“I know—I’ve done it longer than any of the rest of you. I have to get this hardware out of my leg so I can work again.”
Being shot was no fun. He’d taken two bullets in his left leg, one in the thigh and one in the calf. Extensive surgery had saved his life, but had left him with metal in his leg—and that meant he couldn’t do his job. He couldn’t go into the shadows as he was born to do. He’d trained his entire life. It didn’t matter all the training he had, he’d been reduced to the resident playboy.
He was the decoy. His cousins had flown into town, using their private jet. They were splashy as hell, and he was showing them a good time. The best restaurants, the hottest nightclub, which just happened to be the one the Ferraros owned. No one saw the third cousin, Lucca, who had also come in on that jet. He was out doing his job, meting out justice to someone who thought he’d escaped it. No one would ever see him or know that he’d made the trip from New York to Chicago. The paparazzi made certain to keep that glaring spotlight on the ones in the club, never realizing they saw only what the Ferraros wanted them to see.
“The doctor said a year to eighteen months, Giovanni,” Taviano cautioned.
“It won’t do any good waiting if I lose my mind.”
God, he was in a foul mood. Worse, he couldn’t stop watching the waitress. She was at the second table now. John Darby was hosting his friends as he often did. He liked the cameras on him and didn’t mind a scene in the least. They tore up hotel rooms and started fights in bars. His reality television program was a number-one hit because the man was willing to do almost anything to get eyes on him. No way should Sasha be waiting on those tables without the specialized training given to the servers dealing with celebrities.
“Mr. Ferraro.” West arrived in his immaculate suit, looking every inch the man in charge.
“What’s that, West?” Giovanni swept his hand toward Sasha. “She’s totally green and you’ve got her waiting tables she can’t possibly handle.” He was pissed and it showed in his voice. He let his expression show it as well.
“She has a good memory,” West defended. “Better, even, than the experienced girls. There was an emergency tonight. Nancy called in sick at the last minute, and even though some of the others have more experience, they don’t have the memory like she does. You know we can’t have someone trying to write down the orders. Not for those tables. She’s our best for the job tonight.”
It made sense. They didn’t move anyone up to the first and second tier unless they could memorize orders, keep them straight and were fast. Sasha, apparently, was all three.
“She’s not experienced enough to handle the drunks and the attention they’re going to give to someone looking like she does.” He made it a statement. He couldn’t come out and say he didn’t want anyone close to her, not while they were drunk. Who was he kidding? He didn’t want anyone close to her, drunk or sober.
“Do you want her replaced? Did she do something that upset you?” West persisted.
“No. Just bring me whatever you have on her.” They didn’t hire without background checks. West and two others were responsible for the hiring.
West frowned. “You mean you want to see the file we have on her?”
“Yeah, West, that’s exactly what I want to see.” Giovanni couldn’t help the sarcasm. What did West think he meant?
West’s lips tightened, but he nodded and turned away, striding through the tables to the wide stairs leading down to the second tier. Giovanni watched him go down the carpeted steps before turning to his brother. “Don’t say it.”
“You’re out of control.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
“Over having to play the part of a playboy, which all of us have done since puberty, or because of that waitress?”
Giovanni wished he knew the answer to that. He’d made an ass of himself in front of her, that much was certain. His gaze kept straying to her, watching her as she moved through the tables, doing her job. He wasn’t doing his, but she was doing hers. For some reason, his job suddenly seemed abhorrent. He didn’t want to dance with another woman. He didn’t want to touch one or kiss one. He had no interest in a blow job by anyone—unless it was from those red lips and that mouth.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, right where the nagging headache persisted. The loud music wasn’t helping, and the fact that he was acting so out of character in front of his family made it worse.
“It might be the waitress,” he conceded. He looked at his brother, his hand dropping down to his chest to rub there, right over his heart. “I don’t know what it is about her, but she got to me. I’ve never been this interested in just one. Not like this.”
“Asking her out isn’t going to be easy after that, bro,” Taviano said. “She’ll think everything you say or do is part of our game. Thinking about it, it’s a shit game anyway.”
Giovanni nodded, because it was. His gaze followed Sasha as she once again started up the stairs toward their tier. The more he looked at her, the more beautiful he thought her. Not in a conventional way, it was more than that. Her skin glowed under the lights. There was a softness to her face, as if she didn’t wear much makeup and it was her natural skin he was seeing. She had full breasts and a narrow waist, which only served to emphasize her hips.
He glanced over to the table of MMA fighters. Aaron had a woman in his lap, kissing his throat, while another whispered in his ear. Another one appeared to be trying to put his hand on her breast. In spite of all the attention, the champion had moved his head to the side in order to see around the girl in his lap, his gaze on Sasha as she came up the stairs. Giovanni’s breath hissed out in a rush.
“Here’s her file, Mr. Ferraro,” West said, putting a folder on the table. “I printed out everything for you.” His voice was stiff and very businesslike. “Will that be all?”
“I’ve been acting like an ass all evening,” Giovanni said immediately. Deliberately, he rubbed his temples. “Unfortunately, you got caught up in my protest. You certainly run this place without any hitches, or if there are, like tonight, you find a way to smooth them over. I appreciate that, as do the other family members.” As Giovanni apologized, the tension receded from the manager’s face.
“No problem, Mr. Ferraro. I was worried about Sasha as well. I’ll pull her off if you’d prefer,” he added.
“No.” Giovanni shook his head. He was already in her bad graces enough as it was. The top tier of tables earned the most tips. By now, Sasha was aware her take-home could be several thousand dollars. He wasn’t about to lose her that, although he’d give her the money to keep her out of harm’s way. He kept his hand on the file to prevent West from taking it away with him.
“I do want more training for security, and if she continues to be a fill-in, have her given the training for working a tier like this.” He sighed. “I’ll shoot you an email.”
West nodded. “Of course, Mr. Ferraro. If that’s all?”
Giovanni nodded and turned to watch his favorite waitress. Sasha served John Darby’s table first, putting the drinks down in front of each of his guests, mostly out-of-control college students. Darby’s family was wealthy by most people’s standards and getting wealthier through John’s celebrity. He’d dropped out of college and become the star of his own reality show, bringing his former frat boys with him on all his excursions. The fines he incurred from hotels and restaurants his friends and he tore up were nothing in comparison to the money pouring in for his show. People seemed to love watching a train wreck in action.