"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.
His conscience was screaming at him, but Giovanni couldn't let her go. "I could fire you. Dance with you and then rehire you," he offered. And the offer was more sincere than he wanted to believe.
"I see. Part of your little game where you win money for treating women with disrespect? I don't think so, Mr. Ferraro. You're not that charming." She leaned down, very close to his ear. "This is called sexual harassment."
Before she could straighten, he caught her by the nape of her neck and turned his head to bring his mouth against her ear. "Baby," he whispered, "clearly, you don't know the first thing about sexual harassment, but I'd be more than happy to teach you." Every word he formed had his lips brushing over her ear. So delicate. Her scent enveloped him, drove him wild. Temptation and sin were wrapped around this exotic creature, and he was falling over the edge fast. Where the fuck was security?
She straightened abruptly, quickly, as if he'd bit her, which he considered doing. The enticement had been so strong his teeth had snapped together, just missing her earlobe. A little shiver went through her body, telling him she was far from unaffected.
"Your tip, Sasha," he forced himself to say. "You forgot it." He released her, his fingers sliding over the pulse beating frantically in her wrist. He sat back in his chair, looking as bored as he was capable of--and he'd perfected that look when he was a teen.
Taviano gathered the bills into a pile and handed them to her. She sent him a smile, and Giovanni wanted to slam his fist right into his brother's face. He was playing the game, too. Why didn't she give him a lecture? She didn't look at Giovanni as she walked away. He knew, because he watched her the entire time, or maybe she did, because more precisely, he watched her sweet ass walk away.
He became aware of the silence at the table and eyes on him. He looked around at his family, keeping his expression carefully blank. "What?"
"What the hell was that, Gee?" Taviano demanded. "You were acting the Big Bad Wolf to that girl's Red Riding Hood."
"Just fuckin' bored," he lied, rubbing his chest where it felt as if she'd ripped it open. "One more nightclub and I'm going to shoot myself."
It took discipline not to watch her as she went to two more tables to collect glasses and ask if the occupants wanted more drinks--and apparently, he didn't have any discipline because he watched her the entire time.
"She's gorgeous," Salvatore said. "Wouldn't mind getting to know that woman."
Giovanni's head snapped up and he glared at his cousin. "You touch that and you're a dead man. Or at least maimed."
A roar of laughter went up, but he could feel Taviano's eyes on him. His brother saw too much and Giovanni didn't like it. Until he knew why he was so drawn in by Sasha Provis, he didn't want to discuss it with anyone.
"So, your little waitress is off-limits," Geno said. Salvatore's brother was every bit as good-looking and reputed to be the playboy of New York.
"All our waitresses are off-limits," Giovanni said, knowing he was trying to deflect.
"I'm going to make some money tonight," Geno stated. "You all will be paying me a fortune before the night is through." He stood up.
Salvatore and Vittorio stood up with him. Taviano remained seated with Giovanni. When they looked at him expectantly, Giovanni gestured toward the dance floor. "Go have some fun. My leg's aching tonight. I'll wait awhile, see if it's going to get better and then join you. You're going to need the head start."
"You've got it bad, bro," Vittorio said and started down the stairs.
Salvatore and Geno followed their cousin, leaving Giovanni and Taviano alone. Giovanni tried to look like he didn't have a care in the world, but the problem was, he couldn't stop watching Sasha as she moved from table to table and he was furious that no one had stepped forward to protect her.
Sasha wasn't even that good of a waitress. She was pleasant, and it was her smile that drew him from the beginning. She seemed to remember drinks, but she occasionally tipped the glass slightly as she put it down. No one seemed to care because they were too busy looking at her, but one of the women might get jealous and object. He had to guess that she had no training whatsoever dealing with sharks like him.
She had no business serving the VIP customers. Usually their most experienced waitresses or waiters were given the two top tiers to attend. New servers were given the floor. Spilled drinks weren't noticed as much there. Not only hadn't he seen Sasha before, but it was clear from the way she fumbled several glasses that she was relatively new.
VIPs could be pains in the ass. Right now, there were two tables he was keeping an eye on. One was the mixed martial arts fighters, gathered to celebrate a major win by Aaron Anderson. He was a star in that community and garnered a lot of tabloid attention. He was good-looking and had come up out of the streets, always a great story. At this very moment, he had three women fawning all over him, and he was making out with all three very publicly. The other men at his table were getting similar notice, due to the fact that they were champions in other weight divisions or up-and-coming fighters on their way to stardom in Aaron's division.
Twice, Giovanni saw Aaron put his hand on Sasha's ass. Both times he'd nearly risen, clenching his teeth, furious that anyone would touch her like that. She moved the first time, a subtle hint to stop, and one of the other women moved into position quickly, afraid of losing her place with the fighter.
The second time Aaron grabbed Sasha, she moved back quickly. That put her directly in the path of James Corlege, a fighter on his way up. The man was a friend of Aaron's and running right behind him in rank. Corlege tried pulling her onto his lap. Next to him was Tom Mariland, another fighter in Aaron's division working his way up. He grabbed at Sasha as well, laughing at her struggles to get away.
That brought Giovanni to his feet, but security was already there. They didn't have to intervene because Aaron immediately said something to Corlege and he let her go. Aaron clearly apologized and Sasha nodded and moved away to the next table, the other one causing Giovanni concern.
"Taviano, who's managing tonight?"
"Gee ..." Taviano's voice held a warning. "We don't interfere with management. What's going on with you tonight?"
"She shouldn't be trying to serve drinks to those assholes, let alone us," Giovanni snapped. "And you know it. It takes specialized training, which she clearly hasn't had. Even coming to our table and putting up with my bullshit. She should have told me to go to hell, or laughed it off. At the very least she should have called security to help her. She didn't know what to do. Who's on?"
"West. He knows what he's doing, and it's obvious he has security watching closely for her safety."
&
nbsp; "It's not obvious to me. They didn't come to her rescue when I was harassing her."
"Come on, Gee. You own the fucking place."
"It doesn't give me the right to harass a woman. Especially one in my employ. Which means security needs more training as well. They should have been all over our table, owners or not. What I did was pure bullshit, and no server should have to put up with it. They know that. It's supposed to be part of their training. We made that clear to our managers. We got the best training possible to spot harassment. Where the fuck were they if West has them watching her?"
Giovanni pulled out his phone, slid his thumb down the list of contacts and tapped a curt demand of West, summoning him to their table. He put the phone away and met his brother's eyes. "I've had it with this job," he said. "I belong out there working, not pretending to be the world's biggest playboy."
"We all have to play that role when it's needed, Gee, you know that."
"I know--I've done it longer than any of the rest of you. I have to get this hardware out of my leg so I can work again."
Being shot was no fun. He'd taken two bullets in his left leg, one in the thigh and one in the calf. Extensive surgery had saved his life, but had left him with metal in his leg--and that meant he couldn't do his job. He couldn't go into the shadows as he was born to do. He'd trained his entire life. It didn't matter all the training he had, he'd been reduced to the resident playboy.
He was the decoy. His cousins had flown into town, using their private jet. They were splashy as hell, and he was showing them a good time. The best restaurants, the hottest nightclub, which just happened to be the one the Ferraros owned. No one saw the third cousin, Lucca, who had also come in on that jet. He was out doing his job, meting out justice to someone who thought he'd escaped it. No one would ever see him or know that he'd made the trip from New York to Chicago. The paparazzi made certain to keep that glaring spotlight on the ones in the club, never realizing they saw only what the Ferraros wanted them to see.
"The doctor said a year to eighteen months, Giovanni," Taviano cautioned.
"It won't do any good waiting if I lose my mind."
God, he was in a foul mood. Worse, he couldn't stop watching the waitress. She was at the second table now. John Darby was hosting his friends as he often did. He liked the cameras on him and didn't mind a scene in the least. They tore up hotel rooms and started fights in bars. His reality television program was a number-one hit because the man was willing to do almost anything to get eyes on him. No way should Sasha be waiting on those tables without the specialized training given to the servers dealing with celebrities.
"Mr. Ferraro." West arrived in his immaculate suit, looking every inch the man in charge.
"What's that, West?" Giovanni swept his hand toward Sasha. "She's totally green and you've got her waiting tables she can't possibly handle." He was pissed and it showed in his voice. He let his expression show it as well.
"She has a good memory," West defended. "Better, even, than the experienced girls. There was an emergency tonight. Nancy called in sick at the last minute, and even though some of the others have more experience, they don't have the memory like she does. You know we can't have someone trying to write down the orders. Not for those tables. She's our best for the job tonight."
It made sense. They didn't move anyone up to the first and second tier unless they could memorize orders, keep them straight and were fast. Sasha, apparently, was all three.
"She's not experienced enough to handle the drunks and the attention they're going to give to someone looking like she does." He made it a statement. He couldn't come out and say he didn't want anyone close to her, not while they were drunk. Who was he kidding? He didn't want anyone close to her, drunk or sober.
"Do you want her replaced? Did she do something that upset you?" West persisted.
"No. Just bring me whatever you have on her." They didn't hire without background checks. West and two others were responsible for the hiring.
West frowned. "You mean you want to see the file we have on her?"
"Yeah, West, that's exactly what I want to see." Giovanni couldn't help the sarcasm. What did West think he meant?
West's lips tightened, but he nodded and turned away, striding through the tables to the wide stairs leading down to the second tier. Giovanni watched him go down the carpeted steps before turning to his brother. "Don't say it."
"You're out of control."
"Do you think I don't know that?"
"Over having to play the part of a playboy, which all of us have done since puberty, or because of that waitress?"
Giovanni wished he knew the answer to that. He'd made an ass of himself in front of her, that much was certain. His gaze kept straying to her, watching her as she moved through the tables, doing her job. He wasn't doing his, but she was doing hers. For some reason, his job suddenly seemed abhorrent. He didn't want to dance with another woman. He didn't want to touch one or kiss one. He had no interest in a blow job by anyone--unless it was from those red lips and that mouth.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, right where the nagging headache persisted. The loud music wasn't helping, and the fact that he was acting so out of character in front of his family made it worse.
"It might be the waitress," he conceded. He looked at his brother, his hand dropping down to his chest to rub there, right over his heart. "I don't know what it is about her, but she got to me. I've never been this interested in just one. Not like this."
"Asking her out isn't going to be easy after that, bro," Taviano said. "She'll think everything you say or do is part of our game. Thinking about it, it's a shit game anyway."
Giovanni nodded, because it was. His gaze followed Sasha as she once again started up the stairs toward their tier. The more he looked at her, the more beautiful he thought her. Not in a conventional way, it was more than that. Her skin glowed under the lights. There was a softness to her face, as if she didn't wear much makeup and it was her natural skin he was seeing. She had full breasts and a narrow waist, which only served to emphasize her hips.
He glanced over to the table of MMA fighters. Aaron had a woman in his lap, kissing his throat, while another whispered in his ear. Another one appeared to be trying to put his hand on her breast. In spite of all the attention, the champion had moved his head to the side in order to see around the girl in his lap, his gaze on Sasha as she came up the stairs. Giovanni's breath hissed out in a rush.
"Here's her file, Mr. Ferraro," West said, putting a folder on the table. "I printed out everything for you." His voice was stiff and very businesslike. "Will that be all?"
"I've been acting like an ass all evening," Giovanni said immediately. Deliberately, he rubbed his temples. "Unfortunately, you got caught up in my protest. You certainly run this place without any hitches, or if there are, like tonight, you find a way to smooth them over. I appreciate that, as do the other family members." As Giovanni apologized, the tension receded from the manager's face.
"No problem, Mr. Ferraro. I was worried about Sasha as well. I'll pull her off if you'd prefer," he added.
"No." Giovanni shook his head. He was already in her bad graces enough as it was. The top tier of tables earned the most tips. By now, Sasha was aware her take-home could be several thousand dollars. He wasn't about to lose her that, although he'd give her the money to keep her out of harm's way. He kept his hand on the file to prevent West from taking it away with him.
"I do want more training for security, and if she continues to be a fill-in, have her given the training for working a tier like this." He sighed. "I'll shoot you an email."
West nodded. "Of course, Mr. Ferraro. If that's all?"
Giovanni nodded and turned to watch his favorite waitress. Sasha served John Darby's table first, putting the drinks down in front of each of his guests, mostly out-of-control college students. Darby's family was wealthy by most people's standards and getting wealthier through John's celebrity. He'd dropp
ed out of college and become the star of his own reality show, bringing his former frat boys with him on all his excursions. The fines he incurred from hotels and restaurants his friends and he tore up were nothing in comparison to the money pouring in for his show. People seemed to love watching a train wreck in action.
Giovanni knew that Darby had been taken aside, away from the cameras, and warned not to make trouble in the nightclub. Stefano, Giovanni's oldest brother, was a very scary--and dangerous--man. Darby might think he was protected by those cameras, but he wasn't. There would be retaliation if he dared to cause a scene in any business owned by the Ferraro family.
Still, it was important to Giovanni that his family not find out that the warning wasn't enough by Darby doing something to Sasha to increase his television ratings. Darby was getting too much attention and wasn't taking responsibility for any of his actions. When that happened, Giovanni knew, bad behavior only escalated.
He watched as Sasha shook her head, smiled and stepped back when Darby tried to stuff the wad of bills down her top. He was half out of his seat when Darby laughed and handed her the money. She nodded and moved away, back down the stairs to get her next round of drinks. She only had to go down to the bar that served the two VIP tiers. It made it easier for the waitresses, not having to carry drinks up or down two flights of stairs.
Seeing she was safe for the moment, Giovanni flipped open the folder and began to read the pertinent facts. She was single, no committed relationship. That was always asked casually in conversation. It helped to determine whether or not the potential server was available in the night hours. No husband, boyfriend or child calling them back home before closing, although many of their servers were married.
She was twenty-two. There was no one listed for an emergency call. She lived in one of the apartments over Masci's deli, so in the heart of Ferraro territory. The family, in fact, owned the building and the apartment she rented. They had a property manager, of course, but there was satisfaction in knowing she was protected.
"Giovanni." Taviano's voice was low. A warning.
He lifted his gaze to the stairs. Sasha was just a few feet from the MMA champion's table. All eyes were on her. The way several of the men, including Aaron, were staring at her in such a predatory way had him on his feet. Sasha set the drinks on the table, each one in front of the men and women. James Corlege's hand disappeared under her skirt, and Sasha leapt back, half turning, dropping the tray. Aaron steadied her with his hands on her waist. He pulled her back onto his lap and nuzzled her throat.