Chapter 2: The Night He Walked In

She remembered the exact moment he walked into Bellini’s.

The restaurant had fallen eerily quiet.

Like a held breath.

Even before she turned around, she felt a shift in the atmosphere.

Something electric and dangerous.

“Table seven needs attention,” her manager had whispered urgently, his usually confident voice tinged with nervous deference.

“Mr. Castellano. Very important client.”

She’d heard rumors about Dante Castellano.

Everyone in the city had.

Thirty-two years old and already the undisputed head of the Castellano crime family after his father’s mysterious disappearance three years ago.

Handsome enough to grace magazine covers.

Dangerous enough to make hardened men tremble.

Nothing had prepared her for seeing him in person.

When she approached table seven, her heart stuttered.

He sat alone, although two intimidating men in dark suits stood nearby, scanning the room with practiced vigilance.

Dante Castellano was breathtaking in the most terrifying way.

Sharp cheekbones.

Intense dark eyes under heavy brows.

Full lips set in a hard line.

His perfectly tailored black suit probably cost more than six months of her rent.

His hands, adorned only with a heavy gold signet ring, rested on the white tablecloth.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to Bellini’s.”

She was proud that her voice remained steady despite the way her knees trembled beneath her black uniform skirt.

“May I tell you about our specials this evening?”

He looked up slowly.

His dark eyes captured hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

For a long, uncomfortable moment, he just stared at her.

His gaze moved from her face to her name tag and back again.

The corner of his mouth curved slightly.

Not quite a smile.

More like he’d discovered something unexpected and wasn’t yet sure if he was pleased.

“Elliana,” he said.

Her name rolled off his tongue in a way that made it sound like it belonged to him.

No one called her Elliana except her late grandmother.

Her name tag only said Ellie.

“What do you recommend?”

His voice was a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through her bones.

She recommended the Osso Buco, their chef’s specialty.

He nodded once, dismissively, returning to a phone call he’d apparently paused when she approached.

She fled back to the kitchen.

She felt his eyes on her the entire way.

Like a physical touch trailing down her spine.

In the kitchen, she leaned against the stainless steel counter, trying to slow her racing heart.

Her coworker, Gina, raised an eyebrow.

“Girl, do you know who that is?”

“I know exactly who he is.”

“Then why are you still standing? Run.”

But she couldn’t run.

She needed the tips.

She needed the money for Lily.

And something else, something she wouldn’t admit even to herself, wanted to stay.

Wanted to see those dark eyes again.

That night, he stayed until closing.

Conducting business with a stream of visitors who came and went from his table, speaking in hushed tones.

Each time she approached to refill his water or clear a plate, he would abruptly stop his conversation.

His dark eyes tracked her movements with unnerving focus.

When she brought his check, he handed her a black credit card without looking at the bill.

Their fingers brushed during the exchange.

She couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin was against her perpetually cold hands.

As she returned with the receipt, he caught her wrist.

His grip was firm but not painful.

“You have beautiful hands,” he said.

His thumb traced over her knuckles.

“A pianist’s hands.”

She froze.

Heart hammering against her ribs.

“I used to play in high school,” she whispered.

Wondering how he could possibly know that.

He smiled then.

A predator’s smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d like to hear you play someday.”

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