know, Poppy.” He gave me a wide smile. “I'll get you the right shoes and—”

“It's not about the damn shoes, Nate!” I snapped.

He sighed and leaned against the wall. “I know I shouldn't have forced you to go up, but if you don't like it, it's fine. It might be only for today.”

I rubbed my temples. “It's not about the VIPs in general, Nate. But you need to accept that I'm just… scared. There's a… kind of people who will always terrify me.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “They will remind me of my ex.”

He held my stare for several heartbeats. Then his eyes widened. “You switched tables with Ivy, didn't you?” When I nodded, he muttered a curse.

“She looked like she was about to throw up,” I said in my defense.

Nate drew a deep breath and inched toward me. “Did something happen? They didn't like the service or the food?”

I shook my head, smiling wryly. “Everything seemed fine… I guess.”

He frowned. “Then what's wrong? Did Mr. Abramo say something that—”

“No.” I grimaced. “Honestly, it's about that other guy. He asked me questions… as if he was trying to… flirt with me.”

Nate's eyes widened. “Mr. Maledetti was flirting with you?”

“I didn't say that he…” I paused and blinked. “Who?”

“Grey Maledetti,” he strained through his teeth. “As the new potential buyer of Tavolo Verde.”

“You're joking, right?” I stumbled back, a hysterical laugh slipping free. “Please, tell me you're joking.”

“I'm not.” He smiled tightly.

I stared at him as thousands of thoughts spun inside my head. “So you're telling me that the brunette sitting on the entresol whose single smile is enough to make a woman wet is most likely the new owner?!”

I watched blood drain from Nate's face, his eyes locking on something—or someone—behind me. He gave me a meaningful glance before smiling widely as he pushed past me. “Mr. Maladetti, how may I help you?” he sang.

I froze, secretly wishing to either disappear or teleport, preferably to another planet. “Tell Mr. Gardini that I need to go now.” Grey's deep voice vibrated through the antechamber. “But I'll return in less than an hour to sign the deal.”

I didn't dare turn around. I stood still, as if not moving could make me invisible. Their conversation lasted another minute or two, but my heart hammered too loudly for me to hear anything else. Then Nate stepped toward me, nudging my arm. “He's gone. You can breathe now.”

I turned around and saw a shit-eating grin stretching across his face. I swallowed. “He heard, didn't he?”

“Yep.” Nate chuckled.

I winced. “Is he going to fire me?”

“Highly doubtful.” He patted my shoulder.

“Well… I hope you're right,” I muttered, smiling awkwardly. Then I cleared my throat and walked back to the main hall.

***

I groaned in relief when I finally took the damn shoes off. I had heard that the deal had been signed, and that had quickly become the topic of the evening. I was too tired to care. Changing back into my comfortable clothes, I mumbled my goodbyes and rushed out of the restaurant. I kept my wig on since I was certain that after nearly ten hours, my hair underneath looked like a flat and sweaty mess.

Eyes glued to the sidewalk, I strode from the alley to the main street and all but bumped into a man in a long, black coat. Slowly, I lifted my gaze and gasped. “Mr. Maledetti…” I leaped back.

He stood by a black Bentley, most likely his. “I was waiting for you,” he said, closing the distance between us.

I took another step back. “For… me?”

A slow nod. “I didn't leave you a tip.”

“That's… that's fine, sir.” I smiled nervously.

“It's not,” he insisted. “I was impressed, and it's not easy to impress me.”

I inched backward again. “You own the restaurant now… You really don't have to leave me a tip.”

He breathed out a laugh. “How about giving you a ride home?” He gestured at the Bentley.

My body tensed. “I don't think this will be appropriate, and—”

“Why not? Because I'm the owner?” His onyx eyes gleamed with amusement.

I nodded. “Exactly.”

He stepped closer and leaned over me. “Then… as your employer, I'm telling you to forget I own this restaurant.”

I sucked in an uneven breath. “I'm afraid I can't do that, sir.”

His brows inched up as he purred, “Defying my orders already?”

A wave of heat washed over me, my mouth turning dry. I looked into those dangerously dark eyes. “Yes.” Shit. My voice sounded almost like a moan.

He smiled then. “May I at least know your real name?”

I stepped back, or rather, stumbled. “Poppy,” I blurted, telling myself that he would have found out later anyway.

His smile widened. “Thank you for an excellent service… Poppy.”

Bastard. Why did he have to thread every word with toe-curling sex? I forced cool evening air into my lungs. “Good night, Mr. Maledetti.”

“Grey,” he corrected.

“Mr. Maledetti,” I repeated, bowing my head. Then I spun around and started toward my bus stop. His laugh echoed behind me, and I gritted out a curse.

God, he wouldn't let go, would he? Men like him rarely took no for an answer. And I knew what his laugh meant: challenge accepted.