Page 101 of The Beast Who Bought Me
“Thanks for the drinks,” I tell him, grabbing the bourbon and the beer, one in each hand. I don’t bother looking back at Jesse.
I shouldn’t have done that. Jesse is likely to get us thrown out, rather than send his friend Grisha over. And I don’t even knowwhyI did it. Something came over me and I just…lost it.
But it was worth it to see the look on Jesse’s face.
I have to walk slowly to avoid spilling the drinks, but eventually I arrive back at Dami’s table and give him his drinks. “My Lord,” I say with a quick bow of the head.
“You want to watch that sarcasm while we’re here,” Dami advises me, picking up the bourbon. “It won’t go down well with the Bratva.”
“About that,” I begin, figuring I should give him a heads-up if security suddenly descends on our table.
And in fact, there is someone headed our way right now. But it’s not security. It’s the Russian who bid on me that night at the auction—Grisha.
And trailing behind him, a vindictive spark in his eye, is Jesse Foster.
CHAPTER 36
DAMIANO
IfI ever have to see Jesse-fucking-Foster’s obnoxious little face again after tonight, it’ll be too soon. The red-faced Russian he’s got with him seems just as annoying as Daniel King’s lapdog, too. But I paste what will pass for a smile on my face and take the hand the Russian is extending.
“Grisha Andropov,” he says. “And you are the infamous Damiano Orsini, yes? Jesse here tells me you wanted to make amends.” He laughs, but it’s got no warmth to it. “Of course, there’s no need. No need at all.” But his eyes hover greedily on Caligula, who keeps his gaze glued to the floor.
“Just wanted to smooth over any ruffled feathers,” I say.
“Oh, no feathers ruffled. Your bid was—you must excuse me—quite beyond reason.” He laughs again. “Mine was pure curiosity. But Daniel explained the circumstances to me afterward.”
I give another smile that feels more like a grimace. Whether this asshole knows it or not, he’s telling me how widely known my hatred of Caligula Clemenza must be…and how clear myobsessive behavior was over the years. My weakness has been on display without me even realizing it.
That meansanyonemight have sent the text that summoned me to the Obelisk that night.
“It’s been well worth the money,” I tell the Russian.
“Jesse said you’d be interested in sharing.” The flat eyes gleam.
“And Mr. King says I am also at your disposal, Mr. Orsini,” Jesse purrs, putting his hand on my arm again. I have to fight not to shake it off.
The murderous look Caligula sends his way is enough to make me move away from the touch, camouflaged by reaching for my drink. “Actually, I’d prefer a little privacy with my new friend here.”
“But—” Jesse begins with a pout.
“Run along, Jesse,” the Russian insists. “Book us a private room for an hour.”
“An hour?” I say. “Why not two?” The Russian likes that idea, grinning wide. But Jesse doesn’t move, obviously trying to find an excuse to join us despite a direct order. “Thanks for the intro,” I tell him. “Maybe we can catch up after.”
That seems to appease him, although Caligula’s clenching jaw doesn’t escape my notice. The Clemenza ispissed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think…
Well, Idoknow better. And I need to keep my head in the game.
Andropov leads me down a hallway to a quieter part of the club, to one of the rooms used for private pursuits. I’ve been in one or two of these rooms before—with company—although I wasjust blowing off steam. This one’s the same as the others I’ve seen: a couple of black leather armchairs, a two-seater sofa that’s probably seen some action, a coffee table. Low lighting. Private. Soundproofed. The kind of room where you either talk business or get your dick sucked, sometimes both.
There’s a small bar cart in the room and the Russian pours us each a vodka, my least favorite drink. I throw it back anyway and accept another. This one I’ll nurse.
As for Caligula, I point to the floor next to the armchair I’m sitting in, and he goes to his knees by my feet, head bowed. “I gotta be honest, Grisha,” I say before the Russian can steer the conversation. “I had an ulterior motive for getting you in here.”
“Oh, yes?” His beady little eyes are all over the Clemenza, and I know exactly what he’s imagining.
“Yeah. I wanted some info.”
