When She Unravels: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Fallen Book 1)

My second week working at Revolvr is far easier than the first. With the documents fiasco no longer hanging over me, I jump into my work with vigor. My body begins to adjust to the manual labor, and when I get home on Thursday, I have enough energy to put on my bathing suit and take a walk down to the beach.

I slip off my flip-flops and dig my toes into the warm sand. A boy runs past me and screams with delight at his colorful kite. The intensely blue water shimmers like an enormous veil of tiny diamonds. It’s beautiful.

Gemma would love suntanning here while drinking a glass of cool prosecco and reading a mystery novel she picked up at the airport. Whenever we flew anywhere, it was a tradition for her to buy one and crack it open on the plane. And Cleo would have been intrigued by all the nightlife. She’d beg me to get permission from Mamma and Papà to take her out, and when she inevitably got her way, she’d make a big deal out of finding us the perfect outfits. My youngest sister loves dressing up.

God, I miss them. What I would do to squeeze them and give them both a kiss.

Instead of moping, I place my canvas bag on the ground, stuff my dress inside, and make my way toward the water. The cool waves lick at my ankles. I bite the bullet and run into the sea as fast as I can.

I haven’t seen De Rossi since Monday. The fact that he hired me despite the situation with my documents, combined with his concern about me on Friday, makes me feel all sorts of strange things. Maybe he’s not as bad as he seems. I’m starting to detect an actual human being beneath his brutish shell.

I dunk my head under water and squeeze my eyes shut. I considered his offer to protect me for a brief moment in his office before I realized I could never take him up on it. For one, I don’t trust him enough to reveal my real identity, but more importantly, there is nothing he could do to keep the Garzolos off the island if they ever find out I’m here. Papà and Lazaro are ruthless killers. If they catch wind I’m here, they’ll gun down anyone in their way. No one, not even De Rossi, would be able to keep them away.

I need to be careful around him. He’s a smart guy. Observant and curious. The latter is a particularly dangerous trait for wealthy, powerful men to have. If he decides he wants to uncover the truth about Ale Romero, he has tools at his disposal to cause some serious damage. Ibiza is starting to work out for me, and I don’t want to be forced to leave. I should keep my distance, but instead, I want to see him again. Where has he been all week?

When I get back to the hostel, the receptionist waves me down. “Someone’s been calling for you.”

My stomach drops. Immediately, I assume it’s Papà. “Who?”

“Some guy named Ras. Told me to ask you to call him back as soon as possible.”

Oh, thank God. “Sure, can I try now?”

She hands me the phone, and I make a mental note to buy a cell phone now that I should be able to afford it. Ras picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” I ask uncertainly.

“Romero, I’ve been calling the number you have on file for hours. Where have you been?”

“I went to the beach.”

“Next time, don’t disappear like that,” he grumbles. “We need help tonight with a big VIP booking. A bunch of our waitstaff went out to this shitty sushi joint on the northern side last night and came down with food poisoning. Can you cover?”

“What’s the job exactly?”

“Taking orders and serving drinks. It’s not rocket science.”

This might be an opportunity to show Ras I’d do well as a server. Vilde has been telling me that the servers in the VIP areas get paid really well because they get huge tips. “What time?”

“Now, Romero. You need to get trained first.”

“Jeez, okay. I thought you said it’s not rocket science. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Find Jessa when you arrive. She’ll bring you up to speed. Good luck.”

I doubt I’ll need much luck. Serving drinks to a bunch of partygoers can’t be that hard. Vilde’s been working the upstairs terrace bar since she started, and it’s been smooth sailing for her.

The first words out of Jessa’s mouth when I get to Revolvr make me reconsider. “Brace yourself, sweetheart. You’re about to see some bonkers shit go down.”

She’s a tiny twenty-five-year-old from Canterbury—a small town in England—with a platinum blond bob and expressive dark brows. They move like little caterpillars every time she speaks. “You’ve got to keep your head on straight, all right? The Werners are renting three of the VIP sections, and those Germans love their orgies.”

I must have heard her wrong. “Orgies? Here?”

“Gods, no. We don’t have the right setup.” She waves at the space. “But this is their hunting ground. They invite whoever catches their attention up to the VIP area and then work them for a few hours to see if they’ll come to their yacht for the after-party.”

“And people go?”

“Course they do. Our job is to serve drinks quickly and keep everyone lubricated. I’ll be mixing the drinks, and you and the other two servers will be handing them out. Keep in mind, the Werners drop like a hundred Gs on each of these nights, so we need to make sure everyone’s having a good time.”

I pull at the neck of my T-shirt. “Sure.”

The Werners arrive an hour later with a large entourage, and whatever I imagined them to look like, it’s not this. They’re a stunning couple in their thirties. The woman’s a curvaceous redhead with abundant curly hair, and the man a blond-haired blue-eyed hunk who looks like he starts his days with hours at the gym. There’s an air of decadence around them, from the expensive clothes they both wear, to the glittering jewelry that adorns the woman’s wrists.

“The wife’s name is Esmeralda,” Jessa whispers to me. “She’s an heiress to a massive fortune from her father’s steel empire. Her husband is Tobias. He’s half German half Monegasque.”

“Mone— What?”

“That’s what they call people from Monaco. I don’t know what he does. He never talks about it.”

“You’ve had conversations with them?”

Jessa’s pale skin turns pink. “Some.”

I raise one suspicious brow at her. “You’ve been to their yacht.”

She reddens more. “A few times.”

“How was it?”

“Memorable,” she says, dragging the back of her hand over her brow. “Definitely memorable. But those memories are for me and me only. Off you go.”

I keep my distance from the Werners, allowing the more experienced staff to serve them while I run around getting orders from the other guests that start to trickle in.

Sometime later, De Rossi appears. I realize I’m holding my breath as I watch him cross the VIP area. He’s wearing all black today—black suit, black shirt, black tie—like a shadowy god who’s come down to walk among his disciples. His presence cuts through the room, drawing eyes to him.

A fluttering sensation explodes low inside my belly. I want to pretend like I’m immune to his pull, but every time I look away, my gaze keeps gravitating back to him. The Werners stand up to greet him with warm smiles and take turns embracing him as if they’re old friends.

I wonder how they know each other. Does De Rossi join them on their yacht? Has he slept with Esmeralda?

I shouldn’t care, but I do. I register every glance and touch between him and Esmeralda, and each one feels like the sharp prick of a knife. God, it irritates the hell out of me.

De Rossi sits down and looks over his shoulder. His dark gaze settles on my body and sends a shiver down my spine. Esmeralda and Tobias take note. She raises one elegant hand and waves me over with a flick of her wrist.

Crap. I can’t ignore her, not when I need to show De Rossi how good of a server I could be.

Clutching my tray to my chest, I make my way to the booth.

“What can I get you?” My tone is affable, but I do my best not to look at De Rossi. Who knows what he might see spelled out across my face?

Esmeralda’s lips part in a genuine smile, and she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Beside her, her husband gives me a nod of acknowledgement.

“How are you tonight?” she asks.

I catch a whiff of her perfume—Opium by YSL. Cleo wears the same one. “I’m doing well, thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ale.”

“I don’t remember seeing you here before. Are you new at Revolvr?”

“I am. I just started working here last week.”

“Well, you picked a great place. I know our friend—” she places her hand on De Rossi’s shoulder “—treats his servers very well.”

“She’s not a server,” De Rossi cuts in.

“What is she then?” Tobias says before taking a sip of his drink.

“Ale’s on our custodial team. We were short on staff tonight, so she’s filling in.”

So much for getting a promotion. I do my best not to let my disappointment show and force myself to meet his gaze. “Happy to help however I can.”

The coldness in his eyes throws me off. I frown. What’s changed since Monday? He accepted my apology and gave me a job. I thought we were past all this.

“You have a good attitude,” Esmeralda notes. “You’d be smart to hold on to this one,” she says to. “And with a face like that, there’s no reason to keep her hidden away. Isn’t she beautiful, Tobias?”

“You look just like a young Monica Belluci,” her husband comments. “It’s uncanny. I’m sure you’ve gotten that before.”

Heat blankets my cheeks. “Thank you, that’s a very kind compliment.”

A seductive smile appears on his wife’s face. “We’d love to invite you to the after-party we’re hosting on our ya—”

“I don’t pay my staff to stand around and be admired, Esmeralda,” De Rossi says in a harsh tone.

The temperature drops. Tobias’s eyes narrow and Esmeralda shifts uncomfortably.

“Ale, stop preening and bring us another bottle of champagne with a few glasses.”

Preening? My grip tightens around the tray. “Of course.” The smile I give De Rossi is deadly.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Esmeralda says pleasantly, but her expression is perturbed. “Do stop by throughout the night.”

Since my hopes for a promotion are firmly in the gutter now, and my presence seems to piss of De Rossi, I think I might. After all, who am I to say no to his important guests? “Gladly.”

When I return with the champagne, he watches my every move as I serve him and the Werners. His behavior toward me seems to have warned them off talking to me again, but they thank me as I hand them their glasses. I’m about to leave when De Rossi closes his hand around my wrist and tugs me down until my ear is in line with his lips. An electric current erupts over my skin. “Don’t get any ideas.” His voice is like a bite of a poisoned whip. “That after-party isn’t for the likes of you.”

Heat explodes over my cheeks. The likes of me? What exactly does that mean? A spoiled princess? A lazy bimbo? I thought I’d proven to De Rossi he was wrong about me. What else does he want me to do?

I jerk my wrist out of his grip and walk away without a second look. Inside my chest, an angry fire burns.

The likes of me.

Maybe he recognizes exactly the kind of worthless scum you are.

It’s an intrusive thought, and it’s far from the first time I’ve had it. I’ve been Googling how to get rid of these thoughts, because every day they seem to be multiplying. Images of dead, bloodied bodies. Memories of their screams.

No, I won’t engage with it. I saved a girl. It took me a long time, but I eventually did the right thing. Doesn’t that count for something?

You murdered dozens first.

The voice in my head becomes Lazaro’s. Some days, you were so calm while you did it, I thought maybe you’d finally grown to like it like I did.

I lean against a pillar and exhale a long breath. I need to get his voice out of my head.

I’ll find you. And when I do, you’ll pay for your betrayal.

My husband might still be alive. He could be hunting for me this very second. When he finds me…I’m unlikely to survive. And what about Lorna? Did I condemn her to a painful death?

My breathing becomes labored. It’s too hot in here, too loud, too packed. I need to get out of here. Now.

My feet carry me to the emergency exit, and I push past the door. The small back area is dimly lit and completely empty. I suck in the humid air with the enthusiasm of someone who’s drowning and repeatedly pluck my shirt away from my skin.

How long can I function like this, with the past dragging me down? I need a therapist, but that’s out of the question. My secrets are coming with me to my grave, which means I just have to suck it up. It’s still better than being back in New York. At least I can promise myself I’ll never hurt another person again.

I’m taking deep breaths to calm myself when the emergency door is flung open.

When I see who it is, I shrink into myself. “Please, De Rossi. Not now.”

My boss stalks over to where I’m leaning against a wall, his face made all the more brutally handsome by his deep frown. He stops a few feet away and adjusts his cufflinks. “I want to make sure nothing was lost in translation. You are not to go onto that yacht.”

“That woman didn’t even get a chance to get the full invitation out of her mouth,” I say.

“I know Tobias and Esmeralda. When they see something they like, they don’t give up that easily.”

“And why should you care if I go?”

His eyes narrow. “You are not going to that party.”

Fury bursts inside of me. “Oh my God, I don’t give a crap about the stupid party!”

My shout stuns him. I take the rare opportunity of his mouth being shut to lay it all out. “What is your problem with me? In the beginning, you were testing me. I get it. But I passed the test. You hired me yourself! What else do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”

His nostrils flare as he takes a step toward me. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Leave you alone. Which is why I’m telling you not to go to the same event I’ll be going to tonight.”

Something in my chest tightens. “Don’t want me seeing you having sex? Afraid I’ll be unimpressed?”

“That is not what I’m afraid of.”

I scowl at him. “Then what is it?”

Frustration contorts his expression. “Goddamn it, Ale. Why can’t you just do as I say?”

I push off the wall. “You said the party wasn’t ‘for the likes of’ me. What does that even mean?”

He’s staring down at me, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “It means you drive me fucking crazy.”

“By doing what?”

“By merely existing.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Maybe you’ll understand this.” He presses me against the wall and crashes his lips to mine.

It’s like someone pressed the delete key. Everything around me clears, and my awareness zeroes in on the sensation of his kiss. The rough stubble of his chin. The softness of his mouth as he darts out his tongue to lick my bottom lip. His hands are on me—one in my hair, the other on my waist—and they’re fiery brands. When he tugs me closer, my hard nipples brush against his powerful chest.

I let out a moan. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, and I think back to all those times I wondered what he’d taste like.

Now I know. Whiskey and sin.

When I drag my nails down his back, he emits a sound I’ve never heard a man make before. It’s half growl half groan, and it travels all the way down to my toes.

He breaks the kiss and hisses through his teeth. “The moment I saw you, I thought you were the most infuriatingly beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on,” he says against my lips. “One look was enough for me to know I’d lose my mind over you if I wasn’t careful. I tried to be. I manufactured reasons for why I should stay away from you, but I can’t seem to make any of them stick.”

My stomach bursts with butterflies.

“I don’t need a distraction right now, but my self-control is hanging on by a fucking thread,” he says, dragging his lips over my cheek. “If I see someone else’s hands on you, I’ll break them. If you come to the party, the only person who’ll touch you will be me.”

It feels like someone’s dripping hot lava into my bloodstream. I’m burning up. “I don’t even know your first name,” I mumble like an idiot, still in shock at his revelation.

“Damiano,” he says. “But don’t you dare say it back to me. If I hear my name just once on your lips, I know I’ll become addicted.”

“You know yourself that well?”

He shakes his head. “I thought I did before I met you.”

I let out a ragged breath and push him away from me gently. I can’t think with his body practically enveloping me. All of the blood in my brain has travelled elsewhere. “I have to get back.”

He lets me pass, but when I’m halfway to the door, he calls out to me.

“Ale, choose wisely.”

I know he means it to be a warning. But I think it sounds like a plea.