Chapter 3

Zita's POV

Which one is he?

I'm standing in front of the bar, waiting for the bartender to give me the order I just placed. My eyes scan the room; and land on the men in suits at the far end.

Aha…

I can't tell who is who because of the club lighting. And I certainly cannot go over without a call for drinks.

So I turn back to face the counter, biting my lips from the freezing aircon.

"What's the hold up, Matthew?"

Matthew's the barkeep and he can't stop staring at my boobs.

Bottle girls were essentially walking porn. Right now, I was dressed as a stupid slutty cat nurse. At least that's what the manager told me.

Basically, I was wearing cat ears over a ridiculously short leather nurse outfit. Not sure that this made any sense but I guess, men were going to look regardless of the costume.

Matthew gives me a big, yellow smile. His dentition is almost as golden as my hair. I can feel my face cringe. I take the tray of drinks and walk away.

My eyes instinctually land on the gentlemen in the corner. I still can't distinguish who's who.

The table that ordered drinks are full of middle aged and lecherous old men. Throughout their stay, their eyes have been fixed on the pole dancers spinning in the air.

"Here you go," I say with a false smile. They make snide comments about my breasts and thighs and one goes as far as tucking three hundred dollar notes into my cleavage.

It's disgusting but at least I could pay some of my bills at home.

I say my thanks and my eyes land on my target's table again.

Dario Giovanni.

I gulp; and find the courage to walk to his table.

Slap on a smile, fool!

But it's hard to smile when you're clearly walking to your death. Either way, I was bound to die.

I could either follow through with my father's creditor's order and risk Dario finding out. Or I could decide not to and still die.

It's a lose lose situation. So as I reach the corner boot, my lips smile and I put on the shyest, most seductive face I can muster. I'm pretty sure I look constipated.

"Good evening, gentlemen." My words come out in a slow slur. My eyes quickly roam the table and they land on a particular suited man.

He's the only one who doesn't look up from the documents on the table.

Dario Giovanni.

One of the men looks at me up to down, lingering a while on my netted thighs. "Well hello there, bellissima."

I smile and try to stand taller. Dario doesn't look at me.

"What would you like to order?" I ask, hoping my target will at least look up. There was no way I could spy on him without being flirtatious or seductive.

I mean, that's what men loved the most, no?

However, Mr. Camper, the owner of the club, is the one who answers me again. He reaches out and lets his hot palms grab my thigh. My breath hitches.

"Tell the barkeep to get my special ready. He'd know what to do. Want anything different, Mr. Giovanni?" Camper asks, turning to the black haired man who flips a page on the document.

"Better lighting would work," he mutters without looking up. His voice is low and smooth. Nothing monster like at all.

Camper laughs and so do the other men on the table. "Sour as ever, eh Dario?"

To me, he says, "Go get what I asked for."

I nod and wobble away. It's only when I'm in front of Matthew's hungry eyes that I realize I've been holding my breath all along.

"Mr. Giovanni gives you the creeps, no?" Matthew asks with a sharp laugh.

I look him over with a blank face. I wasn't dumb- Dario was going to own this place soon. Talking bad about him to a man likely to blackmail me in exchange for a blowjob later?

Hell no.

I take a breath and walk back to the table, dodging drunk rich men and trying to balance the tray.

I get to the table and the first thing that happens throws me off guard. Dario has raised his head and his sharp lemon green eyes are on me.

Those hollow, sunken eyes that lay behind frameless spectacles throw me off immediately.

Was this him?

Of course…

His gaze is cold and somewhat demeaning. It makes me flutter for some reason when I see his eyes move to my thighs.

I'm so caught up in my head that I miss a step and my heels bend.

Clang!

The tray goes flying. I'm cursing myself even before it happens.

The bottle of expensive, aged Italian wine shatters on the table, sending shards and red liquid flying everywhere.

The men shield their faces and I can't help but shout- whether in shame or out of fear.

"What the fuck, bitch? You know how much that bloody cost?!" Camper shrieks at me. I stand there like a fool in my stupid cat nurse costume.

I've never felt so embarrassed in my life. My ankle's burning but Mr. Giovanni's blank stare is hotter than the pain.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"You've got quite a dumb lot of stripper girls around." Dario says to Camper, wiping some wine off his chin.

My heart drops.

"They're all the fucking same. All ass and boobs, Zero brains."

What?!

My cheeks are flushed. I wonder if I can just walk away now. I'm afraid to though- my ankle might give out and I'd fall again.

I realize now that the music has been reduced and the majority of the VIP section was focused on me.

Fuck. Fuck.

I'd never make any headway with Dario now. What would I tell my kidnapper?

That I spilled wine on the target and he called me a brainless slut?

Camper makes a whole show of apologizing to the mafia Don. Dario's not paying any attention to him though; he's looking at me.

I'm standing there, sweating in the aircon, finding it hard to breathe in this stupid costume.

He tilts his head at me.

Another man, slender to the point of almost being skeletal comes with a handkerchief. "Sorry about this, sir. Shall I call the car so we can leave?"

I assume he's the man's personal assistant.

"Yes. Do just that," Dario says but he's still looking at me.

I'm so awkward that I start rambling an apology again.

"I'm so sorry, sir…I-I-"

Dario takes the handkerchief from his assistant. The camper is swearing at me again.

The former stretches out the handkerchief. "I believe you should clean this mess."

He's talking about the white fabric of his shirt.

I'm confused so I stutter like a fool.

"S-sir?"

"Wet the cloth and come and clean this mess."

Humiliation.

For some reason, this sick man wants to get off by doing this. Was this a fetish of his? Could I use this to my advantage? Camper starts laughing and as I walk to the restroom to wet the handkerchief, I hear him say, "What's your deal, Dario? Caught your fancy?"

I catch my breath in the bathroom, shake the pain off my ankles, and come back to the table with the cloth.

Dario raises his brows and those eyes burn a hole straight through my face.

"Come here, Bellissima."

I gulp. What game is he playing?

I'm so fucked.