Mated To The Dark One By Black Barbie

Blurb

I called the police. For a brief, flickering moment, I questioned whether it was the right decision but once the panic stopped clouding my judgment and I could think again, I told myself the truth: there was no way the police would see a terrified student as a suspect. Or at least, I prayed they wouldn’t.

Three police cruisers arrived within minutes. They roped off the alley and started swarming the scene, locking it down and immediately homing in on me the lone witness. I repeated my story again and again, four different times, to four different officers, until my voice grew hoarse and my nerves frayed at the edges. I was desperate to go home, desperate to lie down and let the weight of the night slide off me. But my sagging shoulders, trembling knees, and bloodshot eyes did nothing to soften their line of questioning.

Detective Teodoro was the fourth and, by far, the most grating. He cleared his throat and glanced at his notepad, his brow furrowed in skepticism.

“So, let me get this straight,” he began. “The victim stole your wallet and ran into the alley. Then someone killed him, and somehow your wallet with all your documents just ended up next to the body?”

“That’s exactly what happened,” I said, steady but exhausted.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re awfully calm, Ms. Crivelli. You’re a twenty-two-year-old college student who just witnessed a gruesome murder. I’ve been in this job for years, and even I find this scene disturbing. Don’t you think your lack of emotion is a bit... suspicious?”

I could have told him I wasn’t calm just too drained to show it. But his words dug deeper than I expected. A bitter smirk twisted my mouth.

“I’ve seen death before,” I murmured. The image of my parents’ car wreck flickered through my mind. I was six when they died. I still remembered the way their eyes looked... just before the light left them. “That scene was worse than this.”

The detective hesitated, then offered a half-hearted apology.

I nodded once, letting it pass. Then I met his gaze, unwavering. “And before you start pointing fingers, I suggest you check the security camera.” I gestured toward the device mounted on the building across from us. “I never left this spot. The footage will prove it.”

Detective Teodoro chuckled dryly. “Who said I was accusing you?”

I shrugged. “No one. Just a feeling.” But I knew better. Trouble liked to follow me. I was Domitilla Crivelli, Bad Luck Incarnate.

And speaking of misfortune...

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to swallow my pride. “Detective... about the money in my wallet. I know this probably sounds inappropriate, but I need to pay rent in the morning, and ”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Crivelli,” he interrupted, his expression turning sympathetic. “We need to process everything for forensics. We can notify your bank, but the paperwork... it might take a while.”

“How long?” I asked, voice cracking.

He scratched his chin again. “A month. Maybe two.”

The air left my lungs like I’d been punched. My landlord would never wait that long. I might beg him for a day or two, tops, but a month? My knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.

“You can go home now,” the detective said, nodding once before turning back to the body.

As I watched him walk away, I felt my stomach twist. It was strange I barely cared that a man had just been murdered in front of me. I cared more about the bloody ruin of my rent money lying beside him.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I whispered to no one, my face pale as a ghost.

“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind me.

I turned and found another officer standing there. His cap cast a shadow across most of his face, revealing only his lips full, curved in a knowing half-smile. The voice was deep, fluid, and unfamiliar in its accent almost aristocratic.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to overhear, but it sounds like you’re in need of work... and money.”

Any other time, I would’ve told him to mind his business. But desperation was a powerful silencer.

I managed a weak, wry smile. “My rent money soaked up the blood of a dead man.”

He laughed softly, covering his mouth with an elegant hand. None of the other cops had looked at the scene with anything but disgust. This one? He seemed untouched almost amused.

“My friend owns a nightclub,” he offered. “They’re hiring. Waitresses. The pay is... generous. You might even earn four figures in a single night.” He handed me a business card.

I stared at the thick, engraved paper. “Velluto Nero,” I read aloud.

He noticed my suspicion immediately. His smile widened.

“No, they don’t sell drugs, and it’s not a brothel. It’s legal.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “A cop recruiting waitresses for a nightclub? That’s... different.”

He shrugged. “You’re of age, and clearly in need. I’m not recruiting. I’m offering help.” Then he leaned in slightly. “I’m Fosco.”

My name caught in my throat for a second. “Domitilla,” I finally said. “Nice to ”

A sudden shout from the alley cut me off. I turned, heart jumping, only to realize it was just the tech team arguing. When I looked back... Fosco was gone.

I scanned the street, hoping to find him among the uniformed officers, but he’d vanished. Just like that.

Sleep never came.

Despite the exhaustion clawing at my bones, I tossed and turned, my thoughts spinning like a broken record. Every time I closed my eyes, the image of the man’s neck, torn open and bleeding across the pavement, burned itself behind my eyelids.

Maybe I wasn’t as numb to death as I thought. Or maybe it was the realization that if the killer had seen me... I’d be lying in a pool of blood too.

“Get a grip, Domitilla,” I muttered.

At some point, I found myself holding the business card, eyes fixed on the elegant logo. I’d worked service jobs before waitressing, bartending but never at a club. The word alone conjured images of stiletto heels and tight dresses, girls leaning in too close to men with too much money and too little conscience.

My gut screamed to run.

At eight, the landlord showed up. I told him everything. He didn’t believe a word of it.

Thirty minutes of begging got me a three-day extension. Just three. The tears came the moment he left.

I stared at the business card for what felt like an eternity. Then I dialed the number.

A woman answered.

“Yes, recruitment starts today at nine. Wear something... enticing,” she said smoothly.

My heart dropped. “Enticing?”

“Don’t worry,” she added with a smirk I could hear through the phone. “No one will touch you... unless you want them to.”

I hung up, laughter bubbling from my throat half hysterical, half horrified.

Lavinia would have a field day if she knew. Maybe she was right to mock me.

But I wasn’t some naive girl looking to sell herself. I wasn’t the type. I’d rather starve than lose my dignity.

Still... I had dreamed of selling my soul to a hot demon more than once though only in the safety of a spicy romance novel. And demons weren’t real.

I dressed in what I had: jeans, a white top, sneakers. My only “enticing” dress had been clawed to death by a rat weeks ago.

I left the house with my hair down and my pride hanging by a thread.

The club sat in a renovated industrial building elegant, ominous. A line of women stretched outside. Every single one of them looked like they’d walked off a runway.

I stuck out like a bruised thumb.

“Lost, Princess?” one of them sneered.

I ignored her and took my place at the back.

A man with reddish hair opened the door. “Welcome to Velluto Nero,” he said with a low bow. “I’m Ermes, the manager. Please, come in.”

Inside, the club was a surreal blend of Gothic elegance and steel modernity. Brick walls. Velvet booths. A round bar in the center like a throne.

“Stand in a circle,” Ermes ordered.

“I hope you’re not choosing people based on looks alone,” one girl scoffed, arms crossed under barely-there fabric.

“I don’t need to ask about your experience,” Ermes said smoothly. “I’ll know.”

His words sent a shiver down my back.

He studied us, pausing when he reached me. His eyes moved slowly from my sneakers to my messy waves, eyebrows lifting in silent intrigue.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

I stepped back, wishing I could disappear. Then I felt it another gaze. My head snapped up.

He stood on the balcony above.

Tall. Dark suit. Black shirt. Broad shoulders. Pale skin. Eyes like obsidian, watching me with a hunger that stole my breath. It wasn’t lust. It was deeper like he could read me, unravel me, expose every secret I’d ever buried.

Then he looked away.

The spell broke. I shook, dizzy, breathless.

“Ms. Crivelli?”

I turned, startled by Ermes’ hand on my shoulder.

“Yes?” I whispered.

“You’re hired.” He smiled like the devil himself.

And I... had no idea what I'd just gotten myself into.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

He was seated in the corner of a shadow-drenched room. Though the darkness cloaked most of his features, I could feel the weight of his gaze scorching a trail down my body. The silk nightgown clung to my frame like a whispered sin, revealing more than it should. I blinked and he was suddenly there, mere inches from me. My breath caught in my throat, startled by how easily his towering presence consumed the space between us. The shadows still veiled his face, but the moonlight illuminated the naked expanse of his broad shoulders, the sculpted arms that wound around me before I could utter a sound, and the chiseled perfection of a chest that begged to be explored with the tip of my tongue.

He moved with unnatural grace, fast and fluid, stealing the distance between us as his mouth crashed into mine. His lips parted mine, delving deep with decadent, velvet strokes of his tongue. His hands followed, tracing the curve of my body through the thin silk each movement deliberate, precise, as if he already knew every rise and hollow. His scent, his touch, his sinful caresses each one stole a piece of my sanity. And when his fingers slipped the nightgown from my shoulders, baring my body to his, I was already his soul, body, everything.

His mouth trailed fire down my neck, branding kisses along my throat. My hands twisted into his hair dark, impossibly soft curls that felt like a dream. The pleasure was wicked, the kind that demanded damnation. And I would’ve sold my soul to make it last.

One of his hands curved around my ass, then slid between my thighs, teasing the most sensitive part of me. I moaned, caught between pleasure and madness. Then just as suddenly he pulled back, lifting his head to look at me. I still couldn't see his face, except his lips parted slightly, like he was about to speak, about to say something that would destroy me or save me.

“Miss Crivelli!”

The voice shattered everything.

"Present!" I yelped, launching to my feet. The classroom around me burst into laughter. My heart still thundered with the echoes of that dream, my skin tingling where he’d touched me except, of course, he hadn’t. It was all a fantasy.

My eyes dropped in panic to make sure I wasn’t actually naked. Thank the heavens I was clothed. Which meant… I’d fallen asleep. In class. Again. Oh God. Had I moaned?

I swallowed hard, blinking away the remnants of sleep, the fantasy still clinging to me like a lover’s touch. My gaze searched for the source of the voice that had dragged me back to reality: Professor Evaristo, scowling behind the podium, his grey suit blending into the gloom like a storm cloud ready to burst.

“Down here,” he said, voice like gravel and frost, foot tapping with thinly veiled fury.

“I... I'm sorry,” I stammered. What else could I say? “Your lectures are so boring I started hallucinating erotic dreams” wasn’t a great defense.

“I don’t want apologies, Miss Crivelli. I want attention!” he barked.

Right. I'd give him my full attention if I hadn’t been working night shifts and delivering food at dawn, only to rush to lectures still wearing the same uniform that stank of exhaustion and desperation. But all I managed was another, weaker, “I’m sorry,” accompanied by a downward glance.

“This is the third time you’ve disrespected my class with your snoring,” he snapped. “Leave.”

“Wait, but I ”

“Out!” His voice cracked like a whip.

Fantastic. Now I’d probably flunk the course and have to bribe him with brownies again assuming I could afford the ingredients. Maybe next week, if he’d cooled down by then.

I offered a final apology and dragged myself out of the room, each step heavier than the last. I barely made it to the hallway before collapsing against the wall and sliding to the floor, limbs boneless. Sleep overtook me almost instantly.

Laughter stirred me from unconsciousness.

I blinked my eyes open to find the corridor bustling with students. I was still slumped against the wall. How long had I been out?

"Have you heard about Domitilla?" a girl’s voice lilted through the air. I glanced up in time to see Lavinia Ruggieri strutting past, her skirt a breath away from indecent.

“Who?” her sidekick Clarissa asked, eyes wide with the thrill of gossip.

“Domitilla Crivelli,” Lavinia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Miss Bad Luck herself.”

I blinked. They were right in front of me. This wasn’t talking behind my back they might as well have addressed me directly.

“Oh, right!” Clarissa giggled. “What now?”

“She fell asleep in Evaristo’s class. Again.” Lavinia’s voice carried just loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Poor thing works her body all night and just can’t stay awake for school.” The emphasis dripped with insinuation, followed by exaggerated moans from both girls that made it abundantly clear what kind of "night work" they were mocking.

A guy nearby snorted. “Who’d even touch Miss Bad Luck? I’d love to see a guy desperate enough to ”

“Hey!” I snapped, pushing to my feet. “Why don’t you all shut the hell up?”

Lavinia turned, her eyes raking over me. “Or what?”

I smiled coldly. “Or I’ll curse you and infect you with my bad luck.”

She recoiled. “Crazy bitch!”

I stepped toward her, and she panicked heels stomping onto her companion’s foot, who yelped in pain.

“Oh dear,” I said, mock-gasping with delight. “The infection spreads so fast.”

With a final smirk, I walked away, distancing myself from their toxicity.

It hadn’t always been this way. Sure, they were always privileged, and I was always broke but I hadn’t always been cursed. That part started with a rumor… one that too neatly explained the bizarre disasters that seemed to follow me like a shadow.

Lightning had struck campus ten times since I enrolled and always right near me. Things broke when I passed. Pipes burst. One incident even flooded the dorm floor, and I got evicted. The “curse” label stuck, and apparently, I was undateable too. The men treated me like a black widow in a miniskirt. The only relationships I had were fictional stolen from the pages of supernatural romances where I could be the desired heroine of some brooding vampire or tortured alpha werewolf.

I managed to stay awake for the rest of my classes and dragged myself home if you could call my crumbling apartment that. Just enough time to shower and change before heading to my shift at the convenience store.

“Thank God you’re here, Domitilla!” my co-worker Ondina squealed the moment I walked in. “I was supposed to close tonight, but I can’t. You’ll close for me, right?” She batted her lashes like I owed her a favor.

“I’m exhausted. I only have four hours tonight, and I am not turning them into six,” I said, already regretting my life.

“But it’s Friday,” she whined. “I have a date. You wouldn’t understand…”

She turned toward Mr. Filippini before I could stop her. “Domitilla agreed to cover for me!”

“What?!” I gasped, but it was too late.

“Perfect.” Filippini dropped the keys into my hand. “Be a good friend. Ondina’s got a date, after all.”

Just kill me now.

I worked the whole shift alone, fuming and sleep-deprived. When I finally locked up, I looked like the walking dead—arms outstretched to keep balance as I shuffled to the ATM.

“Money for rent… money for rent…”

I withdrew the last of my funds. I was tucking the bills into my wallet when someone snatched it from my hand.

I froze.

“Help! He stole my wallet!” I screamed, bolting after the thief.

Stupid. Reckless. But that money was all I had. I chased him down a dark alley, barely keeping up. He turned a corner into an even narrower path, swallowed by shadows and then I heard a scream.

I stopped.

Frozen, breath held.

Two figures cast on the wall by a flickering streetlamp my thief, and another man cloaked in darkness. The second man lifted the thief off the ground by the throat like he weighed nothing. There was a sickening crack and silence.

“Hello?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Curiosity, desperation, and a sense of utter stupidity moved my feet forward. I turned the corner

And almost vomited.

The thief was dead. His body shredded like he’d been mauled by an animal. Beside him, my wallet soaked in a spreading pool of blood.

A breathless laugh escaped my throat, more manic than amused. “I’m so fucked.”

I used to move through life with the gnawing belief that something inside me was tainted, wrong in a way I could never explain. Daylight felt like a lie I was forced to live under, its brilliance too harsh, too exposing. I never truly belonged in the sun. Maybe that’s why, when I saw him, cloaked in shadow and sin, I felt something awaken deep within me.

Agostino Santini was everything I wasn’t supposed to want, yet everything I craved. He looked like he had been carved from my darkest fantasies, his presence an intoxicating gravity I couldn't resist. The world called him many things: predator, monster, omen of death. And maybe he was. But to me, he was something else entirely.

He didn’t just save my life, he breathed something new into it. With every glance, every whispered word, he unraveled the tight threads of restraint I’d bound myself with. He touched me like he knew every secret my skin kept hidden. He gave me a taste of pleasure so raw, so consuming, it made me question everything I thought I knew about desire.

All he ever asked of me was my blood. But I knew if I surrendered that, I wouldn’t be able to stop there. I’d give him everything. My body. My heart. My soul. And I did. Willingly.

His dark magnetism blinded me to the truth until it was far too late. I was drawn to him like a moth to flame, compelled, helpless. And when I stepped too close, the fire didn’t just burn. It consumed.

That’s when I learned the most devastating truth of all. Love like this doesn’t end in happily ever after.

It ends in ruin.

And in the end, only one of us will survive.

Chapter 3

My breath seized the moment the chandelier came crashing down.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but time distorted stretching into an eternity as shards of crystal exploded across the marble floor like scattered stars. A gust of cold air brushed past my skin, and for one gut-wrenching moment, I feared I’d just witnessed a death. My gaze darted through the cloud of glittering dust until I spotted Gelsomina on the left of the staircase dazed, but miraculously alive.

Relief came like a gasp but it froze midway through my lungs.

Someone had been standing right beside her. And as the settling dust began to clear, the outline emerged. Tall. Composed. Impossibly untouched. It was him Gosto. He stood unmoving, his hand calmly brushing specks of plaster from his tailored suit. He looked like sin wrapped in Armani.

Even now, with chaos clinging to the air, he looked lethal and beautiful.

Only then did I become aware of Ermes’s hand, still planted firmly on my waist. His grip had anchored me on the stairwell, his body balancing behind mine, far too close. The intimacy of that contact bloomed on delay and when it hit, it painted my cheeks in a flush of heat.

“Ermes,” a voice cut through the silence like tempered steel low, cold, and scathing.

My eyes snapped upward, locking onto Gosto's gaze, now sharp and burning with silent fury. His attention pinned Ermes in place with surgical precision. The hand on my waist disappeared at once, and Ermes stepped aside, clearing his throat like a man who had narrowly avoided something deadly. “Come upstairs,” he instructed.

I swallowed hard. My heart galloped against my ribs as I followed him, heels clicking unevenly on each step. Though he never touched me again, Ermes hovered close a guardian… or perhaps a buffer between me and the predator who watched from the shadows below.

At the top, the transformation was staggering. Staff moved like a well-oiled machine already dismantling what remained of the chandelier. Waiters in sleek black suits were calmly escorting stunned guests away. It felt... orchestrated, precise. Almost inhumanly so.

Then came Gosto.

He approached like a king surveying his court, and I instinctively stepped back. His presence was more than physical it was magnetic, ominous, a storm in a tailored jacket. “Take care of her,” he said to Ermes, motioning his chin toward Gelsomina.

His words were smooth as velvet but laced with warning a quiet, suffocating kind of menace.

I should’ve run. Every instinct screamed at me to. But I stayed. And when he turned his gaze on me, I didn’t flinch I met it, stubborn, shaken, and spellbound.

Ermes vanished. Just like that, I was alone with him.

His eyes moved over me, deliberate and thorough. Not lewd. Calculated. “Are you hurt?” he asked, and I almost staggered at the warmth in his voice such a jarring contrast to the chill he’d just inflicted on his manager.

I blushed furiously. “I...I think I’m okay,” I stammered, cursing how breathless I sounded.

His lips curved in a smirk, sinful and smug. A predator amused by the rabbit frozen in his teeth. “I haven’t introduced myself properly,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower honeyed steel. “Agostino Santini. I own this club.”

Of course he did. And somehow, hearing him say it made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. That voice that name sank into my skin like a brand.

“Domitilla Crivelli,” I whispered back, feeling absurdly exposed.

The smirk deepened into something worse: a smile. Devastating. Lethal. “Take the night off,” he said.

I started to protest. “Really, I’m ”

“You sprained your ankle,” he interrupted, eyes narrowing. “My driver will take you home.”

“I can manage ”

“I wasn’t offering,” he said, voice hardening. “Take off your heels before you go down the stairs. If you don’t, I will carry you myself.”

My body flushed, torn between outrage and some darker, shameful desire to test his threat.

Before I could decide, my gaze dropped to his broad shoulders, straining against his jacket. I bit my lip to silence the gasp that wanted to escape.

“Don’t do that,” he said darkly.

I blinked. “Do what?”

He didn’t answer. He stepped closer, and with the lightest touch, brushed his thumb across my lower lip. Heat crackled down my spine.

The world quieted. Just him, me, and the electric pulse between us.

“It was nice meeting you, Domitilla,” he murmured, like a secret meant only for me.

“It was nice Mr. Sant ”

“Call me Gosto.”

My knees almost gave out. “Nice to meet you, Gosto,” I managed, heart thundering.

I was driven home in a Bentley. The damn car cost more than my life. The entire night had unraveled like a fever dream.

Once I hobbled into my apartment, the ankle Gosto had diagnosed began to throb in earnest. By the time I reached my bed, I had to hop on one foot, praying three days would be enough to recover.

The next day brought a small miracle my college classes were canceled. With nothing but time, I stocked up at the pharmacy, bought a new romance novel, and curled into bed, trying to forget Gosto’s eyes, his hands, his mouth.

I must’ve drifted off.

“Domitilla.”

His voice was silk. My eyes flew open.

Gosto sat beside me, his hand stroking my cheek like a lover in a dream. “Mr. Santini?” I breathed.

“Gosto,” he corrected, voice sin incarnate.

I blinked. “Why… why are you here?”

He gestured to a dark glass beside the bed. “Drink this. It will heal you.”

Without thinking, my fingers wrapped around it.

“What is it?” I asked, staring at the thick crimson liquid.

“Something ancient,” he said, eyes tracing the hollow of my throat. “Something that works.”

I drank.

It tasted like smoke and berries and secrets.

When I looked at him again, he was staring at my lips. Then he whispered, “I want to taste you.”

He was on me in a blink, his mouth hot and relentless, his body pinning me to the mattress. I moaned, fingers tangled in his hair as he devoured me.

And then a sharp sting. Blood.

I pulled away, gasping. Gosto leaned back, baring his teeth.

Fangs.

I screamed.

And woke up.

Alone. Trembling. But healed.

My ankle — completely pain-free.

Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Chapter 4

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the credit card Ermes had handed me. I needed the money desperately but the deeper I thought about it, the more it felt like I’d unknowingly stepped into something far murkier than I’d anticipated. Sure, maybe there was a reasonable explanation for why Detective Teodoro didn’t recognize the name Fosco. It could be as simple as him being new to the force or recently transferred. Maybe he was on leave, spotted the patrol cars, and decided to help out. That wasn’t too far-fetched, right?

With a groan, I fell back against the bed.

Realistically, any sane person might have seen through this mess from the start. What kind of cop randomly recruits girls to serve drinks at an upscale nightclub right when they're desperate for a high-paying job? If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve lumped Fosco in with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. The problem was… Fosco was real. And now, I had actual cash in my wallet and a credit card loaded with fifteen thousand dollars.

I groaned again, pressing my palms to my cheeks and giving myself a light slap.

“Domitilla, get a grip. They haven’t asked you to do anything illegal. You’re serving drinks and making a killing in tips. Stop asking questions and everything will be fine.”

It was a dream gig for anyone without a diploma. Three nights a week, and I was already making more than I ever had working full-time between the convenience store, the food market, and that awful delivery job. It felt like I’d hit the jackpot. Miss Bad Luck was finally riding a wave of good fortune...

I couldn't remember a time in my life when I was actually excited to go to work. Not until now. But this new feeling had very little to do with cocktails or customers and everything to do with the club’s enigmatic owner and that humiliating dream I’d had starring him.

I knew it was ridiculous. A stupid crush. Still, I couldn’t help it. I hoped I’d see him again tonight.

“Loredana’s off today, but don’t worry we’ve got you,” said Lucilla, one of the more approachable girls, as she finished brushing shimmering powder across her golden-brown skin. Her twin, Lelia, stood beside her. Identical in every way gorgeous and dazzling. If not for Lelia’s tied-back hair, I’d never keep them straight.

I had just zipped myself into my uniform when the door slammed open and one of the girls burst in, squealing. She twirled in place, laughing and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“What’s with her?” I asked, raising a brow at the twins.

Lucilla and Lelia exchanged identical sighs, arms crossed.

“That’s Gelsomina,” Lucilla said dryly, gesturing to the short, blonde girl still bouncing in the center of the room. Lelia rolled her eyes.

“She's been throwing herself at Ermes for weeks,” Lelia added. “Looks like he finally assigned her to the VIP floor.”

“The VIP floor?” I echoed.

“There’s a private section upstairs,” Lucilla explained. “Most of the girls want to work there.”

“Because of celebrities? Do famous people show up?”

Lucilla gave a noncommittal shrug. “More likely it’s about the money. Big tippers.”

“And the ones who work up there... they always look so blissed out. Like they just came down from a high,” Lelia said, her tone almost conspiratorial.

My heart skipped. “You think... they’re being drugged?”

Lucilla laughed. “No, nothing like that. This place is strict alcohol only. Ermes and the owner don’t tolerate anything else.”

“So then, what are you implying?”

Gelsomina, as if summoned, flounced over and inserted herself into the conversation, flashing Lucilla a smirk. “Jealous?”

Lucilla’s mouth tightened. “Congrats, Gelsomina. You finally got what you wanted.”

“Not everything,” she purred, a hand fluttering to her lips. “But I will.”

“What do you mean?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Gelsomina turned, eyes glinting. “I want Gosto. I want him on me. In me. I want him.”

My jaw slackened. “Who?”

“The owner,” Lelia supplied with a sigh. “Agostino Santini. Some girls overheard Ermes call him ‘Gosto’ a few times.”

Something dark and unexpected tightened in my chest at her words. Possessiveness. I didn’t even know the man, but the idea of her being near him all night sent an ugly heat coursing through me.

“What’s wrong? Do you like him?” Gelsomina sneered. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but a man like Gosto wouldn’t look twice at a charity case like you.”

Lucilla stepped in front of me protectively. “Careful, Gelsomina.”

“Yeah,” Lelia added, “Domitilla is Ermes’s favorite.”

I blinked. “I am?”

Lelia didn’t answer me, eyes still locked on Gelsomina. “They did a special recruitment, and she was the only one picked. Some say they created it just for her.”

My breath caught, but Lucilla pressed a hand over my mouth before I could say anything stupid.

“So watch yourself,” she warned. “Domitilla is special. Unlike you.”

Gelsomina stared me down, fury simmering in her eyes. She pointed a finger, muttered something under her breath, and stormed off.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, the moment she was gone. “Why’d you tell her all that?”

Lucilla just smirked. “Because it’s fun. And now she won’t try anything stupid. Probably.”

I didn’t say it, but every fiber of me knew: this wasn’t over.

My eyes kept drifting to the upper floor the very spot where Gosto had stood the night we first locked eyes. He wasn’t there now, and the emptiness gnawed at something inside me.

“You keep sighing,” Lucilla whispered, appearing beside me.

“I don’t sigh!”

She grinned. “You’re into him.”

“I maybe. A little.”

She snorted. “It’s not a crime. Honestly, if he were illegal, I’d still break the law for him.”

I smiled thinly. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s just... that night, he looked at me. Really looked. It felt intense.”

Lucilla’s grin widened. “Now I don’t feel bad for what I told Gelsomina.”

“Why?”

She grabbed my shoulders, looked me square in the eye. “Because you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Those green eyes? That hair? You look like a fairy straight out of folklore.”

I laughed, flushed. “Thanks… I think?”

“Definitely a compliment,” she said. Then her voice cut off. Her eyes lifted above my head. I followed her gaze.

He was there.

Gosto. Leaning on the balcony railing, speaking to a tall man with blond hair. His lips moved, but his eyes never left mine.

Lucilla squealed. “Holy fuck! He’s staring at you!”

Panic kicked in, but so did something else something hungry and bold. And just like that, Gelsomina strutted into view, hips swaying as she approached him.

I wanted to rip her hair out.

“Domitilla?”

I flinched. Ermes. Of course.

He shoved a tray with two drinks into my hands and smirked. “Take these to Mr. Santini and his guest.”

He knew. That bastard knew.

I pasted a fake smile onto my face and started climbing the stairs. My knees were shaking. My heart was in my throat. I made it within three steps of the top when our eyes met again and then

“I’ll take that.”

Gelsomina stepped in front of me, snatching the tray and giving me a soft but deliberate push.

My heel twisted.

I reached for the railing.

Too late.

I was falling.

Except I didn’t hit the ground.

My head thudded against something solid, and an arm caught me around the waist.

Ermes.

He steadied me, smirking. “Well… that was fun.”

My heart was pounding. My hands shook.

Above me, Gelsomina stood with my tray, smirking like she’d won.

But something shifted.

The entire club trembled.

My pulse froze as I looked up straight at the massive crystal chandelier hanging directly above her head.

And then

It fell.

I stared at the manager, stunned speechless and I wasn’t alone. Every other candidate in the room had frozen in identical disbelief, eyes fixed on him with collective shock. It wasn’t just the fact that I got the job. It was that I was the only one who did.

One by one, the other girls filed out of the club, muttering curses in several languages, their glares like daggers slicing across my skin. You’d think years of bullying would’ve thickened my skin, but apparently, I was still too soft. Their resentment hit me like a tidal wave, suffocating and sharp. My chest tightened, lungs constricting until even shallow breaths felt like drowning. A high, shrill ringing filled my ears, dizziness swelled behind my eyes, and nausea coiled low in my belly. Panic attack.

Two strong hands landed gently on my shoulders, and suddenly, the world stilled.

“I thought getting the job was supposed to be a good thing,” Ermes said with a low chuckle.

His touch grounded me like a lifeline. I inhaled, slower this time, and lifted my gaze to meet his. Up close, his beauty was arresting. Eyes like molten gold glowed with a magnetic pull, skin smooth and untouched by flaw or time. Not a line, not a blemish. Either he was much younger than I assumed or his plastic surgeon deserved a standing ovation.

A smile tugged at his full lips, laced with quiet amusement. I realized I’d been staring.

A breathless laugh escaped me. “It is… a good thing. Um, thank you.”

His grin widened. “You’re so very welcome, darling.” He dropped his hands and motioned toward the staff-only door. “Come. I’ll show you around. We don’t have much time you’re starting tonight.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile as I nodded and followed him. Ten minutes later, nerves had evolved into full-blown dread.

The club took appearances seriously perhaps too seriously. At first, I thought it was some sexist control tactic, but I quickly realized it was… something else entirely.

“We want our employees to stay healthy,” Ermes explained casually. “We offer full medical care and encourage proper nutrition.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. Was this man seriously concerned about our diets? He might be the only club manager on Earth who gave a damn about his waitresses’ health.

Then he pulled a credit card from his coat pocket and handed it to me. “Consider this start-up money. There’s fifteen grand on it. Use it to improve your health and your appearance. It’s important for the company.”

I stared at the card in my trembling hand. “You’re joking, right?”

He turned, brows raised. “Pardon?”

“Er… Ermes.” I corrected myself quickly. “You’re not secretly planning to harvest my kidneys, are you?”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “I assure you, our customers have all their internal organs intact.”

I clenched my jaw. “So, I won’t be expected to do anything other than serve cocktails?”

In a blink, he was standing right in front of me. The sudden proximity stole my breath.

“No one can make you do anything. No one touches you… unless you’re willing.” His voice was low, steady, and intimate, his gaze locked on mine.

“Unless I’m willing,” I repeated, recognizing those exact words from the phone call with the recruiter.

A smirk danced across his lips. “Good girl.” Then he turned and muttered under his breath, “And I sure hope you are…”

My mouth parted slightly. I must have imagined that. Had to.

Because if not… God help me.

Ermes could easily star in one of my darker fantasies. There was something devilish in his perfection. The kind of man women would surrender their souls to and throw in their bodies as a bonus. I wasn’t hideous by any stretch, but I wasn’t the type to turn heads. If he was truly interested in me, then he must have a taste for the unusual. Or he simply hadn’t heard the rumors that followed me like a shadow.

“This is your uniform,” he announced, swinging open a closet to reveal a sleek, black dress that made my breath hitch. I almost wanted to thank the rat that had chewed through the one I brought. Compared to this, mine was a joke.

I reached for the dress gingerly. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Of course it’ll fit.” And then, more quietly, “It was made for you.”

My heart lurched. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He waved me off. “Just put it on. The others will be here in fifteen minutes. You’ll find cosmetics in the drawer. Have fun.” He offered one last devastating smile before slipping out.

By the time the other waitresses started arriving, I was still reeling.

Every woman who walked in looked like she belonged on a runway. Glowing skin, perfect nails, hourglass bodies. I instinctively shrank into the corner, wishing I could disappear.

A stunning brunette approached with a friendly smile. “You must be the new girl. I’m Loredana.”

I forced a nervous smile and shook her delicate hand. “Domitilla. Yeah, I’m new.”

She chuckled at my awkward grip. “You’re nervous.”

“More than I ever was for any exam,” I admitted.

“Relax. It’s just a job. It can even be fun sometimes.” She took my hand again and tugged me toward the vanity. “Fix your makeup. Change. We’ve got fifteen minutes before hell breaks loose.”

I gulped. “Is it that bad?”

She shrugged. “You get used to it. The clientele here… they’re eccentric. Rich. They talk like they stepped out of a Gothic novel. They’re not violent or grabby, but they can be rude.”

I laughed. “That’s nothing. I once had a regular try to grope me and another smash a beer glass when I refused to serve him.”

“Ouch.” She grimaced. “That won’t happen here. The owner wouldn’t allow it.”

“The owner?” My pulse quickened without warning.

Loredana blushed faintly. “He’s rarely around, and when he is, he stays upstairs in the VIP section.”

“What’s he like?”

Her smile turned downright sinful. “Mr. Santini? He’s the stuff women’s fantasies are made of. Dark. Dangerous. Mysterious. And every girl here would crawl over broken glass just to fuck him.”

A shiver swept down my spine. The man I’d glimpsed on the balcony during the interviews… could that have been him? He fit the description all too perfectly.

Five minutes later, I stood by the bar in a black sleeveless dress that hugged my curves like it had been stitched by a lover. The neckline dipped just enough to be suggestive without being vulgar. Even walking in four-inch heels felt right. I’d never looked never felt so effortlessly seductive.

“You look hot,” Loredana said, stepping up beside me in an identical dress.

“Thanks. You too,” I replied with a laugh.

And then the madness began.

In less than ten minutes, the floor filled with over three hundred people. The energy was electric. I fell into rhythm quickly, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, tray in hand, drinks balanced like second nature. Strangely, every guest I encountered was… pleasant. Odd, certainly. But friendly. One man even leaned in to sniff my hand. Weird but harmless.

Hours passed in a blur. I leaned against the bar, smiling to myself, letting the calm soak into my bones until heat prickled across my skin. A tingle bloomed at the base of my neck, trailing down between my breasts and lower still. My gaze flicked upward, drawn like a moth to flame.

There he was.

Leaning over the balcony’s edge, hands gripping the railing, black suit hugging his tall, lethal frame. And those eyes… they locked on mine with an intensity that stole the air from my lungs.

My thighs pressed together. Wet heat pulsed at my core.

His lips curved into a wicked smirk. I bit down on mine, unable to stop the image from forming what would his kiss taste like?

I was losing my damn mind.

I couldn’t look away. His gaze stripped me bare. I felt him, everywhere his phantom touch ghosting across my throat, my chest, my thighs. I clenched harder, holding back a moan. What was happening to me?

“So, how’s your first night going?” Loredana’s voice snapped me out of it, nearly making me yelp.

“Huh?” I blinked at her, dazed.

She gave me a knowing look. “You look flushed. Maybe sit down for a bit.”

I nodded numbly and lowered myself into a chair. I glanced back at the balcony empty.

A small, private smile curved my lips.

Whatever I’d felt just now… it was dangerous. Wild. Electric.

And I wanted more.

"Come in."

The man's voice rolled out like velvet-draped thunder as I pushed the door open.

"I've been waiting for you, Domitilla."

The way he said my name low and smoky was a sin disguised as sound, a whisper laced with promise and temptation.

I swallowed hard and stepped inside.

"Close the door behind you," he added. "I don’t want any interruptions."

Every syllable he spoke ignited something inside me, stoking an anticipation I didn’t dare name.

I finally lifted my gaze and met his eyes.

He was leaning casually against the front of his desk, hands gripping the edge like he owned the very air around him. One side of his mouth tugged up in a slow, knowing smile as his gaze raked over me like he was peeling away every layer. I took a hesitant step forward, and it felt like passing through some invisible field of static energy that clung to my skin.

"Closer," he said, biting into his bottom lip like the sight of me physically affected him.

"Mr. Santini... this isn't right," I whispered, though the words tasted like betrayal to my own desire.

He gave a low, decadent laugh rich and thick with something primal and that sound alone made my thighs clench. With an effortless shrug, he slid off his jacket and loosened the top buttons of his inky black shirt.

"Does it feel wrong to you?"

Another button undone.

"Because it feels very right to me."

I stood there, pulse pounding, watching as the rest of the buttons gave way. Each inch of revealed skin carved from some divine marble. My breath caught when he reached out, gently taking my hand and placing it against his bare chest letting my trembling fingertips learn the landscape of his body. Slowly, he guided my hand down his torso, over the ridges of muscle, stopping just above the belt of his slacks.

Then he moved.

In one swift motion, he gripped my waist and pulled me against him. I gasped, breathless from the impact, from the feel of him hard and urgent pressing into me. My fingers found his shoulders, cool and sculpted, like ice over fire.

Then he kissed me.

His mouth claimed mine in slow, exploratory strokes, his tongue teasing mine into submission. I melted into him, into the hunger and heat that pulsed between us. His hands slid down and grasped my thighs, lifting me as if I weighed nothing and settling me on the edge of the desk.

And then

I was naked.

I didn’t even remember how it happened. One blink and my clothes were gone. Reflexively, I tried to cover myself, but he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head. His other hand found its way between my thighs, igniting sparks, unlocking something deep, primal... uncontainable.

"The doorbell," he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

That brought everything to a crashing halt.

The doorbell?

What the hell?

I blinked up at him in confusion, but he had already stepped back. The faint, chime-like sound reached me again distant, warped, but real. He chuckled, brushing his knuckles across my cheek.

"Domitilla..." He pressed a kiss to my jaw. "That’s the doorbell."

"You have a doorbell in your office?" I asked, dazed.

Then came the sound again louder this time. The illusion shattered.

My eyes snapped open.

I was in bed. Alone.

The dream disintegrated like ash between my fingers. The lingering arousal was a cruel echo of something that had never actually happened.

And that doorbell? Very real and annoyingly persistent.

Growling a curse, I climbed out of bed, trying to shake off the erotic fog still clinging to my skin. There was something seriously wrong with me. One brief glimpse of my new boss, and suddenly I was starring in a pornographic fever dream with the man?

Get it together, Domitilla.

I pressed my forehead to the door, blinking hard until I could make out the figure through the peephole.

"The detective?"

I cleared my throat.

"Just a second!"

I threw on the first oversized sweatshirt I could find and dragged my fingers through my hair. Then I opened the door.

"Detective Teodoro," I said, stepping aside.

He nodded. "Apologies for dropping in on a Sunday, Ms. Crivelli... but there’s something that’s been bothering me. I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d speak to you about the Giosuè Tarallo case."

"Who?"

"The man who tried to rob you," he clarified with a dry smile.

"Oh," I said, clearing a pile of clothes from the couch. "Please, have a seat. Coffee?"

"If it’s no trouble."

I nodded and busied myself in the kitchen which was basically two steps away while he took a seat. "So," I said over my shoulder, "what’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until Monday?"

He scratched his chin. "Remember when you mentioned that security camera?"

"Yes. Did it show anything?"

"Well, it confirmed you were exactly where you said you were."

Relief swelled in my chest. "I told you "

"But we checked the other cameras too," he interrupted. "And there’s no image of the killer."

I turned, confused. "No image?"

"All three cameras that should’ve caught the attack were... broken."

I blinked. My mind, still half in dreamland, spiraled into vampire lore creatures that didn’t show up in mirrors... or cameras.

"So... the killer was invisible?"

His brows lifted. "Excuse me?"

I laughed nervously. "Sorry. You said no image, and I never mind."

He sighed. "The point is, someone sabotaged those cameras. And we also discovered that Tarallo had a long criminal record. Lately, he’d been stealing rare items on contract."

My brows furrowed. "You think someone paid him to steal something?"

"Exactly. Not your wallet, though. That was just bad luck. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Charming," I muttered.

Unfazed, he continued. "We also discovered... his little finger was cut off before his throat was slit."

A sick feeling twisted in my gut. "Someone mutilated him before killing him?"

He stood. "If you remember anything else, even the smallest detail, call me."

"I will," I said faintly.

He paused at the door. "We’ll try to speed up the process with your bank. Hopefully, you’ll recover your money soon."

"Thanks, but I’ve already found a new job. I’ll manage."

"That’s good to hear."

"If you run into Officer Fosco, tell him thank you. He helped me."

He turned. "Who?"

"Fosco. I didn’t catch his last name."

A shadow passed across his face. "There’s no one by that name in our department. I’d remember a name like that."

A chill slid down my spine. I forced a shrug. "Maybe I got it wrong. I was exhausted that night."

"Thanks for your cooperation, Ms. Crivelli."

The door closed with a final click.

And I stood there, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat, chilled by the strange current in the air.

Who was the man who told me about Velluto Nero?

If he wasn’t a cop… what the hell was he?

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