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I’ve never liked Benny. Even when we were kids, he was always just Nico’s asshole older brother. Always fighting, always disappearing into rooms at the Visconti Grand with various girls. I doubt he’s got more than three brain cells rattling around in that head. It’s probably too full of boobs, brawls, and bets.
Just before he opens his mouth to add another layer of sleaze to the conversation, a hand smacks him upside the head. Laurie materializes behind him, an annoyed expression on her face. “Stop harassing my staff, Benedicto.”
“Fuck me again and I’ll think about it.” His eyes trail her ass as she moves toward the stockroom.
“Last time I fucked you, I had to change my number because you wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone,” she throws over her shoulder.
I burst out laughing and Benny’s hard gaze comes to me. “That’s nottrue,” he grunts, sliding off the bar stool. “Cazzo…”
He storms off after Laurie and I turn my attention back to Nico. “Your brother is a dick.”
“He has his moments.” He produces a wallet from his pocket. Immediately, I know it’s not his, becausethe initials BV glint in gold under the recessed lights. “Here.” He flips it open and tugs out a sheaf of bills. “Call it compensation.”
I tut, but slide the money into my bra regardless. “You’re a bad influence, Nico.”
“Do as I say, not as I do, Little P,” he retorts, a twinkle in his storm-gray eyes. “Seriously, though. I know you said you didn’t want to work in Hollow, but if you doget fired, I’ve got the perfect job for you.”
“I won’t bullshit you. I’m very bad at bar work.” I flash him the recipe scrawled on my wrist in smudged ink. “See?”
“I can tell by the color of that mojito. They aren’t meant to be brown; you know?” He slips off the stool and raps a knuckle against the bar. “It’s something I think you’ll find a lot more interesting than hospitality.” He glances at his cell in his hand. “I’ll see you at the staff Christmas party all right? We can discuss more then.”
With a lazy wave over his shoulder, he puts his phone to his ear and disappears into the next room.
I chew over his words. What the hell could I possibly do in Hollow that isn’t hospitality? The whole town is one big cave full of poker games and parties. The posh academy is there too, obviously, but I didn’t even finish school myself, so I doubt I could work in one.
Before I can put too much weight to it, the bar phone rings. Absent-mindedly, I lift the receiver and tuck it between my ear and shoulder.
“Yes?”
Raphael’s velvet drawl trickles down the line and caresses my cheek. “Ah, just the little arsonist I was looking for.”
My heart forgoes its next beat, and I clutch the receiver in an attempt to remain nonchalant. “Another vodka to your office, boss?” I say sweetly. “Or some sage to ward away the bad spirits?”
A huff of amusement crackles down the line. “No, Penelope. Just yourself.”
Click.
Stomach clenching, I stare at the mouthpiece, before putting it back on the hook with a defeated sigh.
Raphael wants to see me in his office? This can’t be good.
The unrelenting storm rocks the cream hallways and rain taps on the portholes like fingers desperate for my attention. Each room I cut through grows quieter in sound and louder with nervous expectation.
Outside Raphael’s office door, I take a steadying breath and knock. No answer. I knock again with a little more flair, but the silence is unwavering.
Growing irritated, I shove my shoulder against the door and immediately regret my haste. The air feels different in here. Too cool for comfort; too silent for peace. From his leather chair behind his desk, Raphael’s presence seeps from his perfect pores and winds around my neck and wrists like silk-clad chains.
Self-preservation makes me grip the door.
The imaginary hiss of a roulette table and the click-clack of dice make me kick it shut with the heel of my bare foot.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
Lit only by the fragmented moonlight fighting its way through the rain-stained glass, the hard lines of Raphael’s silhouette are motionless. Only his gaze moves as it slides up from the golden poker chip in his hand to my face. It’s ink black. Immoral. Suddenly, the silence has a heat to it, eating through the frosty air and blistering my skin.
I curl my toes into the plush carpet to keep myself from folding.
“Would you like to play a game with me, Penelope?”
