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“Boss?" Matteo's voice sounds distant. "The next applicant?—"
I move slowly, aware of all eyes in the club tracking my movement. Let them watch. Let them see exactly what happens when Stefano Rega claims something as his own.
"You, stay.” I point at her and then turn to Matteo. “Everyone else..." My voice is barely recognizable. "Get out. Now."
The room clears instantly, my people trained to recognize the danger in my tone. But I can't tear my eyes from her. A thousand questions war in my mind.
Where has she been? What happened to the sweet girl who blushed at her first kiss? Who taught her to move like sin incarnate?
And most importantly—who the fuck do I have to kill for putting her on this stage?
She hasn't moved at all, her expression carefully neutral, but I know her tells. The slight lift of her chin, the almost imperceptible shift of her weight—she's preparing to run.
Not this time.
I force myself to move slowly, though every instinct screams at me to grab her, to demand answers for ten years of searching. Most of all, I want to claim her, make sure everyone knows she's mine.
But I can't. Not yet. She's like a wild creature. One wrong move, and she'll bolt.
"Ava D’Amato, I must say I’m shocked. A smart girl like you," I drawl, stalking toward the stage, "dancing in a place like this. Times must be hard."
Her eyes meet mine, and the look of recognition I see in her gaze nearly brings me to my knees. Then a flash of something—memory, shock, fear—crosses her face before she masks it. There's also wariness there now, shadows that weren't there at sixteen.
What put those shadows there? Who hurt her?
The need to know claws at my insides.
"A girl's got to eat,” she says, not breaking eye contact.
Her voice. Christ. It’s deeper than I remember, with an edge that speaks of years lived hard and fast. It shoots straight to my gut, awakening the monster I've spent years trying to cage.
I maintain a careful distance as I circle her, drinking in every detail. The sweet girl who used to read philosophy books under the oak tree is gone, replaced by this magnificent female.
"You were always the clever one," I continue, each word measured. "You could have been anything. A doctor, A lawyer." I pause, letting my next words draw blood. "Instead, you’re dancing?”
Her spine stiffens. "You don't know anything about me anymore."
I want to shake her, to demand where she's been, why she left, why she never looked back. The questions burn in my throat, but I swallow them down.
"I know that you look like you're running from something." I move closer, drawn by the magnetic pull she's always had on me.
Her perfume hits me—expensive, exotic, nothing like the sweet vanilla she used to wear.
"I know it looks like you need money fast."
My eyes trace her body, noting the tension in her muscles, the way she holds herself like a weapon.
"I know you're better than this."
The overhead lights catch the sheen of sweat on her collarbone, and my hands itch to trace the path it takes down her chest. The attraction between us has always been magnetic, inevitable as gravity, but now it's edged with something darker. Something dangerous.
She meets my gaze unflinchingly, and Christ, there she is—my Ava, defiant and fearless, even now. The need to possess her, to never let her out of my sight again, threatens to overwhelm me.
"Are you going to give me the job or not?"
Still, she’s challenging me. She’s still acting like this is just another audition, like we're strangers, like she hasn't been the ghost haunting my every moment for a decade.
I step closer, claiming her space, pleased when she doesn't retreat. "That depends." I pitch my voice low, intimate. "Are you planning to disappear again?"