Chapter 4 - NOTHING IS FREE
I found Dante at the Velvet Lounge the following night.
He sat alone in the same booth.
A glass of whiskey rested untouched beside his hand.
I walked straight toward him.
His bodyguards moved.
Dante lifted one finger.
They stopped.
“Elena.”
I placed the hospital receipt on his table.
“Did you do this?”
He looked down.
Then back at me.
“Yes.”
My hands shook.
“Why?”
“Because your brother needs surgery.”
“You don't know him.”
“No.”
“You don't know me.”
“Not yet.”
I stared.
“I'm not for sale.”
Something dangerous flashed across his face.
Not anger at me.
Anger at the implication.
“I know.”
“Then why would you give me twenty-two thousand dollars?”
He leaned forward.
“Because I could.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one I have.”
I swallowed.
“I can't repay you.”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I won't owe you anything.”
“You don't.”
“Not dinner. Not a dance. Not anything.”
Dante held my gaze.
“Agreed.”
I stared at him.
He looked almost amused.
“What?”
“You're the first person in a long time who has argued with me about receiving money.”
“Maybe you should meet better people.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Low and surprised.
His bodyguards looked startled.
Then Dante stood.
“Elena.”
I took a step backward.
He noticed and stopped.
“Your brother's treatment is not a transaction. If you never speak to me again, the payment remains.”
My eyes filled.
I hated that.
I hated crying in front of strangers.
Especially dangerous strangers.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
His expression changed.
For a moment, he looked tired.
“Because someone should be.”
I turned away before he could see me cry.
But as I reached the service station, Greg stepped into my path.
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing.”
“Don't lie.”
He grabbed my wrist.
Pain shot up my arm.
“Greg, let go.”
His grip tightened.
“You think because Vanel noticed you, you're special?”
I tried to pull away.
“Please.”
Then a voice behind him said, “Take your hand off her.”
Greg froze.
Dante stood six feet away.
His expression was terrifyingly calm.
Greg released me.
“Mr. Vanel, I was just—”
“Touching an employee who asked you to stop.”
Greg swallowed.
“I misunderstood.”
Dante looked at my wrist.
Red fingerprints circled the skin.
Then he looked back at Greg.
“Pack your things.”
Greg blinked.
“Sir?”
“You're finished here.”
Greg laughed nervously.
“You don't own this club.”
Dante's expression didn't change.
“No.”
He glanced toward the office.
“But the man who does owes me three million dollars.”
Greg went pale.
Dante looked at me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head.
He studied me.
May you like
Then said quietly, “You don't have to apologize for someone else's cruelty.”
And for the first time in nine months, I believed I might be able to walk into work without being afraid.
