1: Gold Heels & Bad Decisions

Before 11pm, Verve was already loud enough to make Catalina forget she was supposed to be working and start dancing along with the patrons.

There was something she genuinely liked about nights at Verve—the music, the lights, the ballers with fast money, and the fact that she could dance all night while making good tips. Walking through a room full of wealthy people was hardly a bad way to make a living when a good smile could earn her a few hundred dollars.

Some nights, customers could be handy, touching and trying to initiate sexual contact. One had even asked her what her price was for the night as though she were a prostitute. His balls had gotten a direct hit from her pointy heels that night, and when her boss Marcus scolded her afterward, she hadn't particularly cared. She'd been satisfied.

She adjusted the tray in her hands and slipped between two tables, making little dance movements as she went while trying to ignore the painful pinching of her open-toe black stilettos.

“Excuse me.”

A man moved aside just enough for her to pass.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him.

“You're welcome, beautiful.”

Catalina smiled sweetly back at him. Elena, who was right behind her with two champagne flutes, snorted. Catalina caught her eye and grinned before Elena disappeared into the crowd.

One rule in a Miami club was to always keep moving, and Catalina was good at it. Two years of bottle service had taught her how to read a table within seconds. She knew who wanted conversation, who wanted attention, and who was likely to become a problem after one drink too many.

Tonight, fortunately, the money was better than the trouble.

One of her regular customers slipped three crisp hundred-dollar bills into her hand simply because she remembered his preferred tequila. Another customer insisted the girls share a round of premium shots with his table. Catalina accepted one to be polite before quietly switching to sparkling water for the rest of her stay at the table. Marcus could smell alcohol on his staff from halfway across the room, and she had no intention of testing that theory.

Across the lounge, Elena caught her eye and lifted an empty tray over her head like a trophy.

“Save me,” she mouthed.

Catalina answered with an exaggerated salute before disappearing toward another table carrying two bottles of Cristal.

She'd almost convinced herself tonight would end like every other Saturday, with her going home exhausted and her tips tucked inside her gown.

Then the room changed.

The music kept playing, people kept talking, glasses kept clinking, but somehow the atmosphere shifted.

Catalina had seen celebrities, athletes, politicians, and famous musicians walk through Verve's doors before. They usually arrived surrounded by cameras, loud greetings, and people desperate for attention.

This was different.

A group of men had entered the club, all dressed in dark suits and dark shades. Only one stood out. He appeared to be the head of the group, wearing a white dress shirt with black tailored trousers, his shirt open enough to reveal part of his firm, lightly hairy chest.

Marcus immediately cleared a table for them.

Catalina raised her eyebrows. Verve didn't clear tables for just anyone. She leaned toward one of the servers, Cynthia.

“Who's that?”

“That is Leon Varelli,” Cynthia yelled back above the music.

Catalina looked over her shoulder. “That is Leon Varelli? The Leon Varelli?”

“Girl, you should know who Leon Varelli is. Are you living under a rock?” Cynthia asked before lifting her tray and moving toward her assigned table.

Marcus appeared beside Catalina. “Reyes.”

She looked up.

“Table Four. Now.”

Catalina followed his gaze.

Leon Varelli.

Marcus lowered his voice. “Listen carefully. That's our highest-profile client tonight. No unnecessary conversation or flirting. No clever comments. Just pour the drinks, stay available if they need anything, then walk away.”

Catalina nodded. “Got it.”

Marcus studied her for another second. “And don't do anything that gets either of us fired.”

Catalina smiled innocently. “You wound me.”

“I know you, Catalina Reyes.”

“...Fair.” Catalina bit back a smart comment.

He shook his head and walked away. Catalina finished with the table she was serving, dancing for the man who had been trying to get her attention until he stuffed her hands with dollar bills, then headed for the service station.

She arranged the crystal flutes and chilled champagne on her tray before heading toward Table Four, taking her sweet time and swinging her hips to the beat pulsing through the club.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” She smiled sweetly at them. “I'm Catalina. I'll be taking care of your table tonight.”

The men started placing their orders as she arranged the contents of her tray on the table. The man in the middle said nothing. His dark eyes followed her movements as she interacted with the men around the table, dancing and working. His gaze was unnervingly steady.

Catalina had been stared at by men before. Drunk and lonely men, arrogant men—ones who thought tipping well gave them ownership over the person serving them.

This was different.

Leon Varelli didn't look at her like he wanted something. He looked at her like he was trying to remember something.

She poured the first glass and moved to the next, trying not to feel uncomfortable beneath his intense gaze. When she reached him, his eyes dropped.

Not to her face, but to her chest. Catalina frowned.

“Excuse me?” She reached for his glass.

His fingers closed around her wrist. Fast enough to stop her before she could move away, but not hard enough to hurt. Then his other hand moved toward her chest. Catalina's body reacted before her mind caught up.

She jerked backward. “What the fuck?” She slapped his hand away.

When his hand reached toward her chest again, Catalina slapped him. The sound echoed through the VIP section. For a moment, it seemed as though the music itself had paused, and Catalina was too angry to notice that Marcus's face had gone red, Elena's jaw had dropped, and several patrons were already looking over with their phones out.

“Don't you dare touch me like that again... puta!”

With her eyes blazing, she grabbed his half-filled glass and threw the contents in his face before marching out of the VIP section, her heart racing.

Who exactly did he think he was, trying to grope her chest like that? It wasn't enough that he'd been doing it with his eyes all night.

Leon remained completely still, his gaze stayed on her.

Marcus caught her before she could leave the VIP section and dragged her towards the service corridor. The moment they reached the service corridor, Marcus spun around.

“Catalina!” he yelled. “What the fuck was that?”

“He grabbed me.” She was still fuming.

“I saw that. But you just slapped and poured a drink on the face of a very dangerous man!” Marcus yelled incredulously.

“Then why are you yelling at me?” Catalina stared at him with her eyebrows raised.

Marcus stared at her as if she had personally shortened his lifespan.

“Do you know who that man is?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“No, I don't think you do.”

Catalina crossed her arms. “He touched me.”

“I am not saying he should have. I'm saying you don't understand the kind of man you're dealing with.”

She rolled her eyes. “Marcus, I'm not going to apologize because a rich man couldn't keep his hands to himself.”

“I didn't ask you to apologize.”

“Then what?”

“I'm asking you to use the survival instincts God gave you.”

Catalina opened her mouth, but Marcus pointed toward the floor.

“Stay here for five minutes. I'd rather lose money than have to explain to the police why one of my waitresses disappeared.”

“Marcus—”

“Catalina.” He glared at her.

She looked away. “I'll be careful.”

“You'd better.” He walked off.

Catalina waited exactly two minutes before returning to work. Bills didn't care who Leon Varelli was.

Elena spotted her almost immediately. “What happened?”

“Your favorite boss is having a nervous breakdown.”

“I meant with Varelli.”

“He grabbed me. The audacity of that man trying to grope my chest!”

Elena's expression changed. “He what?”

“Well, I gave him a piece of my mind. Next time he won't grope any woman he sees.”

“You told Leon Varelli not to touch you?”

Catalina smiled. “I used more than words.”

Elena stared at her. “You're insane.” She laughed.

Catalina joined in the laughter before going back to work.

The rest of the night carried on. She laughed with customers, delivered bottles, took orders, collected tips, and even argued with a drunk man who insisted he'd ordered vodka when he'd very clearly ordered tequila. But whenever she turned toward the VIP section, she felt it.

His eyes. He simply sat there, watching.

By midnight, Catalina had decided she didn't care. Or at least she refused to let him see that she did. If he wanted to stare, let him stare. She had work to do.

Around one in the morning, Elena leaned beside her while they waited for the bar to prepare another order.

“He's still looking at you.”

Catalina didn't turn. “Who?”

Elena gave her a look. “Oh, please. You know who.”

Catalina picked up the tray. “I don't care.”

“Sure you don't?”

“I don't.” She shook her head and left Elena at the booth.

When she finally glanced toward Table Four again towards the end of her shift, Leon was already looking at her.

Their eyes met. For one strange second, neither looked away.

Then Catalina raised one eyebrow.

Leon didn't react. She gave him a small, unimpressed smile before turning back to collecting the table checks she served. Whatever game he thought he was playing, he could play it alone.

At two forty-seven, the club finally began emptying. Catalina's feet hurt, and her patience had died somewhere around midnight. She handed her last table's receipt to Marcus and stretched her shoulders.

“I'm going home.”

Marcus looked at her. “Before you do, my office.”

Catalina groaned. “Again?”

“Yes. Again.”

She followed him. Marcus closed the office door behind them.

“You cannot do that again,” he said.

Catalina leaned against the desk. “He grabbed me first, acknowledge that.”

“I know.”

“Then what exactly are we arguing about?”

“Your mouth.”

“My mouth is innocent.”

Marcus laughed once without humor. “You looked Leon Varelli in the eye and insulted him.”

“He deserved it.”

“That is not the point.”

“Then what's the point?”

Marcus stared at her for a long moment. “The point is that dangerous men don't always react immediately.”

Catalina shrugged. “He didn't do anything.”

“Exactly.” Marcus lowered his voice. “He sat there all night watching you.”

Catalina looked toward the closed door. “So?” She picked up her bag. “I'll be fine.”

Marcus didn't look convinced. “Catalina.”

“Goodnight, Marcus.”

She slipped out before he could berate her again over a man who had obviously crossed a boundary.

Elena was waiting near the staff entrance. “You ready?”

Catalina nodded and they stepped outside into the warm Miami night. For a moment, Catalina thought about the incident. She had no idea why Leon Varelli had reached toward her chest, and she had no idea why he'd spent the rest of the night watching her.

She certainly had no intention of losing sleep over a dangerous man whose ego apparently couldn't survive being told no. At least, that was what she told herself as she walked toward the bus stop with Elena, cussing the heels she had in her hands as the cool tar bit into her aching feet.

“Fucking shoes,” she muttered, glaring down at the stilettos. “If I ever become rich, I'm banning these things from my entire fucking life.”

“Like you would. You love heels, Catalina.” Elena laughed.

“Still!” she cried. “They're deathtraps.”

“And you just bought a new pair yesterday.”

Catalina smiled but ignored her as they headed to the bus stop.