“Uh huh.”
“Look…” Hallie tips her head to one side. “It’s an option, right? You have time to think about it, so… think about it.”
“Yeah.” My brow dips again and I only snap back into gear when Hallie stands and smooths the creases from her dress.
“Are you gonna be okay?” she asks.
I look up. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. But… thanks Hallie. For listening.”
“Anytime, sis.” She smiles kindly. “It might feel like it sometimes, but you’re not alone. You need to get shit off your mind, or you just want to cry a little, you know where I am.”
I swallow down the urge to cry again. Why is it so hard to not get emotional when someone’s kind in your most vulnerable moments?
“Thanks. And likewise. You know where I am too. For anything, okay?”
She smiles and a little relief lights up her eyes. “Yeah. I do.”
Her hand slips from mine and even as she walks away, back into the dim night and dark souls, I know I’ve already made my decision.
CHAPTER SIX
Fiero
The night feelselectric when I pass through the curtain into the main lounge. I don’t walk any deeper into the room—I don’t want my presence to be noted on this night of all nights. The focus should be on the Angels up for auction. That’s what the guests have paid for and that’s why everyone is here. Not for me.
And this is yet another reminder of why I’m so different from my father.
He would have wanted all the glory. This would have beenhisevent, something everyone should have been grateful to him for arranging. He’d have put his name at the top of the list, primed for the first pick of whomever had put themselves up for auction.
Not me. I’m a businessman. Allowing our paying guests to take center stage is a business move. They pay, they get what they came here for—they’ll come back. And I would never take my pick of the Angels.
If I found myself interested in any woman, I wouldn’t needto pay for their company. I have enough of them queuing up to get into my penthouse apartment.
Not interested.
The only thing that fuels me ispower.
It was the one thing that evaded me growing up, and now I have it. Power lines the walls of this club and lights up the life I’ve created. It’s what has enabled me to erase every chink and dent in my existence. There’s only one blemish left to wipe off, and that’s Pfeiffer fucking McAllister.
I have cameras all over this club, recording movements, conversations, business deals. I have one trained on the host podium, which comes in handy when you want to eavesdrop on guests and staff members alike.
I’ve heard every conversation she’s had at that podium and find it especially interesting that she didn’t even arch a brow at the mention of my name.
Maybe I really was as insignificant as she made me feel.
I thought that witnessing her blank reaction to the Bellucci name would have made me murderous, but it didn’t. It simply made me more vengeful. It doesn’t matter how much she’s grown, how fucking gorgeous she still is, how well she treats my guests, she’s going to pay for what she did.
I head straight to the offices. Time is ticking and I want to see the list. I may need to make some flattering introductions, some gentle pushes. If a guest leaves here without a Fallen Angel, I’ve failed, and I don’t tolerate failure.
I pull up the screen and tap on the list, my eyes scanning side to side as I make my way down. Then my gaze snags.
Because halfway down is the one name I would never have permitted.
Hers.
My jaw locks. For a second, I imagine it must be a mistake. Or a joke?
No.
