Page 15 of When She Unravels
His brows scrunch together. “A manager? I don’t know, I just started my shift. Look, we’re really busy.”
I clear my throat. “Who’s in charge tonight?”
The server purses his lips. “The boss is here, so he’s in charge. You see that small balcony way up there?”
I turn to look in the direction he’s pointing, and that’s when I seehim.
A lone man stands on a balcony high above the dance floor, flickering lights dancing over his form.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight.
The server’s voice comes in muffled, as if someone placed a glass container over my head. “That’s Señor De Rossi.”
Even from this far away, he’s intimidating. Tall, straight-backed, and impeccably dressed. He’s wearing a meticulous three-piece suit that molds to his body as if it’s made of putty. I’ve spent my life around men dressed in suits like that, and I know what they mean.
Power. Prestige. Brutality.
My eyes widen as his dark gaze slides my way.
Stop. You’re projecting.
My paranoid mind is still seeing danger everywhere. He’s a club owner, not a made man.
But he’s looking at me as if I exist solely for his consumption. As if I’d been bought and paid for by him, and today’s the day he takes possession.
I shake the feeling off.
I’m not here to be claimed.
“He’s looking at you,” the server says, sounding a little perplexed, as if this isn’t a normal occurrence. “Do you know each other?”
“No,” I say. “But I need to talk to him.”
There’s wry laughter behind me. “Good luck.”
I turn back to ask the server what he means by that, but he’s already gone, pouring someone else a drink. I could use some liquid courage, but I’m not in a position to afford a fifteen-euro cocktail.
When I look back at the balcony, De Rossi’s attention is somewhere else. There’s a bearded man with dark slicked-back hair standing beside him.
The newcomer has an impressive physique—brawny and muscular. He’s got a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt like the bouncers, but he’s not wearing a Revolvr branded T-shirt like the others I’ve seen mulling around. He pats De Rossi on the back in a familiar greeting and says something to the man. I get the feeling that the two of them are friends.
What if they leave somewhere together? I can’t waste any time.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, I get stopped by a bouncer at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the balcony.
“Staff only,” he says in a monotone voice.
“I need to speak to Mr. De Rossi.”
He gives me a cursory look, sniffs, and shakes his head. “And I need to go home and fuck my wife. We’ve all got our dreams.”
My cheeks redden, but I pull my shoulders back. “Please, this is very important.”
“I doubt it.”
“I just need a few minutes.”
His eyes narrow. “I said, staff only. Do you want to be escorted out?”
