The town car continues through the city until we’re in the southern part of Midtown. I immediately recognize where we are, the place where Christian Steele first laid his very eyes on me.
Stroke, the latest art gallery to hit the streets of Atlanta, hosting artists that are well-known and new to the business. If you’ve been accepted to show your work here it means that you’ve got an undeniable talent, and I can’t disagree. To be honest, I’m surprised that Christian chose this of all the places to have our first date. There wasn’t one part of me that would think he’d catch on to the fact that I’m a huge art fan, it’s ridiculous, I save pictures to my phone of numerous work, for instance – Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh, Di Vinci, Dali, Pollock, Matisse and even Rousseau.
Whenever I get stressed, I look at the paintings, and they take away every ounce of negative energy that I’m holding onto. I think about how it must have felt to paint each piece, how each artist must have been thinking of their next brush stroke or simply of nothing, of letting the art come to them in the most natural way. Art dissipates everything for me. I no longer think of my life, or of the circumstances that surround it, but of the beauty of the color. In fact, I revel in it, like an addict to a drug it gives me the perfect high.
The car barely stops before I see Christian walking out of the doors that lead to the gallery. He swiftly darts down the three steps and opens my door before I know it. The moment his eyes rake over my body I instantly feel the heat rising up from my core into the pit of my stomach. “Dammit, Cinderella, you look hot as fuck. Green was a good choice, a very good fucking choice.” He is not breaking his sightlines from me as he extends a hand, and I take it, getting out of the car and stepping onto the pavement. It may be the early evening, but it’s still sticky and humid. No matter what you do you can never escape Atlanta’s notorious humidity.
“Thank you,” I manage to say, before he takes my hand in his monkey sized palm, dragging my short butt up the stairs and into the gallery. He is eager as I’ve ever seen him, and once we are inside, I know why. I’ve been here before, it may have only been once, but I can recollect how the gallery looked that night. It was serene, filled with color, there were blasts of color coming from every direction. In my opinion, Alec Rosseau was trying to portray life through his paintings, many people have different observations when it comes to art and that was simply my own.
Tonight, everything is different. The soft honey oak wood floors are covered in what almost looks to be like a black sheet, except I can hear the bottom of my heels clicking on the floor. The exposed brick is covered with nothing but white, and the lights are low, yet bright in certain areas. Tonight – there is no color, it is colorless, it is blank, like a canvas. “I’m sure you are wondering if the owner suddenly decided he hated the color, or if this is something I’ve done.” I nod at his statement as we continue to walk further into the gallery. Out of nowhere, a man dressed in a black suit comes up to us with two glasses of what looks to be champagne. Christian grabs both glasses and quickly thanks the man as he hands me one.
“It figures a Steele would have a personal bartender,” I tease him, trying to keep the mood light. There is something heavy brewing. Even though we have never been on an actual date, we have crossed lines that make it seem as though there is more there than there should be. He says I am his and he saved me from an awful situation. I have been in his house, and he knows probably more about me than I would like right now. I sip on the chilled champagne, finding comfort in the bubbles and crisp taste as it floats in my mouth.
“This was all me. I had thought a lot about the night that you and I first met, about what was in the gallery, how it looked, the atmosphere. I wanted things to be different tonight, to show you that things could be different, I suppose.”
I look at the man standing before me, clad in a fitted, what I imagined to be, Armani suit. “What did you want to be different?” I inquire, staring straight into his blue irises.
“If I could have changed one thing from that night, it would have been letting you get through those doors. You don’t understand the hell of a time I’ve had trying to track you down, Selena. You were a bitch to find, you know that?”
I find myself chuckling at him wanting to find me, and at how determined he was to. “How long did it take you, to find me, that is?”
“Months. I wasn’t even the one who found you, it was my brother – Jordan, who tracked you down at Russo’s.” Hmm. I didn’t know that, and I can’t say I am not at least a little flattered by the lengths he and his family went through to find me. I can’t think of many times in my life where anyone has fought for me in any way so hard.
I find myself naturally stepping closer to Christian, feeling more at ease as I can see his feelings for me plain and clear. In the quiet of the gallery, where it was only us and some waiter who had disappeared to give us privacy until he is needed, I can feel something different, a charge that I had been so good at ignoring and pushing to the side. But here in this dress, looking at blank walls and a well-dressed Christian, I have to admit that I do feel a bit like Cinderella.
I may leave tonight and go back to a home where I care for children that are not mine and worry about where money and food will come from, but for right now, I am at this beautiful place, looking beautiful with probably the most fucked-up prince I could imagine. And yet, I don't think any other prince would do.
I glance a table in the distance, as I have more champagne and know he has gone all out. It is another blank canvas though, with white chairs and a black tablecloth. If this is the first date, I can’t imagine what a second or third could look like. Not that I should be thinking about that. This is all I promised him; this one night.
That is all it is, right?
I polish off my champagne, and he calls for more to be poured for us before I ask the question I will come to regret in three…two… “So, what made you decide to make everything so empty and black and white?”
“I wanted you to be the only thing to look at in this room.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, confused at the sudden change in conversation.
“We’re in an art gallery, where artists put their most precious pieces on display. Arguably, the most beautiful things in the world are in galleries. I didn’t bring you here tonight to look at art, Selena. We came here tonight because you are the art. You are the piece, the most beautiful thing in this gallery.”
“And you are full of shit, Christian Steele,” I retort, rolling my eyes.
“That may be true in most cases, but tonight it does not apply. Why do you always insist on thinking badly of me? I want to know, and I want to know now. We both know that the second you found out I was a Steele you went running like a scared little girl out of those doors. Why’d you run, Selena? Why am I so terrifying to you?” Christian sips on the champagne in his hand, swallowing it whole, and he sets the glass down next to him and steps closer towards me. His chest brushes against my own, and my breath hitches in my throat. “Is it my name, Steele? Is it that terrifying?”
“It’s because you’re a Steele, that I walked out that night. Not because you terrify me, and sure as hell not because I’m scared of your arrogant ass. You’re such a bastard. You think that because you’re a Steele it means that I’m scared of you? As if!”
“I call bullshit,” he retorts, glaring down at me. It’s right now, right at this very moment, how I can see both of us for what we are. It’s like two angry pitbulls staring down each other. I know hurt, I recognize what hurt looks like very well because I’ve been hurt my entire life, specifically by those closest to me. When I look at Christian, I see that same hurt, that same very rage that boils my blood is inside him too, and this only means one thing; we’re dangerous together.
“I’m not fucking afraid of you! You are a risk, a risk that I am not okay with associating myself with. I could get hurt, badly. My family could get hurt, don’t you understand that? Everyone knows what you do, Christian. I’m
not some blind girl who’s going to believe that your family runs a legitimate business!” I snap, taking a step back from him.
“Of course, I’m a risk, I’m a Steele – which means many things, but when we break it down it means I’m rich, I’m sexy, and you’re right about one thing, baby, you could get hurt, but you won’t because anyone that even attempts to hurt what belongs to me, dies. Do you understand that? I will kill for you, without a doubt. I have wanted you since that very first night, and I will be damned if I ever give up on the potential of what we can be. That I can promise you, Cinderella.”
“You can’t promise me anything, Christian.”
“I can promise you anything I damn well please.”
“Fuck. You are infuriating!”
“I know the feeling!”
“Do you, really? Do you know how infuriating you are?” I snap, razors slicing through my voice. “I wonder if you know how much it pissed me off to find out that Steele Enterprises deposited a hundred thousand dollars into my checking account.”
“That pissed you off? You should be thanking me. You had ten dollars to your fucking name. You needed the money to pay for the house, the groceries. You needed me to do that.”
“I didn’t need you to do anything for me! I’ve been doing fine on my own for years.”
“Barely,” he says, glaring at me.
“Excuse me?” I hiss, taking a few steps closer to him.
“You have barely been doing fine, your house has almost been foreclosed twice in the last year. You’ve barely made it, and you aren’t going to keep making it if I don’t take care of you.”
“Excuse me?” I roar at him. “I am not some thing to be taken care of! I am…oh, my fucking God,” I snap, tossing what’s left of my champagne in his face. Christian grabs my arm, forcefully tugging me against him. The weird part is, I’m not afraid. My heart may be thumping a mile a minute, but I am not afraid in this moment. I’m furious.
“You are going to be taken care of whether you like it or not. I will be damned if you or those kids lose what little you have. You’re so great at taking care of everyone else, Selena, have you ever thought that someone needs to take care of you?” I’m left speechless, completely and utterly speechless at the way he just spoke to me. “Normally, I’d stick around, but seeing as you’re pissed and I’m pissed, the only thing I want to do right now is rip off that dress and fuck you until you can’t utter a single syllable from that perfect bratty mouth of yours. The driver will take you home.” Christian brushes his lips against my forehead, and before I know it, I’m standing alone in an art gallery, where a man openly admitted that I was the most beautiful thing in this joint, furious out of my damn mind.
What the hell am I doing?
And why the fuck do I still like him?
Chapter Fifteen
Christian
It took everything within me not to turn her around and fuck her until the only sound that was coming out of those perfect little lips was unrecognizable.
I knew I couldn’t. I knew she deserved better than that, and she’d get it.
It’s been one week since I’ve seen Selena. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve had my men watching her every day, reporting back every single move that she makes. It gives me comfort, knowing that she and her family are okay. I can’t say as to why I’ve kept my distance. The only thing that I want to do is see her, yet I stay away. Maybe space is a good thing, for both of us, but only time will tell.
I’ve been too caught up in the family business to focus on Cinderella. It’s both good and bad. It’s good that I’m focusing on business matters, although it’s bad that I’m not getting much time with my girl. Shit, I’m not getting any time with her. For the past two days, I’ve been taking out my frustration on the scumbags who owe us money. I don’t take kindly to people who expect us to do a job and not pay us, and for those who think I won’t come and bust down their door – they are sorely mistaken. I’m just leaving one of our client's homes when I get a call from my brother, Logan. I swipe my phone to the right to answer his call, waiting to hear words that almost seem too good to be true.
“You were looking for Matteo Varca, weren’t you? A few of our friends spotted him in the city.” I listen as Logan gives me the details, notating everything inside my mind. I see nothing, nothing but blind filled rage.
I’ve been waiting on this for too long, and I can’t wait to give this scum what’s coming to him.
For the past few weeks, I’ve wondered what today would feel like. Would it be great? Would I be excited to finally give Matteo what was coming to him? Then, I wondered if I would feel something different like fear, but even I knew that would never happen. Instead, I’m feeling something entirely different, something that I didn’t quite anticipate or prepare for.
I feel like an emotionless void.
Hearing Logan tell me that Varca was spotted, made me happy. It meant that finally I could hurt Matteo, hurt him for hurting my Selena. Yet, now, I find myself emotionless. What I’m about to do means nothing to me, and at the same time, it means everything. How does that make sense? It doesn’t, it doesn’t make any sense at all.
“Where the hell am I?!” Matteo growls, thrashing his head around. He’s tied on the ground below me, hands and feet bound, not able to move an inch thanks to my men. I confide in one of our top hired hands, and who now is a good friend of the family, Reggie. He was on my brother’s detail for the last couple years and now primarily is under Brooklyn’s, even taking a bullet for her a few short months ago. Since the moment that he found out what happened to Selena, he has spent every waking minute off the clock looking for Varca. That is true friendship. Fuck it, that is brotherhood right there.
I look down at him, blindfolded and scared on the cement floor. I wonder if he’s as scared as my girl was when he did what he did, then I realize that he is in no way shape or form as scared as Selena was in that moment. She and I still haven’t talked about it. I’ve let her get away with not fully discussing it with me, but that will end tonight. She and I will talk about it so that she can get her closure and move on.
“Where am I?” he roars. This time I take a step closer to him. I watch as he hears my shoes scrape against the pavement. His face contorts as he listens for more.
“You know exactly where you are, Matteo, you’re in hell.” I don’t allow the anger in my voice to show, keeping my voice monotone and emotionless through every word that passes my lips. “Do you know what it is that you’ve done to land yourself here?”
“I have done nothing that I wasn’t asked to do,” His voice strong and full of lies. I won’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth, not tonight and not ever.
“Is that true?” Logan speaks up from behind me. Normally he isn’t one to come to these kinds of “meetings” as we call them. He’d much rather stay at home and be with Brook and Emmett. I can’t say that I blame him but this one was different, only different because of how high a price Varca has on his head.
“You have obviously done something that you were asked not to do, Matteo,” Jordan adds, smirking as he leans against the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse where we brought Matteo. It’s concealed, quiet, and private. Three things that we need if we are going to be able to get anything out of him tonight.
I chuckle at the way Varca’s face twists, knowing that he’s recognizing Jordan’s voice. Jordan is the man that everyone goes through. He may not be the face of our business, but he is the leader in a sense. Our father didn’t want Jordan or me to have any part of the business, but that was out of pure spite and to put Logan through hell. Their relationship was never normal, and it would never have been. Logan, in his style, decided to say fuck it to my father’s wishes and gave Jordan and me duties, on both the illegal side of the business and on the very public side as well. Logan makes the big decisions, like who we do business with; but Jordan is the man that our clients speak to, and me – well, I’m the guy who fucks people up when they
don’t pay. I love being that bastard.
“Where am I, Jordan?” Varca calmly asks, licking his lips.
“You aren’t the one asking questions here, Matteo,” Logan tells him firmly.
“Right, that would be our job,” Jordan adds.
“I want to know, why do you think you’re here?” I ask him, curious to see what he thinks.
“I have done nothing wrong. I have absolutely no reason to be here, wherever the hell it is that you three have me.”
He’s lying through and through, my brothers and I know this, that he’s covering something up. I only want to know the information that is so valuable to Gabrielle DiGiovanni, and then I can end him. I’d prefer it if this went by quickly.
“We both know that’s a lie. Let’s try this again, shall we?” I growl, quickly walking over to Varca and ripping off his blindfold. I pull my blade from my suit pocket and press it to his throat, the sharp end lightly pressing into his flesh, giving me a lovely shade of crimson red sliding down his neck. “You know I will do far worse, my reputation does not do me justice.”
“Oh, I know much about your reputation, Christian. I’m shocked that you haven’t found yourself leaving your brother’s business and working for the Arcane by now. It seems that this kind of work better suits you.” He glowers at me, eyes not breaking from mine. I want to slice his neck open and watch him bleed out in front of me right this moment, but I know that cannot happen. First, we need the information that Gabriele wants, and then I can have my fun. No, fun is the wrong word. I can bring justice to what happened to my Cinderella.
Stolen Hearts: A Dark Billionaire Collection Page 23
