She had gorgeous eyes. Blue. Not just any blue, but sapphire blue. Like the gems. Her eyes were framed with impossibly long lashes, and right now the contempt in them wasn’t working for him at all. She lowered her gaze to the table as she put the drinks there. She turned away without picking up the money for her tip. All five men at the table had thrown in bills, so it was a fair amount of money. There was no running tab at their table, so the tips for their server had to be cash.
She felt so much contempt for them she walked away from her tip—one Giovanni instinctively knew she needed. Who the hell was she to judge him? She didn’t know the first thing about his life. And why did he care what she thought? What did he care that she didn’t know why he was sent over and over into the clubs so he could cause enough of a thrill ride for the paparazzi to photograph his cousins with him. None knew that the third cousin, Salvatore and Geno’s brother, had also come. Lucca was riding the shadows there in Chicago, meting out justice. They were the alibis.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, and then he raised his voice, not loud, just pitched to carry. “Stop.” He made it an order. A command in a low tone.
She had her back to them, and he watched her stiffen. She had a fantastic ass. Exceptional. Giovanni sat up straighter. The table went quiet as his brothers and cousins realized Giovanni was doing something completely out of character.
She turned slowly back to them. She was wearing the standard uniform of the waitresses at his nightclub. They were all required to wear them. Hers fit her body like a glove. The swell of her breasts could barely be contained in the tight corset. The skirt was short, a little black swingy thing, the corset red, laced up the front. She wore the fishnet stockings, black, of course, held up by a red garter. The heels were red. He’d always liked the uniform, somewhere between classy and sexy, but on her …
He pointed to his left side, forcing her to walk around the table to him. He was being a first-class dick. He knew it, too, but that look of contempt on her face, all that soft skin and the wealth of blond curls just barely contained by something red, made him lose all sense of propriety. He wanted to jerk that red thing right out of her hair to send it tumbling down so he could bury his fingers in all those curls. Or maybe it was her mouth. Fuck. That mouth. She wore red lipstick, and she had a perfect mouth. Full lower lip. Full upper lip.
His cock reacted, and there was no stopping it once she stood close and he caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled like cinnamon candy. A cinnamon candy-covered apple. Hot and sweet. Her lashes really were her own, and so were those luscious breasts. He hadn’t been so aroused by a woman in a very long time.
She was angry, holding her temper by a thread. She looked straight through him. He didn’t say a word. If she had been one of the servers trained to deal with the top two tiers, celebrities who often had a sense of entitlement, she would have known exactly what to do. And where the hell was security? The moment she looked uncomfortable, they should have been at the table regardless of who he was. The rule was absolute. No woman—or man for that matter—was sexually or otherwise harassed in their club. He was going to go on the warpath over this incident.
Still, he couldn’t exactly pretend to himself that he was testing their policies, as much as he wanted to. He didn’t understand his own feelings. It had never mattered to him what others thought. His family was secretive, and they only had one another. They all knew it from the time they were toddlers and had already begun preparing for their lives. Others thought they were a crime family, criminals, maybe mafia, but no one could prove anything because they were too careful. There was no way for investigators to find the money they laundered through their many businesses.
Playing a game with the women in the club was a dick move, pure and simple, even if they deserved it. She had every right to feel contempt. He was in every gossip rag there was, purposefully. He courted the paparazzi, and he was a favorite. Any member of his famous family was sought after. Everything they did was photographed. They often partied with their cousins out of town or when their cousins flew in to see them. Everything they did had a purpose.
They were handsome men with too much money and far too much charm. They liked to live dangerously and thought nothing of gambling insane amounts of money. They had different women on their arms every night, and the stories of their exploits were in every tabloid. She might blame him all she wanted, but it was the women who threw themselves at the Ferraro brothers and cousins. Not because they cared. Not even for the sex, and if he did say so himself, it was exceptional. Women threw themselves at them for the money.
Should he respect women like that? Essentially, they were trading their bodies for money. They didn’t care which brother or cousin they got, they cared about what they could get out of them at the end of their journey. It was like that day after day, year after year.
The waitress held out a long time, but finally—finally—she shifted her gaze to his. The jolt hit him right in his cock. It jerked. Pulsed. It was so hard it hurt. He was grateful the table hid the thick length straining against the material of his suit. It felt as though nothing could contain that very healthy erection. He knew better than to continue with what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself. By now, he should have called security himself and demanded to know why they weren’t there, pulling a Ferraro server out of the situation if she couldn’t get out herself.
“What is it I can do for you?” She waited a heartbeat. Two. “Sir.”
The tone, sweet, musical, pushed right through his chest, shifting something hard and tight inside of him. That note in her voice spoke to something in him, a key to unlock a part of him that was protecting his true identity. He felt as if something inside him ripped apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. The feeling was so acute he put his hand over his chest to try to stop the persistent ache.
“I’m Giovanni Ferraro, and you are?”
Like all the waitresses, she wore her name tag on her waistband, right side, but he didn’t drop his gaze to look. He forced her to stare right into his eyes. It was like looking at two blue flames, she was that angry—and that beautiful.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he almost pulled her into his lap. Almost. He had some discipline left. What the hell was wrong with him? He was intentionally taunting his own employee. There was just something about her little flair of temper that got to him right in his gut—or maybe it was his cock again.
“Sasha.” Deliberately she didn’t give him her last name. “Would you like something else, Mr. Ferraro?”
“Sasha what?” he insisted.
He loved that little snippy voice. Princess reprimanding the peasant. It didn’t matter to her that he was the richest man in the room, good-looking and owned the nightclub where she worked; she lifted her chin and gave him a superior you’re-a-jerk look. And he was. His brothers and cousins seated at the table with him were utterly silent. He was certain at any moment she would throw a punch at him—and he wanted her to. No one had the right to treat her the way he was treating her. Damn it all to hell. She should have had their security training. If she’d had it, something was really wrong and they needed something better for their servers in place.
“Provis.” That was almost a hiss.
“Dance with me, Sasha.” Whatever possessed him to ask her to dance? He was really stepping over the line. He hadn’t intended to ask her. He wanted her to pick up her tip. He wanted her anger with him to boil over so that she simply walked away and asked another server or the manager to take over.
“I’m working, Mr. Ferraro, and according to the employee manual, we are not allowed to fraternize with the owners. If this is a test to see if I read the rules, I can assure you, I have.” She tugged to get her wrist loose, but his fingers tightened, preventing her from leaving.