Chapter Five
BASTIANO ROMANO
I showed up late. Two hours, to be exact. It was a dick move, especially since I had nothing better to do. I had spent the extra time working out, shopping for shit I didn’t need from a copycat Sky Mall Magazine I’d stolen off a plane years ago, and jacking off in the shower. Pointless endeavors.
My body was already in prime condition, I had no fucking clue what I would do with a serenity cat sleeping pod, and I was still craving pussy more than I was my fist.
But Ariana De Luca didn’t seem to know her place, and it certainly wasn’t anywhere near me. If I hired her—and that was a big if—I needed to train that spine out of her until she wilted like a limp noodle like the rest of my employees.
My phone rang as I flicked on the left signal of my car.
“Yes?” I answered Gio’s call.
“Your mom’s coming into town.”
Irritation fused with excitement. Ma coming meant having to see her, but it also meant getting to see my little sister Tessie. A fair trade.
I rolled my neck, enjoying the way it cracked, and drove my Jag into the parking garage beneath L’Oscurità—probably the only parking garage in the city with great signal thanks to the tech division of Asher’s company. “When?”
“Soon. We need to talk about rodents.”
I caught his meaning. “Fine.”
I hung up and checked my texts. One from Uncle Vince. Another from Elsa. I deleted Elsa’s text, then cursed myself for acting so rashly. It could have been about Everett. She texted me again with a one-hundred-thousand-dollar wire request. Definitely not about Everett. Reminding myself I’d find a way to screw her over later, I sent her the one hundred thousand dollars and emailed her the confirmation link, along with links to a dozen porno sites known to cause viruses.
Sending the money to her put me in a bad mood. Seeing her name put me in a bad mood. Everything related to Elsa pissed me off. I slid my phone into my pocket and took my time walking to the entrance of the bar.
Nothing irritated me more than people who thought they could bulldoze their way into my life, take what they wanted, and expect no repercussions. Ariana De Luca ticked each of those boxes. On top of that, the other night, she’d worn a bandage dress which reminded me of something Elsa would have worn after New York had tainted everything I loved about her.
When I got to the bar entrance, Ariana was waiting outside in the late spring heat, a bustle of New Yorkers sparing her no attention as they walked past. My eyes, on the other hand, honed in on her immediately.
It wasn’t because she was attractive. She was, but I didn’t give a fuck. She was little more than a nuisance with a body and face that happened to make me look twice. It was her mouth that proved lethal, but I wouldn’t exactly call her a worthy adversary.
Just a pain in the ass who happened to be right.
L’Oscurità needed a new bartender and finding one who demonstrated competence was taking longer than I had initially thought it would. Ariana De Luca happened to be the first candidate who knew her shit and was attractive enough to work at L’Oscurità.
Plain and simple, that was all that mattered.
Never mind the fact that her last name was a stain on this planet and belonged nowhere near my family, even if she wasn’t one of those De Lucas.
She would get her interview, and if all went well, she’d undergo a brief training period. But as soon as I found a bartender who didn’t piss me the fuck off, I was firing her faster than she could say, “I want a severance package.”
She straightened from the wall as soon as she saw me, opening her mouth, no doubt an argument on the tip of the harpoon she called her tongue. “I thought you had ‘no tolerance for tardiness.’”
“I have no tolerance for people who make me wait. How long you had to wait is of little importance to me.”
“Oh, don’t worry your grouchy little head off. I only had to wait a few minutes.” Her voice was a satisfied croon, and she failed to hide her smirk. Hell, I wasn’t convinced she had even tried.
I told myself that I didn’t care, but I was already making a mental note to check the exterior cameras when I had the time. If she was telling the truth, she would have had me waiting for two hours, and Christ, that tore through my indifference and pissed me the hell off.
I unlocked the bar, turning on the lights as we entered. The bar didn’t open until six thirty at night, so we had about half an hour before my employees were due to arrive. Ariana scanned the room, taking it in while it was empty.
Everything was black—from the floor to the booths, tables, and stools. All set amidst the backdrop of the gray on gray patterned walls. White crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a dim light over the bar.
Even without the buzz of a crowd and the seductive lull of the soundtrack we had exclusively produced for the bar, the atmosphere was edgy. Sexy. Erotic. A total waste of splendor given the quality—or lack thereof—of my present company.
Ariana trailed a finger over the bar top. “Word has it you run the other side of L’Oscurità. The restaurant.” She turned to face me, her eyes flaunting an unflinching dare. “Yet, here you are. It must suck wanting all this control over your life but having none.” She had no idea. “Piss off your boss?”
There was a potential rat that needed terminating, but I couldn’t exactly tell her that. Instead, my eyes narrowed. Most girls went for sultry. Seductive. Desperate sex appeal. Hell, sometimes I even got the ass-end of the spectrum. Those so afraid of me they’d tuck tail and run at the sound of my last name.
But Ariana De Luca? She stood in front of me, her own brand of unwavering valor and unnecessary provocation. She was challenging. Combative. Argumentative. Fearless. I understood these qualities, but not on her and certainly not at my expense. She was poking the goddamned lion and loving it.
But she’d learn not to.
I didn’t bother with a response, instead walking past her and toward my office. She hesitated for the briefest of moments before she trailed behind me. I sent a text to Giuseppe, my head chef, to set up the interview course, a selection of dishes that Ariana had to pair with a limited selection of wines.
It was a test no one had yet passed, and once she failed, the message would be clear—I had given her a chance and found her lacking. I would still hire her, sure, but I would break her spirit first.
ARIANA DE LUCA
One second.
That’s how long it took for me to open my big, fat mouth and pick a fight with Bastiano Romano. I had done it the second I saw him, pissed off at having had to wait for two hours—one hundred and twenty damn minutes—for him to show up. I had antagonized him again when we entered the bar.
And now, standing awkwardly by the door of his office while he completely ignored my existence, I was tempted to pick another fight. After all, I liked nothing about this situation, about having to go undercover with my real name, and having to put up with his callous, miserable ass made it worse.
A pregnant lapse of silence passed. Bastian sat in his seat, the chair pulled arm’s length away from the desk, thighs far apart, staring at his phone. I waited several more minutes for him to invite me in, to offer me a seat. He didn’t.