The Devil's Desire

LUCIANA

I may not have a very high alcohol tolerance, but I’m lucid enough to know I’m not dreaming. That’s Dario Morata.

What are the odds that the most annoying client I have ever dealt with just happens to come to the club Claudia and I frequent, on the very day we met?

It is not a coincidence—doesn’t take a genius.

Would it really be surprising that, on top of his colorful personality, he is a stalker? It doesn’t seem likely; why would he stalk me when we didn’t know each other before today?

I try to make sense of the situation, but no matter how I explain it in my head, it boils down to only one possibility, as insane as it sounds.

I glare in his direction. The prince of Annoyingville is not sitting in an overpriced booth with bartenders at his beck and call—how surprising.

He is sitting at a regular table, flanked by two men. The one on his left looks almost twice his age, and nearly as intimidating as Dario himself.

When my gaze returns to Dario, the asshole has the guts to wink at me.

“Oh, my goodness!” Claudia screeches. I almost forgot that we were at the same table.

“He's so hot! Wait…is that Dario Morata, and did he just wink?” She grabs my arm excitedly. She is never going to let me hear the end of this.

I ignore her excitement, my mind preoccupied with plotting a secret way to make that man’s life miserable since I cannot end it.

My fried brain can’t come up with any, so I turn to the waiter who’s laying the glamorous drinks out in front of us. “Take them back to him and tell him to shove them where the sun don’t shine.”

“Luciana!” Claudia glares at me like I've uttered a profanity.

“What?” I raise my shoulders.

“That's no way to treat a hot guy.”

The waiter looks between us, confused as to whose order to follow.

Claudia takes a sip of one of the drinks through the colorful, crazy straw and pushes the other to me as she tells the waiter, “Can you be a darling and tell the hot gentleman we appreciate it?”

“What are you doing?” I ask, too late to stop her.

My night is going to be just as colorful as my day.

"Don't give me that look, Missy. Who rejects drinks from a hot guy?” She scolds me, taking another long sip.

“Someone who prefers not to get roofied?”

“Oh, shush. As if THE Dario would do such a thing. I wonder how…”

“Don’t say it,” I cut her short, because we both know the kind of dirty crap that was about to leave those lips.

I’m not going to let him pay for my drinks, even if doing it myself will put a dent in my wallet.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Claudia waves a hand at Dario's table.

“You two deserve each other.” I offer her the sweet smile that lets her know I’m going to kill her later, to which she drunkenly giggles and snorts.

Where’s the random bolt of lightning that strikes down movie characters out of the blue? I need one of those for Dario.

A few minutes later, Dario and his men disappear to the upper floor of the club. I’m relieved, until the waiter from earlier informs us that the gentleman would appreciate our company if we would like to join him.

“Of course we’re going!” Claudia answers and shoos the waiter off before I can get a single word in.

"Are you out of your mind? How many glasses of those have you had?'' I ask.

“I'm not light-headed, silly. I’m just glad that finally some light is going to brighten your path,” she says.

I have no damn clue about what she's talking about.

I blame the cocktails.

“I know what you're thinking,” she wags her finger at me, as if reading what just crossed my mind. She takes a long drag of her drink. “The only thing wrong with these cocktails is that there’s only one flute of each. These are heavenly.”

With two long drags, she empties her glass and turns to me. “As I was saying…”

I was avoiding this topic.

She taps my cheek when she notices my sulk. “Sweetheart, you've had the worst breakup. That asshole Vicente didn't deserve you. You can't spend your entire life hating men because you made a mistake trusting the wrong one.”

“Hate men? The alcohol is dominating your head, ma’am.”

I don't want to talk about my love life, and I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed.

She’s saying something about the perks of being with Dario. In the middle of it, she stops, snapping her fingers frantically. “What if eager girls followed him to his private booth? I noticed some flipping their hair at him earlier.”

“None of our business,” I say.

“Yet he ignored them and asked for us to join him—though we both know you’re the one he meant.” She bats her eyes at me as if cracking the world’s most hidden mystery.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, Claudia. Don’t give me those eyes.”

“It means he only has eyes for you, silly.”

“Are you going to spend the entire night calling me silly because of an asshole?” I ask. Earning a warning glare from her, like I've broken the law.

“Careful with how you talk about a hot guy who's ignoring other girls for you.”

When I stand, she grabs my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you want to join them at the booth? Come on.” I entice. She looks confused, but I drag her along.

I expect the two beefy security guards standing at the end of the hallway to stop us shy of the private booths, but instead, one extends a hand. “This way, Miss Vargas.”

His certainty that I would come makes me bite my tongue. We follow the security guard to the ornate booth at the end of the hallway, where Dario and his friends are laughing at something.

“Stalking is a crime,” I cross my arms, looking down at the man who's made my day a living hell.”

He looks at me with a grin. “Miss Vargas, how nice of you to join us. Have a seat.”

I ignore the comfortable-looking red couch.

His friends have stopped speaking and are looking at me.

“Aren't you going to say hi to my friends?” Dario asks.

“Not interested,” I say.

“I wouldn’t be so rude if I were you,” he smirks.

I have to play my cards right. These are not work hours. But I still need him.

This guy is influential, and if he gave a bad review about a drowning company, who wouldn't believe that? Still, I'm not going to cower in his presence.

Not when he's taking advantage of my situation.

“Threat is an overstatement. Oh, but I just remembered we have a date. So why don't we talk about it tomorrow? For now, I can buy you more drinks.”

“That’s what I came to talk about.” I take out a few twenty-dollar bills from my purse. “I can buy my own drinks, Mister.”

He smiles at the bills I place on the table. “You think I would buy such cheap drinks? Luciana, I almost feel offended.”

I knew the damn cocktails would cost a dime. I grit my teeth as I take out a few hundred-dollar bills and slam them on the table before him.

“She thinks that’s good enough,” he says to no one in particular and laughs.

Actually, you know what?

I turn and take the money from the table and shove it into his pants pockets, making him wince.

“Careful, miss, you might not be able to handle what else is in there.”

This man never stops, does he?

I must have had too much to drink as well, because I lower my voice and inch even closer to him to say, “How can you be so certain?”

When I push the notes deeper into his pockets, my eyes widen when I touch something hard.

That’s a gun, right? If it isn’t, there’s only one other thing it could be.