CHAPTER FOURTEEN: WINTER
"What Vito says is true, this job shouldn't be too hard but there are customers who don't know how to keep their hands to themselves," Enzo says as we pull up outside of Delirium.
I shoot him a look, wanting to point out that one of his bosses doesn't know how to keep his hands, among other things, to himself, and yet he doesn't seem to have a problem with that.
"But if anyone is getting too out of hand, I will be around the club and will put it to a stop. There will also be some bouncers on duty who know when to step in."
I nod, even though I don't turn my gaze to look at him, too busy staring at the club. There's a line parked outside already even though I know the club doesn't open for another hour. I'm here early to get more familiar with the place, considering that my tour the other day didn't go the way it was supposed to. And I'm also to meet the rest of the staff.
And sniff out a rat, apparently.
I take a deep swallow at the thought. Vito hadn't gone into too much detail, telling me that I'll learn more as it becomes need to know, but someone is robbing the family blind. At first I'd assumed, he'd meant they've been taking cash, but from the anger in his voice, it'd seem to be...more.
I mean the Casto family isn't exactly known to not have a couple pennies or two to rub together. So surely they wouldn't fret too hard over money and they certainly wouldn't bring me, a nobody, in to figure it out. Speaking of which, it points to the fact that they don't actually trust anybody in this club to bring in a complete outsider instead of trying to get someone already in the staff to do it.
So that means I shouldn't trust anyone I come in contact with, that much Vito had told me, his voice hard and serious.
"Are you ready?" Enzo asks, dragging me out of my thoughts.
I nod. "As ready as I'll ever be." I keep my voice low.
He shuts the car off and rounds it, opening my door. I've already gotten used to the chauvinistic gesture, but when he reaches a hand out to help me out of the car, I don't take it. I haven't forgotten about the other side I've seen of him. I know to act right, but it doesn't mean I have to be nice about it.
He doesn't say anything about me not taking his hand though, only gesturing for me to follow him to the door on the side of the club. It's adjacent to another club, the alleyway just barely illuminated by the setting sun. There are no lights in the alleyway and I have to imagine that it gets extremely dark when the sun is completely gone.
I never want to be caught out here alone.
"Wait," I say to Enzo just as he grabs onto the handle of the door. He pauses, turning to look at me with a raised brow.
"Won't people find it weird that I have my own bodyguard?" I ask with furrowed brows. "I mean, the rest of the staff doesn't, I assume."
"Of course they don't," he says, shaking his head. His eyes move behind me briefly before flitting back. "But it won't seem weird. Before the night is over, there will be whispers among the staff that you're..." he clears his throat, "Giovanni's mistress."
Mistress? Does that mean he has a girlfriend, or even a wife?
No, I haven't heard anything of either Casto brother being married.
"Would his mistress actually be working? Aren't mistresses supposed to be put up in a penthouse and given a weekly allowance?" What an ideal life. "Especially if they're important enough for a bodyguard."
Enzo shakes his head. "It's complicated," he says, after a moment. He presses his lips together and when his gaze moves away from me again, I know he's trying to determine what to tell me. Finally, his eyes meet mine. "The idea will be that you want to work, since it's what you're using to doing."
"Used to doing?" I ask, even more confused than I was at the beginning.
He nods, but it's obvious he isn't comfortable with whatever he's about to say. And this is why I keep having a hard time determining the type of person he is.
A monster at times.
But not at others.
"Yes, after being... plucked from the slums," he finally says and my brows shoot up, my cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "You know, a girl used to working and getting her fingers dirty who doesn't want to be pampered by some rich man."
My teeth grit, my hands clenching. "And is that why I was chosen for this?" I ask. "Because I look poor." Because of my fucking skin color.
"What do you mean?" he asks, his brows pulling together. His eyes roam over me, taking in the purple cocktail dress that I was given to wear tonight. It probably cost more than one paycheck that I earned from the service station.
"I mean, did he pick me because I'm a poor black girl from the hood and that's exactly what he wants."
He jerks back slightly, his nose wrinkling. "No... I..." He shakes his head, and yet again, he's different than usual. No longer stoic or cold, but legitimately confused and baffled. "You don't look poor, Winter."