"Does this have anything to do with whoever's threatening you?" he demands.
"No! I promise, no," I say quickly, shaking my head like he can actually see me.
"I'll be at the club this evening," I add.
"You can rest if you want to, dolce peccato," Matteo says softly.
"No!" I blurt. "I have to work if I'm going to pay you back."
"You think I called because I doubt you can pay me back?" His voice tightens. It sounds more like disappointment than anger.
I end the call, already regretting what I just said. I throw my phone on the bed and groan.
"I didn't mean it like that," I whisper to no one but myself.
>>>
Night time I walk into the club, I spot Matteo talking to Dante, pointing toward a blue door.
I get close enough to hear him telling Dante he'll be in club five for tonight.
Sometimes I wonder—If Dante is a bodyguard who works the floor for fun, or if he is just too good at multitasking.
"There she is," Matteo says with his signature smirk. "Come on, Nina, follow me."
God, the way he says my name… like it's something delicate. He pronounces it like it actually matters.
"Nina!"
I snap out of it and look up to find him staring at me strangely. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and fall quietly in step behind him. Dante disappears toward the blue door… box five, I think.
When we reach Matteo's office, I stop and wait for him to sit. But he doesn't. He stands in front of me, too close.
"Is something wrong?" I ask, careful with my tone.
His brow furrows. "What you said this morning…don't let it happen again."
He keeps our eyes locked as his hand lifts to my shoulder, his knuckles brushing slowly down my arm. My breath hitches.
"Don't ever think like that again. Do you understand?"
I nod.
"Use your words, Nina," he says, pressing his body against mine. He dips his head closer. "Understood?"
"Yes… yes, sir," I shiver.
"I heard you went to a business school. Didn't graduate because of the tuition hike," he says as he finally takes his seat.
"You ran a background check on me?" I ask, anxiety rising in my chest.
When I was younger, I dreamed of having my own company—my name on the building, workers and features in business magazines.
But life had other plans. Tuition went up by 25%, and I had to drop out. That was one of the hardest chapters of my life.
"Yes, Nina. I need your input on something," Matteo says, gesturing to the chair across from him.
"My input? On what?"
"The franchise location. I want your opinion." He hands me his laptop.
"And this is me recognizing you're worth more than just serving drinks in this club. In case you need it spelled out."
I open the laptop. The first account is locked—probably his personal one. The second one opens without a password. I find the files easily.
Two hours pass. Matteo doesn't say much—just sits there watching me. Or more like staring. It's intense.
Finally, I sit upright and look at him.
"This property you're considering—it's not a good idea," I say, pausing to see if he'll argue. When he stays quiet, I continue.
"The Eastside is overcrowded. High construction costs, poor design. Too many clubs and overpriced bars. I'd suggest the Westside."
"Why?" he asks, his eyes fully on me now.
"It's undervalued right now. More people are starting to move there because Eastside's too expensive…"
"…In a few years, Westside will develop, and property values will skyrocket. No nightlife there yet. If you move first, you'll be the pioneer—the CEO of the first high end club on that side of town…A night life they call it."
I lean back and rub my eyes. The screen's been messing with them.
When I open them again, Matteo is still staring. I brace myself for a snarky comment. Instead… he smiles. Matteo Moretti fucking smiled. And my heart flips.
"I should fire my financial advisor and hire you," he says. "You are even prettier to look at."
I mumble a quick thank you and rush out before I do something stupid—like jump him. His eyes were… shut up, Nina.
I head downstairs to the main floor. I don't even know why, but my feet take me toward a certain box.
I open the blue door and walk into a glass room. There's no bed, no furniture—just a raised ring-like frame covered in fur, and a woman tied up on it.
Her arms are stretched above her, bound apart, and her legs are tied open. She's completely exposed, laid out like a sacrifice.
Dante stands nearby, holding a three-tailed leather whip. He drags it slowly across her nipples, down her stomach, stopping just above her pussy.
"Say it," he commands.
Something about the way he carries himself—so dominant, so in control—makes my breath hitch.
Thank God Dante only does kink and foreplay. If he actually had sex with these women, I don't think I could handle it…
"Please hit me, Master," the woman whimpers.
"Louder, slut."
"Please, Master. Punish me!" she screams.
Dante lifts the whip just above his chest and brings it down on her heat. She gasps, thrusting toward him, but the restraints hold her firm.
"Please, Master, more… I need more."
Jealousy punches through me. I watch, mesmerized and burning, as he hits her again and again, making her moan with tears streaming from her eyes.
I close mine, trying to shake the image of me in her place. But then I see her arousal drip to the floor.
Months ago, if someone had told me I'd ever be in this position—imagining myself tied up and flogged—I would have laughed. Or stared like they were crazy.
But here I am.
"I'm going to hit you five more times," Dante says, voice low, "and you're going to cum for me. Understood?"