Chapter 169: #3 Chapter 54

Gia

Paris, France

The club's bass rattled in my chest as I sipped my drink and tried to look interested. My new coworkers partied a lot, and they weren't keen on taking no for an answer from the sad Canadian intern who'd rather go home and drink wine alone.

I loved Paris. The city pulsed with energy and excitement, every corner alive with music and merriment. I think I would like living here. Eventually.

My new job was tough but great. They gave me more responsibility than delivering packages and getting coffee. LaCrocq, my boss, even allowed me to sit in on some of his meetings. I planned to soak it all in, focus on the job instead of my fucked-up personal life, and quickly learn the ins and outs of the fashion business. Then I would start my own clothing label.

And I would never think of Enzo D'Agostino again.

Two weeks had passed since I left his yacht. No doubt he was anchored off some coast, getting blow jobs from beautiful women again. I hope he contracted a venereal disease that rotted his dick off.

You were just pussy to me, nothing more. I wanted to ruin you and I did.

I gulped my drink, the vodka and soda burning my throat. That asshole.

A young man appeared beside me at the railing. He spoke a string of French I didn't understand, but his silky tone made it clear he was coming onto me. "I don't speak French," I said.

"He said it is a shame to see one so beautiful look so sad," a deep French-accented voice said behind me. It was LaCrocq, my boss.

Frankie called a few hours ago to warn me about him. She said there were rumors about LaCrocq acting inappropriately with a former model. After I hung up I asked a few co-workers if they'd heard or seen any indication of our boss's bad behavior, but they all said no.

Still, I was now wary around all men, thanks to Enzo. I probably always would be.

LaCrocq exchanged a few words with the younger man, who quickly disappeared. My boss was handsome, in his late-thirties, and very talented. He was more hands-on than Domenico, almost to the control-freak level. No decision was made without LaCrocq's input. The designer clearly didn't believe in delegation.

He leaned onto the railing next to me, cradling his drink. We were up in the VIP area, while the rest of the staff were below on the dance floor. "Don't like to dance?"

"No, I do," I said. "Just not feeling it tonight."

"You seem blue. Like there is a cloud hanging over you." He gave an effortless chuckle in the way the French were so good at. "I hope it isn't your job that puts such an unhappy look on your face."

"No, of course not," I rushed to say. "I'm enjoying the job very much."

"Good, good." We stood in silence for a moment, and I sensed he was working up to something. Finally, he said, "Your brother-in-law phoned me."

I straightened and blinked at my boss. "Fausto called you?"

"Yes, today."

I was working here under my real name, which had caused a stir at first. The world was surprised to learn that the Canadian mafia princess hadn't died in the tragic Milan bombing. For a few days the French and Italian press hounded me, trying to get answers, but I kept quiet and wore sunglasses, and eventually they found me too boring to follow. "What did he say?"

"That you should be treated with respect." He waved his hand. "Typical brother-in-law things. I assume it's because he is so far away from you."

"My sister is very protective of me," I offered up as an explanation.

"I can understand why. You're very beautiful, Gianna." His gaze tripped down the length of my body, lingering on my legs. Now I kind of wished I hadn't worn this tiny black dress tonight.

"Thank you," I mumbled into my drink before finishing it.

"I sense that you like to let loose. Get wild. Maybe that is why they are so protective of you?"

I hardly felt like letting loose these days. "Maybe."

His smile was a shade too wide for my liking. "Is it boyfriend troubles?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"A girlfriend, then?"

"No. There's no one."

"That is a shame." He bumped his shoulder against mine. Ever so carefully, I edged away to keep distance between us.

"I'm focused on my career right now," I said evasively.

"Your designs were very impressive. You have talent, especially menswear."

After retrieving my portfolio from Milan, I added new pieces I'd conceived while on the yacht and then submitted everything to LaCrocq. Never mind that the menswear ideas were inspired by Enzo. Fuck him. "Thank you," I said.

"You are obviously familiar with men's bodies. Maybe I can show you what I'm working on and we can discuss?"

Familiar with men's bodies? I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a dig. "I'd like that." As long as other people were around.

"What about right now?"

This was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "Monsieur-"

"Call me Matthieu."

"Matthieu, I'm really not in a good headspace right now. Maybe tomorrow. At work."

His eyebrows pulled together as if he was confused. "This would still be work, mademoiselle. But can we not be comfortable while we do it?"

"Another night. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. Please, allow me to get you a drink."

God, he was pushy. To move things along, I said, "Sure. Vodka and soda, please."

Matthieu slid his hand across my back before moving toward the upper level bar. Now alone, I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe I should go. Something told me the situation was only going to get worse.

Don't go anywhere alone with him, Frankie had said. And don't drink anything he gives you.

At the time I thought her warning was ludicrous. Now I wasn't so sure. I mean, he wouldn't, would he? Here, with our coworkers?

I had to find out if he was actually capable of something so heinous.

Pulling out my phone, I faked like I was scrolling my social media apps, but I really was zooming in on Matthieu at the bar. The image was grainy and dark, but I saw as he accepted my drink. His hand came out of his pocket and waved over the top of the glass. It happened too fast and now he was coming toward me. Was there something in my drink?

I had to find out.

When he returned I smiled and put my phone away. "Thank you," I said and accepted the glass from his hand. "What did you get?"

"A glass of Bordeaux."

"Can I try it? Here, hold this." I gave him my glass and took the wine out of his hand. After I took a sip I said, "Oh, this is much better than vodka and soda. I'm going to keep it. You can have my drink instead."

He held my glass but didn't drink from it. "Never steal a Frenchman's wine, chérie."

"Too late!" I laughed like it was a big joke. "I should've asked for this."

Suddenly, the air in the club shifted and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Glancing over, I saw three men striding across the mostly empty VIP area. My attention was stuck on the man in the middle.

Enzo.

My stomach swooped. Holy shit, Enzo was here. And he looked ready to commit murder.

His eyes were scary intense, the lines of his face stark with fury. Every muscle in his body was tense, like he was about to step into the ring for ten rounds. Vito and Massimo flanked him, the three brothers forming a wall of mafioso intimidation as they descended on us.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted, but they all ignored me.

Enzo grabbed LaCrocq's shirt and leaned in. "You drugged her drink."

Fuck, I knew it! "You asshole!" I spat at my boss.

"I don't know what you're talking about," LaCrocq said.

"You put powder in that glass." Enzo pointed at the vodka and soda.

"I did no such thing. How dare you accuse me of something like-"

Enzo pulled something out of his pocket and flicked it. A long switchblade appeared, and he put the tip to LaCrocq's throat. "Then drink it."

LaCrocq appeared affronted. "I do not need to drink it. There's nothing in there."

"Drink it or lose your life."

LaCrocq paled. He must've realized Enzo was serious. "You can't kill me here."

"You must not know who I am. If you did, you wouldn't ask such a ridiculous question."

"Who are you?" My boss glanced at all three D'Agostino men. "Italian thugs? Do you work for Ravazzani?"

Enzo snarled, "I am a thousand times worse than Fausto Ravazzani. I am the man who is going to rip off your tiny dick and shove it in your mouth for daring to fuck with what is mine."

I blinked. Did he mean me? Or was this some business dispute I didn't know about? Just how many European designers was Enzo involved with?

Enzo stuck the point of the knife into the other man's skin, causing LaCrocq to flinch. Blood slowly trickled toward the Frenchman's collar as Enzo calmly said, "Drink or die."

The moment stretched with stunned silence. I couldn't believe any of this was happening. What was Enzo doing here? How did he know that LaCrocq drugged my drink? Was it safe for Enzo to be off the yacht without a disguise?

With a shaking hand, LaCrocq brought the glass to his lips. He took a small sip.

"All of it, stronzo!" Enzo barked.

The designer closed his eyes and downed the rest of the liquid. "There. Satisfied?"

"Very." Enzo turned to Vito. "Take him. You know what to do."

"Sì, Don D'Agostino." Vito grabbed one of LaCrocq's arms, while Massimo took the other. "It will be my pleasure."

Enzo moved in and whispered a string of French that caused my boss to start sweating. Though I hated Enzo, I had to admit that he was a scary motherfucker when he wanted to be.