Juliana's POV

"Well, well, if it isn't the high-and-mighty Miss Rossi," a sleazy voice drawled. "Reduced to waiting tables in a shithole like this."

"Hey, kitten, open a bottle for us," another man whistled, his eyes raking over my chest. "How much for a night with you? That uniform is hot as hell."

I resisted the urge to smash the tray over their heads. "I only serve drinks."

I slammed the expensive bottle of Scotch down on the marble table.

As I leaned over, a hand grabbed my ass, squeezing hard.

"I like that uniform on you. Why don't you take it off and show us what's underneath?"

I stepped back, forcing him to let go. "Don't touch me."

"Drop the princess act, Juliana," one of Marco's men sneered, throwing a wad of cash onto the floor. It landed right in a puddle of spilled liquor.

"You're just here for the money, right? Get on your knees and pick it up. A few hundred should be enough to pay the electricity bill for that pathetic little gallery of yours, right?"

I glanced at Marco. He sat in the shadows, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his expression cold and detached, as if he were watching a show put on just for him.

There was a time he would have gouged out the eyes of any man who looked at me too long. Now, he was savoring my humiliation.

"Pick it up!" another one of his men jeered. "Don't want to? Fine. Down this bottle, and the cash is yours."

I stared at the soaked bills. I wanted to spit in their faces, but my father was still in prison. Every dollar was a lifeline.

Clenching my jaw, I slowly bent down.

Humiliation coiled in my gut. Just as my fingers were about to touch the filthy, soaked bills, a hand grabbed the back of my neck.

Marco dragged me from the booth, through the noisy club, and threw me into the cold air of the back alley.

"Are you this pathetic?" he hissed.

"Debasing yourself for a few hundred dollars from those animals?"

"Take my offer and stop this foolishness," he said, stalking toward me and pinning me against the rough brick wall. "Be my mistress, and I'll give you everything. Do you really like this kind of place? Being stared at by these men like you're a whore?"

"I will never be your mistress, Marco. Forget it," I spat, struggling against him.

"You're still mine, Jules. You always will be," he growled, his fingers digging into my chin. "Since you like being humiliated so much, maybe I should just take you right here..."

SLAP.

I swung with all my might, the sound cracking across the alley.

His head snapped to the side. The silence that followed was absolute.

Marco slowly turned his head back, his eyes turning terrifyingly dark. He lunged, his hand wrapping around my throat. "You dare hit me?"

Then, his movement froze. His eyes were glued to the side of my neck.

A dark red mark stained the skin.

"What is this?" Marco's voice was a rasp.

I realized it was the mark Dante had left on me that night. Even though nothing had happened, he had kissed me hard.

"Is that a fucking hickey?"

I sneered. Though it was hard to breathe, I lifted my chin. "What if it is?"

"Who was it?" The pressure on my throat tightened. "That broke artist you hang out with? Or some lowlife you picked up in this shithole?"

"It's none of your business."

I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and spun me back around. "Answer me, Juliana! Who was it?!"

"You'll never guess," I said, lifting my chin in defiance. "Dante Landini. Your father-in-law."

Marco froze, then burst out laughing.

"Are you dreaming? Dante? The Don who doesn't even give women a second glance?" He let go, as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Don't try to get a rise out of me with that pathetic lie. If that mark was from Dante, I'd eat this fucking wall."

His men had followed us out and now erupted in another round of jeering laughs.

"Stop dreaming, Jules. A guy like Dante would just toss a piece of trash like you out on the street," Marco said, grabbing a handful of my hair.

"Now, you'd better listen to me and move into the apartment I bought for you. You can spend your days spreading those pretty legs just for me..."

A pair of blinding headlights cut through the darkness, and Marco let go, shielding his eyes.

The tinted window of a jet-black Rolls-Royce slid down in silence.

Finally free, I bent over, coughing and gasping for breath.

In the shadows of the back seat, a man sat, revealing only the hard line of his jaw.

Dante Landini turned his head and locked his eyes directly on me.

"Get in the car," he commanded coldly.

I stood frozen. Marco looked like he'd been struck by lightning, his mouth hanging open as he stared at that face in disbelief.

"I'm not a patient man, Juliana," Dante's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't make me repeat myself."

I snapped out of my trance and scrambled toward the car.

The driver was already out, holding the door open for me. I slid into the back seat, surrounded by that familiar, mint-laced scent.

The car pulled away. Through the back window, I could see Marco, standing frozen in the alley like a statue.

Before I could even catch my breath, Dante's voice, cold as ice, sounded right next to my ear.

"Using me to provoke your ex-fiancé. Is that your new game, Miss Rossi?"