Three years later

JASMINE'S POV

The snickering behind me gets pretty uncomfortable and disturbing. I glance subtly at the two American blondes who have their hands clamped over their mouths. What's their problem? And how can they be so childish in such a serious situation?

Right now, we're being addressed by one of the managers of the hotel we work in. And maybe his deep Italian accent is a bit too rough to the ears, I still don't think it's nice to laugh at him the way the girls are doing.

It's a very stupid and gutsy thing to do, considering the fact that they'll be fired instantly if he catches them.

I maintain a straight face, listening to his every word. He's talking about a huge party that will be held in the grand hall in an hour. There will be important guests, including Nico Ferrari, the rumored owner of the hotel and the man who typically runs the city.

"OMG, Nico will be here?" One of the girls gasps. And this time, I share in their surprise.

It is shocking news. I've been here three years and he's never visited, regardless of being the owner of the hotel.

But I've heard enough rumors of his ruthlessness and his fierce rage. Also how he has more cash than most of the richest men you can think of in the world.

He has a lot of hotels, restaurants, companies and casinos to his name. Not sure what business he's really into but some say it's not very legal. He's also an Alpha. Of one of the biggest Packs in Italy.

I've heard a lot. And I've wondered most times what such a man will look like. What's gonna be a fitting facial feature for a man with so much power? I've thought about that a lot. It's kinda thrilling to know I'll finally get to see him.

My phone starts vibrating in my pockets and I'm itchy to take the call. It could be from home. Could Michael be feeling sick? My heart went to my three years old.

"I understand you all have high positions you work in. But for today, in that party, you will all work as waitresses…" the man addresses.

He says a few more words and it's a bit crazy that I have to leave my receptionist post and be a waitress for tonight. But sure, anything to keep my job.

He warns about misconduct and threatens to fire anyone who creates any kinda scene.

"You're dismissed." He finally says and strides off. Our little group disperses until it's just me standing in the hallway.

I quickly take out my phone and check to see who called. It's Isabel, my Nanny. Quickly, I call her back.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hello, Ma'am."

"Isabel, is there something wrong? Is Michael sick?"

"Oh, no, Ma'am. He's fine. And also asleep."

My heart settles instantly. I'm too much of a panicky mother. And that's because my son has grown to be the center of my existence.

His lovely Italian and American features are all the answers I need to know he belongs to Michelangelo, the hot stranger from my one night stand.

But he also got a bit of my looks, making him the prettiest three years old out there.

"What happened then?" I ask, glancing left to right.

"I just wanted to know if you'll be back tonight. My Mum called. She's not feeling too well. I wanna go see her."

"Uh," I glance at my wristwatch. Not sure when the party will end but I'll try to be home early. "No problem. I'll be home tonight. Really sorry about your Mum."

"Thank you, Ma'am. Have a goodnight."

"You too, Isabel. Give Michael a goodnight kiss for me." I say and then we hang up.

Three Italian men dressed in a very typical black Italian suit strides past me, engaged in serious conversation. My guess is that they're here for the party.

Staring at them reminds me of Michelangelo. Sometimes, I wonder what it's gonna feel like running into him. In a city filled with men who have his kind of aura. I wonder if I'll ever be lucky enough to see him again. And if I do, will I be strong enough to tell him our night together birthed something so ethereal? It's been three years tho. I doubt meeting him will ever happen.

Two hours later, the party is in full swing. I'm carrying another full tray of champagne glasses going through the guests and serving them.

"Come, Jasmine," My boss grabs my arm softly. "You need to serve the main guests."

"Sure, Sir." I follow him to a small group of people. Just getting close to them fills me with goosebumps. They seem so high class in a very dominating and terrifying way.

My eyes stick to the tallest of the group. A man, dressed in black suit, hair sleek and in a bun. His back faces me and they are so wickedly broad. His muscles are straining against the fabric covering them. His hands are covered in black gloves and his side profile shows a bit of stubble. Neatly carved stubbles.

His rich Italian voice sounds pretty mesmerizing, jogging up memories.

"This is my wife," he says in English to two older men, pointing at the woman beside him. His American accent is rather too neat. Like he can do both accents so casually accurate. Who is he?

"That's Nico Ferrari. Try not to act stupidly and just serve the drinks." My boss fills me in as we get to them.

I nod, half panicking. He's married? I didn't get that from the rumors. And why does he have so much striking resemblance to Michelangelo?

No time to sort my thoughts out as I'm already in front of them. I keep my head down as I offer the tray, so they can grab the glasses.

My boss says something in Italian and they all laugh. I dare to glance up, just the same time as the gloved hand reaches for a glass.

Stupid curiosity gets me looking at his face and holy shit! Terror. Panic. You name it, rushes in as I go pale. I gasp, losing my hold on the tray and it goes crashing on the floor. Oh, goddess!

"Are you mad?!" My boss yells. But I'm still stuck, staring at him. Michelangelo. No….no…Nico Ferrari. Oh goddess. I slept with…Nico Ferrari?!!

He's staring back. More intently. Eyes dark and piercing. Viciously stealing my breath.

I quickly drop to the floor as I regain a bit of my senses. I pick a few of the glass shards with my shaky fingers.

"Get away from those shards. You'll hurt yourself." He orders. Just as commanding as he sounded when he got rid of that man that grabbed me that night.

I don't listen and keep picking them. Then I wince as it slits my thumb, letting out a bit of blood.

"I said, leave them!" He grunts, pulling me up and away from the mess. His hold on my hand is too tight and filled with anger. "Leave them. Don't fucking get hurt."

His eyes are burning now. Increases my panicky state. What's he so angry about? Why's he holding me this way in front of his wife? What does he care if I get hurt or not? How the hell is he Nico Ferrari? Why did he give me a fake name? A million questions rake my head.

I wiggle my hand to free from his hold. He doesn't let go. I struggle even harder, needing to get away from all the stares I'm getting. He lets go of me and I run off. Straight into the elevator. Going to the room I share with a coworker when we have to spend the night here.

I get to the room, kicking off my shoes and going to sit on the bed. My heart is pounding at a deafening pace. I'm shaky as fuck. Disoriented. Confused. Scared. Excited. Scared again. It's a lot of heavy emotions in a crazy mix.

Lone tears roll down my eyes. But I wipe them at the knock on the door. Could be room service. Or the coworker. I don't know. I just hurry over to open it.

My eyes dilate at the sight of Michelangelo standing right outside my door.

His legs are apart. Hands in pocket. A complete villian with a breathtakingly handsome face. His lips tilt in a smile, causing his rugged face to squeeze slightly.

"Good to see you again, baby girl." Voice still as deep and husky.