Chapter 5

The Camilla of the streets would have romanced him and blown him by now if he was of any value to me in this life, but as I have my eye on a much bigger and sexier prize, then I am wasting none of my hard-earned flattery on the likes of pencil dick and his complete hatred of women having an equal footing to him.

I have been here for almost two months since I got out of the hospital, and much to my complete disappointment, our suave Italian has never reappeared in all that time to give me any direction on what he wanted me to do in this damn club. Luciano couldn't run a treadmill, let alone a nightclub; the place is nothing more than a cheap watered-down, back alley dive.

This place is barely scraping by; I think he knows it too, as requesting tonight’s takings several hours early is a sign of desperation. I also suspect he has been diddling the takings for weeks, but it’s his funeral, and when Alexi shows his face, I doubt he won’t notice. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to steal from him anyway.

I never thought I would end up being nothing more than a glorified bartender. Still, at least Alexi’s paying me the wages of a bar manager, and the apartment upstairs is both luxurious and free, which is a nice bonus.

It’s modern, five stars and has two bedrooms in a lovely open-plan layout. Although I suspect the black silk-sheeted master suite is his, I never go in there for fear of what I might find. It has something of Alexi in the stark masculine neatness, and the locks on the inner door suggest he uses this place for playtime when he stays here.

I should see the advantage of being so close to his boudoir, even if he might be a dark man with sinister kinks. It gives me the upper hand on seduction moves.

Apart from his room, I have the free run of the whole upper floor in a four-story-tall New York building. We are snuggled in the back, dark depths of warren-like streets, and my view is limited to windows and brick walls of buildings beside us, but the décor is expensive, clean and airy. I am completely at home in the minimalist lad pad with high tech. No expense is spared on gadgets, entertainment, or the fitted kitchen perfect for small meals.

I can’t grumble at landing on my feet this way. I’m bored with the lack of scope for doing anything other than becoming Luciano’s mule for his workload as this place crumbles to the ground around my ears.

‘‘Get out and get back downstairs. Go shake your tits at people with cash to spend.’’ He growls at me with his crooked teeth on show and those watery blue eyes almost popping out of that loathsome skull. That bulging creepy vein appears over his reddening forehead, signalling I’m pissing him off again. He loses his temper quickly this one, and if I had the energy to clean up his mess, I would have made the artery pop by now. He’s easy to affect, and I reckon I could push all his buttons if I so desired.

Wanker!

‘‘They couldn’t afford me, hence why I leave dressing like whores to your staff.’’ I flick my long harlot red hair at him over my shoulder as I turn on my very high stiletto heel and smooth down my fitted navy shift dress. I was always more of a dress-to-impress than pop-out-to-show-the-goods kind of girl. A man will work for it and pay more if he wants it. You don't make half as many sales if you put it all on show and let him sample the goods before he buys. His staff should learn the art of teasing and enticing—they would get way more tips.

‘‘You’re a cheap slut that Alexi installed here until he’s ready for a new fuck buddy. He will use you and kick you to the curb as soon as he’s done. Don’t get comfy, Sweetlips … Alexi has his eye on more pressing issues than women! You’re all mere distractions for him, and I, for one, cannot wait to see him dump you in the gutter.’’ He smirks, pleased with his little put-down, and I laugh sweetly, unaffected by smarmy little imps with penis envy.

‘’Dahling … green is not your colour; it clashes with your high blood pressure.’’ I wink as I wiggle my way out of the office and smirk at the crash of things falling off his desk. He tends to swipe when he’s raging, and I probably just gave him twenty minutes of picking up all those papers I deposited.

I'm a tad smug at how effortlessly I get to him; it’s been my only amusement these past weeks.

I wander across the cream-carpeted open floor of the office level, between the large potted palms, towards the row of lifts. There are two closed offices up here and a bank of monitors behind a huge, curved desk in between, where one solitary security guard keeps an eye on the downstairs and other floors. Not that there is much to watch in an empty flat, a storage floor which houses nothing but excess from the bar, and dusty boxes or empty rooms. This level usually has only him and Luciano, while the bar is only busy from seven p.m. until four a.m. The rest of the time, it’s closed. The other office is always locked, so I presume it belongs to our missing hunk of the moment, and I wonder when the hell that one will dazzle me with his presence.