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CHAPTER TWO

Stefano

The music cuts off mid-beat at my command, and my world stops turning.

I can't breathe.

The woman on my stage—it can't be her. But I'd recognize that face anywhere. Those eyes have haunted my dreams for a decade. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to break free.

Ava.

Fucking hell. Ava.

Time stretches like heated glass as she straightens from her final pose, chest rising sharply with each breath, dark hair spilling over bare shoulders.

Why has she resurfaced now? And why the hell is she dancing in my club?

The Ava I knew spent her free time reading Nietzsche and arguing about philosophy, while dreaming of college and a life beyond our families' bloody legacies. She was brilliant, fierce, and destined for more than this.

The rational part of my brain registers the changes in her—the lean muscle that wasn't there at sixteen, the graceful confidence in her movements, the sharp edge of wariness in her stance.

But the rest of me is drowning in recognition, in hunger, in a possessive need so fierce, it threatens to shatter my carefully maintained control.

“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?"

Her breath hitches in the smallest of tells, but the sound sets my blood on fire. She remembers. She has to remember what we were, what we could have been.

"I go where the work takes me."

A lie, but an artful one. I wonder how many men she's convinced with that cool voice and steady stare. How many marks has she taken down with those eyes and that body?

The thought makes the monster in me snarl.

Behind us, the club hums with muted activity—glasses clinking, music from the main floor bleeding through the walls, my people waiting for orders. But here, at this moment, there's only her. Only us.

Mine. She was always meant to be mine.

"The job's yours." I watch surprise flicker across her face. "If you want it."

"Just like that?"

I smile, slow and predatory. "Just like that."

We both know it's not that simple. Nothing between us ever has been.

She searches my face for the trap, and God help me, I want to tell her the truth: there's no escape this time, no running, no vanishing, no more years of endless searching.

I've found her, and I'll burn down heaven and earth before I let her slip away again.

But for now, I'll play her game. I’ll let her think this is just a job, just another club, just another chance encounter.

For now, I'll let her pretend she has a choice.

"Let me show you around." I motion to the wings of the stage, watching her hesitate. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

The challenge works. She moves toward me with a fluid grace that makes my mouth go dry.

The other dancers peer from the shadows, their curiosity warring with shock. They've never seen me like this—personally conducting a tour, focused so intently on one person.

"I never thought I'd find you here," she says, maintaining a careful distance between us. "Running the family business now?"

There's a bite in her words that makes me smile. "Disappointed?"

"Surprised." She glances sideways at me. "If anything, I thought you would be somewhere in Thailand, living in hostels."

Of course—she'd known me as the rebellious third son, the one who dreamed of freedom. The one who'd sworn he'd never be trapped by family obligations.

I notice how her eyes track every exit, every security camera. Always planning escape routes.

The predator in me wants to block them all, to trap her here, but I force myself to be patient.

"Life had other plans." I guide her down a private corridor, aware of how the air charges between us in the confined space. "My father and brothers' deaths required...adjustments to my priorities.” Which is why it took me so long to start looking for her.

She stiffens slightly. "I heard about that. I'm sorry."

The sympathy in her voice sounds genuine, and something in my chest tightens. Even now, even after everything, she can still reach past my defenses with a few soft words.

"The club is legitimate," I say, redirecting. "I take care of my people here. Good security, health insurance, strict rules about client behavior." I pause at the door to my office, turning to face her. "No one touches my dancers without consent."

Her eyes narrow. "And what do you get out of this...benevolence?"

"Loyalty." I step closer, backing her against the wall without touching her. "Trust." I move closer still, until I can see the pulse jumping in her throat. "Things more valuable than a quick profit."

She doesn't retreat, but her breathing quickens. "And where do I fit into this arrangement?"

God, the things I want to tell her. How she fits into every dark dream, every future plan, every possessive impulse I've ever had. Instead, I reach past her to open my office door, letting my arm brush her shoulder.

"That depends on you, doesn't it?"

The office is my sanctuary, all dark wood and leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. I watch her take it in, noting how her eyes linger on the security features again.

"All dancers get private changing rooms," I continue, moving to my desk. "Access to the gym, the spa facilities. Housing, if needed." I look up, catching her gaze. "The building next door has secure apartments. Unless you'd prefer...other arrangements."

Her laugh is sharp, practiced. "Are you offering to be my landlord, Stefano?"

The sound of my name on her lips nearly undoes me. "I'm offering whatever you need."

"Careful." She prowls closer, all feline grace and deadly beauty. "A girl might get the wrong idea."

Wrong idea? Every idea she could have would be right. I want her in my bed, in my life, under my protection and my control. But first I need to know why she’s here.

"The real estate discussion can wait. Let me show you the rest."

I move toward the door, and she follows me back to the corridor. We move through the VIP rooms, the secure areas, the places where business meetings—legitimate and otherwise—take place.

I explain security protocols, dancer protections, payment structures. All the while, I watch her from the corner of my eye, assessing her reactions, searching for clues to her true purpose here.

The tour brings us to the heart of the club—the main floor, currently empty, but humming with potential energy. Music throbs through hidden speakers, and lights paint patterns across the walls. Here, in my domain, I feel more in control.

"Impressed?" I ask, noting how she runs her hand along the polished bar.

"It's not what I expected." She turns to face me, backlit by purple neon. "You're not what I expected."

"No?" I step closer, drawn by the challenge in her voice. "What did you expect, Ava?"

She leans back against the bar, a move that does sinful things to her silhouette.

"The Stefano I knew couldn't wait to escape all this.”

"And now I run the family business." I close the distance between us, resting my hands on the bar on either side of her. Not touching, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. "Like I said, life has a way of changing our plans."

Her eyes search my face. "Do you hate it? Being trapped?"

The question catches me off guard—it’s so genuinely Ava, cutting straight to the heart of things. For a moment, I see another flash of the girl who used to read my soul like an open book.

"I've made peace with it." I lean closer, breathing in her scent. "Found ways to make it my own."

"Like this club?" Her voice has gone slightly breathless, but she holds her ground.

"Among other things." I reach up, unable to resist touching her face, brushing back a strand of hair. She trembles slightly. "The apartments next door, for instance."

A smile tugs at her lips. "Right…about the living arrangements…”

"The apartment is yours if you want it." I move closer, ostensibly to pour both of us a drink. My arm brushes hers as I reach for the whiskey, and I feel her shiver slightly. "Though I meant what I said about...other options."

"Careful, Stefano." She straightens, bringing our bodies dangerously close. "A girl might think you're propositioning her."

"And if I am?"

Her breath catches, but she meets my gaze steadily. This close, I can count her eyelashes, see the gold flecks in her dark eyes, taste her breath on my tongue.

"That would be highly inappropriate," she murmurs, but she doesn't move away. "Employer-employee relations and all that."

I let my hand trail down her arm, feeling goosebumps rise in its wake. "When have we ever been appropriate, Ava?"

She wets her lips, and the simple gesture nearly breaks me. "That was a long time ago."

"Was it?" I lean in, my lips nearly brushing her ear. "Because I remember everything. Every touch. Every kiss. Every promise."

Her hands come up to my chest, whether to push me away or pull me closer, I'm not sure. But the contact burns through my shirt like a brand.

"Stefano..." It might be a warning or a plea.

I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, letting her see everything I've kept caged for ten years. The hunger. The obsession. The need to possess her.

She swallows hard. "This isn't why I came here."

"No?" I reach up, brushing another strand of hair from her face. "Why did you come here, Ava?"

Instead of answering, she ducks under my arm, putting distance between us.

"I should go." Her voice is husky. "It's late."

"Have dinner with me."

The words surprise us both. She turns, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Dinner." I straighten, adjusting my cuffs to hide how much I want to grab her, to stop her from leaving. "You always said a gentleman should feed his guests, didn't you?"

A smile plays on her lips. "I did, didn't I?"

"Then let me do this right." I offer my hand, knowing we're both pretending this is more casual than it is. "Just two old friends catching up."

She places her hand in mine, and triumph surges through me.

"My car's out back." I guide her toward the private exit, my hand on the small of her back. "Unless you need to change first?"

She glances down at her dance outfit, then back at me with a hint of her old mischief. "Afraid to be seen with a dancer, boss?"

The title on her lips does things to me that should be illegal.

"Sweetheart, I'm afraid of a lot of things when it comes to you." I press my hand more firmly against her back, steering her toward the door. "But that's not one of them."

She shivers at the contact, and I know she feels this too—this magnetic pull that's only growing stronger.

Whatever game she's playing, whatever secrets she's keeping, this thing between us is still as powerful as ever.

And I intend to use every second of our dinner to remind her exactly what she's been running from.