Allison's POV

“Me?” I pointed to myself and asked, my voice strained as I struggled to contain the excitement sizzling through my body. The bastard had noticed me.

The man’s eyes did a double take on me, his stare ludicrous. “Who the hell else am I looking at?” he sniffed, brushing his thumb over his nose.

“Don Luca wants you, so be quick on your tiny feet, will you?” He snapped, snorting with impatience. He tapped his finger at the door as he waited.

“Okay,” I muttered. I looked around for something more appropriate to wear. My face was deadpan while I struggled to keep my heart from soaring off me like a pumped balloon into the air.

I sighed, my fingers trembling, and I snatched the leather jacket and jeans pants I came into the club with from a chair in the room.

He grunted and walked out of the room at some point, and I hurried after him, still struggling into my clothes. His large body loomed ahead like a well-dressed wall. He pummeled his way through the crowd with his body, creating a path for me.

I was just putting on my shirt over my bra when we reached Luca Tonelli’s booth in the VIP section.

The guard moved out of the way to stand at the side, revealing Luca Tonelli. My heart froze inside me, as if a cog stopped the wheel powering it. Up close, Luca Tonelli looked far more handsome and intimidating than what the photos we have of him back at the office portrayed. Prejudiced to not only his beauty but also his power.

One could feel them in all their rawness as they hung around him like an invisible coat. His whole aura breathed danger, mixed with the subtle charm of a man confident in his own skin and power.

He flicked his eyes up at me from the rim of the glass he held in his thick fingers—the deep blue pair looking like the color of the sea at dawn. He whispered, “Sit, lady,” his voice low and cold.

It had that force of authority that quickened my feet. I moved as his arm guided me to a space in the leather couch beside him.

His right-hand man, Rico Bastoni, shifted to create more room for me. His fingers swiped noisily on the table as he shifted the cocaine powder on the glass table before him. Never get high on your own supply. While Luca followed that rule, Rico didn't.

Every Mafia family runs a legal and illegal business simultaneously, one a cover-up for the other. While Luca controlled this club as he did many others, he also had his hands in any hard drug coming into New York. No hard drugs get into New York without his knowledge. And yet, he was so slick with his operations that the feds never caught him in the act or had any evidence against him. Which was what prompted this mission—in the official papers. Because for me, it was more.

Rico leaned low to the table, his fingers twitching, running through his shaggy, unkempt hair, as he snorted the powder on the table in one single inhale.

It wasn't my first time seeing someone snorting coke, but he did it so raw and grotesque, it raised bile in my mouth. I almost gagged. His eyes twitched after, uneasy, restless. Hell! He looked wild, like an animal—a wild, crazy wolf.

Warm, thick fingers gripped my jaw, steering my face back to him—Luca Tonelli. Somehow, even Rico’s twitchy eyes looked less daunting and intimidating than Luca’s clear ones. For some reason, his hard, lingering stare made my insides tighten in knots.

I shut my eyes for a moment, steeling control of myself, letting calm reign over the chaos brewing inside of me. I have been preparing for this particular day for years now. I wouldn't fuck it up just when I am so close to my answers—so close to bringing down the murderer that stole my father from me.

I sighed softly—a sigh only I could hear—opening my eyes once again to his cold ones.

“I heard you just joined the club today, and tonight is your first rodeo.” He asked, his voice calm and clear. Yet, I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was interrogating me. His eyes said he was.

His gaze warned me not to think about the question but just answer.

That might be bad for other people when lying, but certainly not for me. I have read and reread time and time over the fake background my FBI handler made for me that now I almost believe they were truly mine.

“Yes.” I answered, holding his gaze. I tried to not let him intimidate me. “A girl has got to make some money.” I added.

“What is your name?” he asked again. His brow cocked high in demand for an immediate answer. His fingers tapped the glass in his hand.

“Allison. Allison Parkour.”

His finger paused on the glass, and his shoulders heaved with nonchalance. But his slightly hooded eyes told me he was ruminating on the name. He steered the glass to his lips and took a careful sip.

He dropped the glass and leaned forward, breaking from his cold, intimidating posture, and he sat forward, leaning on his lap. The whole club, with its drunken crowd and blazing music, faded away, and all I saw were his eyes, the deep blue orbs looking right into my soul as if reaching for answers inside of me. “Where are you from?”

It was a struggle trying to hold his gaze and yet keep him back from reaching for the truth inside of me. I realized then that I have been on the defensive since. It was time to try another tactic, since the textbook method of playing it cool isn't working.

I leaned towards the table and grabbed a filled glass, probably Rico's. He was still busy sniffing coke. “Why do you want to know?” I asked, steeling some control into my trembling fingers as I raised the glass to my lips. The whiskey burned my throat. It itched. And I felt crazy enough to continue his interrogation. “If you are that curious, why not ask the manager for the form I filled out when applying? I wrote that down.”

His stare faltered for a moment—shocked I would be crazy enough to challenge him. His eyes calmed instantly. His shock was masked again by his cold, powerful aura. He snapped his fingers, and one of his men walked forward and dropped a document on the table. I instantly recognized it as the form.

“This form,” he asked, tapping on it. His eyes drifted from it to me and again.

“Yeah,” I answered, absently.

I dragged my eyes from the form, trying not to be disturbed by it, while a searing heat almost tore down my veins inside of me. Why bring the form? Was he suspecting me already?

“It says here that you are from. Atlanta, and you are a model and also a part-time stripper.” He said. “But you and I know this is all some BS. You haven't done a lick of modeling in your life.”

“And how would you know what I have done and not done?” I challenged. “It's my life, remember?”

He said nothing but leaned forward, closer and closer towards me. My hands trembled on my lap, my heart racing itself in my chest. I almost shut my eyes, but that would make me look guilty, so I had to endure the sting of his hard, penetrating stare coming closer to my face.

He moved so close I could feel his warm breath on my nose. His lips twitched in a wicked grin, and he snatched my hand.

I gasped softly when he finally leaned back to his seat. A wave of calm soothing the heat across my chest.

He touched my palm, his touch brisk but warm. “This hand tells me I am right.” He pointed out a few tiny scars on the back of my hand that I had gotten training at Quantico. He looked up again to the small scar at the side of my head, where I had been pistol-whipped at one time by a colleague.

I clenched my teeth hard. I should have known this modeling nonsense wasn't going to work. I snatched my hand from him. “So what?” I snapped, feigning anger. “I lied in my resume. Who doesn't? Is that why I am being interrogated like this?”

“But this isn't an interrogation, Miss Allison,” he said.

“Then why does it feel like it is?” I returned.

“How can you talk to Don Luca like that? Don't…” Rico was yelling furiously beside me. Luca raised his palm to the air. A signal for him to shut the hell up.

Rico mumbled some curses before he eventually quieted.

Luca’s face dissolved in a warm smile. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Allison.” He said.

He looked away from me to the club and snapped his fingers. Another hefty man ran fast to us. “Get Miss Allison the usual. I believe she is still angry. She needs something to calm her nerves.”

He tapped his designer loafers on the floor, enriching his smile until the guard came with the drink. He collected the glass from the guard and thrust it to me.

I stared at the drink and then his face. His authoritative coldness was far better than his smile. It creeped me out.

“My apologies for earlier, Miss Allison,” he smiled more, pushing the glass to me.

I snatched the drink and took some sips, my face tightening as it stung my throat again, harder than the others I had drunk tonight.

I dropped the glass with a smack on the table after downing the whole thing. His face brightened, every trace of the dangerous cold man abandoned. “You are a natural, Miss Allison,” he beamed.

I forced a smile at him for the trouble. I paused, my fingers trembling on the glass. My eyes swirled around in my head. I watched him through my hazy vision, his smile slowly disappearing to be replaced by that calculative coldness and ruthless confidence he had worn before.

The bastard. I gasped, realizing what he had done. But by then, I was falling onto the sofa, my eyes closing shut and tight.