Page 3 of Daddies of the Underworld

It swept over me, and I shuddered all the way to my toes, my heart rising to thump in my throat.

I wrenched my body away.

“Careful–”

I heard it too late, my momentum carrying me forward as a man stepped into my path.

The tray tipped before I could stop it, sending champagne arcing through the air in a glittering sheet that landed and soaked through the man’s blue linen shirt in an instant.

My entire body went cold. I was fired. Immediately.

“I am so sorry.” I grabbed napkins from my apron pocket and dabbed at his chest. Every eye swung our way, the weight of all those curious gazes heating my face. “I didn’t see you. I wasn’t looking. I’ll get you another shirt.”

“I do not need another shirt.” The voice was smooth and warm, almost laughing.

I looked up, my mouth falling open to argue.

Good god. Warm brown eyes met mine.

Dark blond hair fell across his forehead in one of those artfully messy styles that looked deliberate but careless.

A grin spread slowly, the kind that made his eyes twinkle.

“I really am sorry.” I pressed a fresh napkin to his chest, realized I was touching him rather intimately, and wrenched my hand back. “Let me get someone to–”

“Relax.” He took the napkin from me and wiped the champagne from his bare neck. “It’s just champagne. Vintage, expensive champagne, but champagne nonetheless. And it is worth every cent to have something fun happening at this elaborate event meant to bore me to death.” He looked me up and down, not in a lascivious way but with curiosity. “What’s your name?”

So he knew who to fire? I had no choice but to be honest. “Nina.”

“Nina.” He tested it out in a slow drawl. “I’m Luca.”

Up on the terrace behind Luca, the man with the silver-touched hair turned and looked down, his expression unreadable.

The man with the tattoos hadn’t moved at all, but his attention had sharpened, locking onto me with an intensity that made my pulse stutter.

“I should go.” I took a step back, painfully aware of the empty tray in my hands, the wet patches on the stone at my feet, and the weight of paused conversations hanging in the air. “There’s more to serve.”

Luca’s grin didn’t waver. “Run along, if you must. We’ll see each other again.” He said it with a chuckle, but my heart took hold of it like a threat and tried to race out of my chest.

I fled toward the kitchen with my cheeks burning.

Rosa met me at the swinging doors with an armful of towels. “Do you have any idea who that was?”

“No.” I couldn’t stop shaking. My teeth chattered as the adrenaline fled.

“That was Luca De Santis. You spilled champagne on one of the most powerful men in Southern Europe.” She took me in with a sweeping look and softened. “Go change your apron. You’re soaked too.”

“Do you want me somewhere else for the rest of the night?”

“No. You will return to the terrace.” With that, she turned away, marching down the hallway without a backward glance.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of trays and glasses, conversations I continued to ignore, and the occasional glimpse of the powerful men on the terrace.

Luca kept his word, catching up to me once to swipe a flute of champagne from my tray and a second time to ask if I’d recovered from the trauma of spilling the champagne.

I hadn’t known how to answer, so I said nothing and moved on.

By the time the event wound down and the guests retreated indoors, my feet ached and my mind buzzed with too much adrenaline to even think about sleep.