My lips part slightly in shock, another floor of clothes?
As we pass by one of the racks, my eyes catch on a price tag.
Five hundred dollars for a shirt?
I know none of this will be coming out of my money since my bank account is just over the margin the bank requires before they shut it down. And Giovanni hasn't mentioned anything about me getting paid from working at the club.
Enzo remains behind me as we walk up the stairs and the sound of music hits my ears, the tune soft and beautiful, in a language that isn't English. At the top of the stairs, it opens up into a floor with gowns surrounding the walls in various colors, lengths, and styles. There's a dressing room in the back with mirrors on either side. And in front of it is a long leather couch. I pause when I see a dark head over the top of it.
The man stands up before turning around, his gaze landing on me.
"Winter."
For a reason I can't explain, my heart pounds a little quicker in my chest as I stare at Vito.
He adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket. "Come sit with me while Fabiana gets our first choices ready," he says.
My feet move of their own accord but my heart pounds quicker with every step until I'm standing right in front of Vito. He tilts his head to the side slightly and I don't miss the way the corner of his lips twitches slightly. His hands reach out, just barely brushing across my skin as he pushes my jacket off of my shoulders. My skin feels like it's buzzing.
"Take a seat," he says, gesturing to the couch again.
I plop down, the warm leather should offer some sort of comfort, but it only makes my stomach twist further.
Vito sits down next to me, his leg brushing against mine as he turns his body to look at me. I stare ahead, his gaze making me feel odd. I'm aware of Enzo still hanging out behind us and I know if I were to turn around, I'd find him looking intimidating, ready to take on any threat that appears.
"You look different today, Winter," Vito says.
I bite down on my lip, trying to come up with a response. In the end, I come up blank, remaining silent.
"Are you not speaking to me now?" he asks, but there isn't any anger in his tone, just contempt and maybe a hint of amusement.
I shake my head slightly, hating the way it makes me feel dizzy before turning to meet his gaze. His focus on me is intent and I instantly regret looking at him. "No," I say, my voice just barely above a whisper.
"Then what's the problem?"
I shrug slightly. "I don't know what to say."
"You could have said you were sick," he replies, catching me off guard. My brows knit together before I turn to look at Enzo. His face is impassive.
"Yes, he told me via text," Vito confirms, bringing my attention back to him. "But I would have been able to tell the moment you stepped into the room. Your eyes are a little red and the way you walked, it looked like you were going to puke at any moment," he informs me casually, as if people take such a deep survey of people at all times.
"I would prefer you didn't puke though," he says, wrinkling his nose slightly. "We're already spending enough money here today, I'd hate to have to write a check to get the carpets cleaned as well."
"I..." My throat feels dry and I have to clear it. "I can't help it," I tell him.
His face pinches slightly, his green flecked eyes moving over my face. "Well, I suppose hanging outside in an alleyway at the start of winter with nothing on but a dress that you can't even wipe your ass with didn't help," he says it so casually and calm that I almost miss it, that it takes me a second to figure out what he's referring to. And when I put the pieces together, my blood runs cold.
Maximo.
He told Vito what he did?
I blink, staring at him, once again at a loss for words.
"It's okay," he says, leaning away from me slightly. "It's my job to figure out the things that people don't want me to know."
"I thought your job was to fix things," I repeat the words I remember him saying to me the second time we met.
He smiles and this time it looks less like he's laughing at me and more like with me. "It is," he says before reaching over to the small table in front of us and picking up a thermos. "Here," he holds it out to me. "This should help."