Elena didn't sleep that night.
The card Dante had given her sat on the chipped counter of her apartment, black and silent like a loaded gun. Her thumb brushed over the embossed letters, over and over again, as if expecting them to burn her skin.
She knew the type of party it would be. Exclusive. Dangerous. A gathering where power moved in shadows and secrets slipped through cracks. Not the kind of place for a bartender just looking to disappear.
But she wasn't just a bartender anymore, was she?
By morning, her decision was made. She had no choice.
The night air hit sharp and cool as she approached the private club tucked discreetly behind unmarked black doors. There were no signs, no flashing lights — only the slow crawl of dark-tinted cars arriving one by one, their passengers slipping inside like ghosts.
Her heels echoed on the concrete as she crossed to the entrance. Two guards in tailored black suits stood rigid by the doors, their eyes hard and expressionless. One of them held out a hand without a word.
Elena slipped the card into his palm.
His gaze flicked over it once before he nodded and stepped aside.
"Go in. They're expecting you."
Inside, the air shifted immediately — thick, warm, perfumed with expensive colognes and the low thrum of pulsing bass. Dim lights cast golden shadows across velvet lounges and gleaming marble. The hum of conversation buzzed low, laced with quiet menace.
A woman in a black silk dress approached her smoothly, an earpiece glinting faintly under her sleek hair.
"You'll be behind the private bar upstairs. Keep your head down and serve only those who show you this." She flashed a small silver emblem shaped like a serpent. "No exceptions."
Elena nodded once, slipping into the role effortlessly. She had done this before — bartending at exclusive events where clients paid for discretion as much as they paid for liquor. But tonight felt different. Tonight felt like a test.
Her boots clicked softly up the grand staircase. As she emerged onto the upper floor, her breath caught involuntarily. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooked the glittering city skyline, and rich mahogany furniture framed a sleek, polished bar that practically shimmered.
And standing at the far end, half-shrouded in shadows, was Dante.
He wore midnight black — shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled back just enough to reveal veins and sinew beneath his tanned skin. His dark gaze lifted the second she entered, locking onto her with unnerving precision.
Elena's steps didn't falter. She moved behind the bar and began setting bottles in place, hands steady even though her pulse had leapt the moment his eyes met hers.
Minutes blurred into an hour as guests filtered in — men and women dressed like predators, draped in silk, velvet, and diamonds sharp enough to cut. Conversations were hushed, coded, and Elena didn't dare linger too long on any single face.
But she felt Dante's gaze long before she saw him approach.
He moved like smoke — silent, fluid, utterly assured. And when he reached the bar, his knuckles brushed the counter as he leaned in slightly. His cologne wrapped around her, dark spices laced with something sharper underneath.
"You clean up well," he murmured, voice smooth as obsidian.
"I'm working," she replied evenly, reaching for a glass to busy her hands.
"Exactly why I brought you here." His lips curved faintly, but there was no amusement in his eyes. They were studying her — dissecting her, peeling back layers she tried desperately to keep hidden. "You look comfortable in places like this."
Elena met his gaze unflinching. "I adapt."
His hand lifted slowly and placed a silver serpent emblem on the bar between them. His fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"Whiskey. No ice."
She poured the drink smoothly, sliding it across without another word. But her skin prickled. His closeness burned hotter than the liquor in the glass.
"You're doing well," he murmured, swirling the amber liquid lazily. His eyes never left hers. "But I wonder… how long you'll keep pretending you don't belong in this world."
Her jaw clenched. "I told you—I'm just a bartender."
He leaned in closer, voice dropping into a low, intimate rasp that made her breath catch.
"Everyone lies, Elena. Especially to themselves."
For a long second, neither moved. The music faded into a distant hum. All she could hear was the soft inhale of his breath and her own quickening pulse.
Then, as if snapping some invisible cord, Dante straightened and stepped back.
"Keep your eyes open tonight," he said quietly, gaze darkening. "Not everyone in this room follows my rules."
With that, he disappeared back into the crowd, leaving her standing breathless, her fingers curling tightly against the bar.
For the rest of the night, Elena worked mechanically — pouring, serving, moving. But her eyes darted often to where Dante moved through the crowd like a king among wolves. And every time their gazes locked, even for the briefest flicker, her breath shortened and her pulse spiked.
By the time the last guest drifted out in the early hours, her muscles ached from tension and her head spun from the undercurrent of danger. She didn't realize she'd gripped the edge of the bar so hard her knuckles had turned white.
As she was wiping down the counter, a shadow fell across her once more. Dante stood there, coat draped casually over his arm. His tie had been loosened, shirt collar open. His gaze pinned her, sharp and unreadable.
"I'll have a driver take you home," he said quietly. "But you'll be back tomorrow."
"I figured as much," Elena replied, voice guarded.
He studied her a long moment before his lips parted, his tone rougher now.
"You handled tonight better than I expected."
Her breath hitched, but she masked it quickly. "I told you. I adapt."
His smile was slow and dark.
"Yes. You do."
And as he turned and walked away, the only thing Elena knew for certain was that whatever she had stepped into… there was no easy way out now.
Not with Dante Salvatore watching her this closely.
And not with how her body was starting to betray her every time he did.
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