5

Raella's POV

The memory fractured as Vincenzo’s voice cut through the present like a blade.

“I can tell you weren’t expecting me.”

My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. “No, I wasn’t. But I—uh…” My voice wavered as I faced the room full of stone-faced men.

I prayed the real Carmela was safely in the kitchen and couldn’t hear me spinning this web of lies. I didn’t dare turn around to check.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” I added weakly.

The men didn’t respond. But Vincenzo did. With a single word.

“Raella.”

My instincts betrayed me, and I turned toward him at the sound of my name. Just like that, the game was up.

He smiled, sharp and dangerous, like the edge of broken glass. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

My shoulders slumped as I stared at the floor. “Okay, so…I’m not Carmela. You knew that already. She was the one invited, not me. I borrowed her name to get in. Then I met you and just…kept using it. I don’t know why I did it. Well, I kind of do, but it’s complicated. I shouldn’t have—”

I was mid-ramble when the three men slid out of the booth in perfect unison.

I stumbled back, heart hammering as they moved past me like shadows. One headed for the front door, another disappeared into the kitchen, and the last strode down the hallway toward the offices.

“What are you doing?” I called out, my voice cracking.

No one answered.

Moments later, the kitchen door swung open, and Carmela and Sandra led a procession of bewildered line cooks and busboys into the dining area.

“You’re closing early today,” Vincenzo announced. His voice was calm, almost warm, but the weight of his authority was unmistakable. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

Dino, the head chef, scowled at him. “And who the fuck are you?”

Vincenzo arched a single brow. “No one.”

Dino sneered. “No one?”

Vincenzo nodded once, his voice steady. “Exactly. Keep practicing that. I’m no one. You saw nothing. Say it until you believe it if you want to stay out of trouble.”

It wasn’t what he said that scared me. It was how he said it—quiet, almost friendly, like he was giving friendly advice instead of issuing a warning.

The real terror lay in wondering what would happen if he stopped being so friendly.

Carmela raised her hand like a nervous student. “We can’t leave. We’ll be fired.”

Vincenzo turned to her, his voice low and dismissive. “There are worse things than being fired. Just worry about doing what I say, Carmela.”

A chill crawled up my spine, the shame unmistakable. He knew her name. He knew mine. What else did he know?

“I don’t care about being fired,” Sandra shot back, her voice sharp. “What are you doing with Raella?”

I shook my head at her, a silent plea. I appreciated her concern, but I didn’t want her tangled in this mess.

A man stepped forward, his expression impassive as he guided Sandra and Carmela toward the door. “Raella will be fine. Don’t worry about her.”

Sandra’s glare could have burned through steel. “Who the hell are you?”

He didn’t break stride. “Lorenzo. Not that it matters.”

Lorenzo and Sandra vanished outside, Carmela already waiting with one of the thugs. Another man motioned for the remaining kitchen staff to leave. They went without protest, throwing me confused glances, but one look from Vincenzo had them averting their eyes like cowed animals.

I could scream. I could beg. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Vincenzo Marinelli always got what he wanted.

And right now, for some reason, he wanted me.

The moment the door shut, Vincenzo flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and turned to me. My chest tightened as he stalked closer, his gaze pinning me in place.

“You lied to me. You’re not Carmela Callahan.”

I crossed my arms, gesturing to my polyester uniform. “I’m also not an investigative journalist. In case you missed the memo.”

In a flash, he snatched my wrist, his grip unyielding. My breath hitched. “What’s your aim?”

“I don’t have one!”

His eyes narrowed, predatory. “You hated every single person at my house—myself included—yet you used your friend’s name to get inside. To find me.”

“You found me,” I corrected, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “I told you to leave me alone, remember?”

“And then you stripped naked in my office.” His gaze raked over me like a touch.

“My dress fell apart! I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“Convenient.” His tone dripped skepticism. “You have an answer for everything.”

“Because I’m not lying!” I groaned. “I left you, remember? You told me to wait, and I didn’t.”

“Maybe you left because you got what you wanted.”

“Oh, right. How could I forget?” I snapped my fingers. “I conned you into handing over your debit card and PIN number in between orgasms. If there’s a Target charge on your statement, you’ll know who to blame.”

His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed sharp. “I don’t take you for someone so easily satisfied.”

He was wrong. I’d been plenty satisfied last night—more times than I cared to admit.

“I went to your party to have fun. That’s it. If I’d known who you really were, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you.”

“You knew who I was when we were fucking,” he growled. “The imbalance was intentional—you knew everything about me, but I knew nothing about you.”

“And now you’re here, cornering me at work. If anyone’s motivations are suspect, it’s not mine.”

His expression shifted, softening—if only a fraction. “I’m not threatening you.”

I snorted. “What do you call this?”

Through the window, I caught a glimpse of Sandra’s ponytail swinging as she paced. I prayed she—and the others—were okay.

Vincenzo stepped into my line of sight, commanding my attention once more. “I call this a fact-finding mission. I want to know who the fuck you are and what the fuck you want.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely…”

His growl rumbled low in his chest. “I won’t hurt you—unless you force me to.”

The words chilled me, but I refused to flinch. “Then consider me firmly on Team ‘Don’t Hurt Raella.’”

He loomed closer, his intensity like a pressure around me. I held his gaze, the effort nearly breaking me, until finally, his focus dropped to my chest. His expression changed—shock flickering across his face.

I opened my mouth, ready to joke about the polyester miracle of my uniform. But before I could get a word out, Vincenzo Marinelli lunged forward, tackling me to the floor.