Chapter 3 - The Beast in the Backseat
The Maybach pulled away from the curb with a smooth, heavy surge of power that insulated the cabin from the potholed roads of Tenth Street.
Darian sat angled toward the far window, a heavy crystal tumbler of Scotch resting casually on his knee.
He was dressed in a bespoke midnight-black tuxedo, his shirt crisp and blindingly white against the scarred bronze of his neck.
The rough edges of his broken jaw were clean-shaven, making him appear less like a dockside enforcer and more like a predatory sovereign.
He didn't turn around immediately, choosing instead to swirl the amber liquor against the glass while the city lights flashed across his profile.
"You took your sweet time walking down three flights of stairs," he said, the ice clinking softly in his hand.
"Four flights," Nadia corrected, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of the trembling maid he expected.
"And the elevator was condemned before you bought your first ship, Mr. Costa."
Darian turned his head slowly, clearly irritated by her lack of deference, his mouth opening to deliver a caustic reprimand.
The words died in his throat.
The interior lights of the town car swept across her face as they passed under a boulevard streetlamp.
The cheap wool coat was draped open over her shoulders, revealing the severe plum silk gown clinging to her collarbones like poured metal.
The severe chignon accentuated the delicate curve of her neck and the cold, aristocratic symmetry of her jawline.
Her eyes, which he had only ever seen directed downward toward soapy water, held his gaze with an icy stillness that rattled him.
Darian’s fingers tightened on his tumbler, the liquor sloshing against the rim before he set it firmly into the console cupholder.
"Take the coat off," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its mocking edge.
"It’s fifteen degrees outside," Nadia replied without flinching.
"I said take it off," he growled, leaning forward slightly, his wide shoulders filling the space between them.
"I paid five thousand dollars for that silk; I’m not letting you hide it under a Salvation Army rag before we even reach the valet."
Nadia held his eyes for two seconds, letting him see that she was not obeying out of fear, but out of sheer indifference.
She slipped the heavy coat from her shoulders and let it fall behind her against the black leather seat.
Darian’s breath caught momentarily in his chest as his eyes traced the plunging drape of the neckline and the porcelain expanse of her bare throat.
There was no clumsy awkwardness in her posture; she sat with the erect, effortless balance of a woman born to velvet cushions.
"Where did you learn to sit like that?" he asked, his brow furrowing as a sudden flicker of suspicion pierced his arrogance.
"You learn not to slouch when your spine aches from scrubbing eighteen bathrooms a day," she lied smoothly, her tone clipped and distant.
Darian stared at her for a long moment, trying to find a crack in her mask, trying to locate the terrified girl who had dropped her toothbrush yesterday.
He found nothing except cold amber eyes that seemed to look right through his expensive tailoring.
"Remember your instructions," he said, recovering his sneer with visible effort as he picked his drink back up.
"Arthur Pendleton sits at the center table with his corrupt city commissioners and his high-society hags."
"You smile, you nod, and you pretend you understand whatever drivel they spout about modern art and foreign bonds."
"When Pendleton asks you what your family does, you tell him you’re in private sanitation management for the Costa Group."
A bitter smirk pulled at the corner of Nadia's berry-painted lips.
"You really think he won't see through this, don't you?" she asked quietly.
"You think high society is fooled by an expensive dress and a trip to the salon?"
"I don't care if he sees through it," Darian barked, draining his glass in one sharp tilt.
"The point isn't to fool him forever; the point is to force him to kiss your hand and pull out your chair in front of the governor."
"The point is letting him boast about his pure-blooded lineage to a woman who washes the dirt off my tiles."
"When I pull the rug out from under him during the dessert toast, he’ll know that the Costa family doesn't bow to his pedigree."
"You’re a sledgehammer, Nadia. Nothing more."
Nadia looked out the tinted window as the luxury town car crossed the bridge into the glittering, illuminated enclave of Pendleton Heights.
"Just make sure your sledgehammer doesn't swing back and hit you in the teeth, Mr. Costa," she murmured.
Darian let out a sharp bark of laughter, though his eyes remained wary as he tracked the serene tilt of her head.
"You've got teeth under that uniform after all," he said, leaning back into the leather.
"Good. You'll need them tonight. Those bastards eat people like you for breakfast."
"I’m very familiar with how vultures feed," Nadia replied softly, her fingers tightening imperceptibly against the silk over her knees.
The car slowed, joining a serpentine line of Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and vintage limousines inching up the private drive of the Pendleton Manor.
Through the snow-dusted spruce trees, the massive stone mansion gleamed like a fortress of glass and light.
Paparazzi flashbulbs exploded along the velvet ropes near the grand entrance, capturing the city’s elite stepping onto the red carpet.
Darian pulled a black velvet box from his breast pocket and popped the brass latch open with his thumb.
Inside lay a choker of interlocking platinum links, centered by a single, blood-red cushion-cut garnet the size of a pigeon's egg.
"Put it on," he commanded, holding the jewel out to her.
Nadia looked at the garnet, recognizing the intricate antique filigree immediately; it had been sold off at an anonymous auction when her father’s estate was seized.
The Costa syndicate hadn't just defeated rival gangs; they had scavenged the carcass of the Sterling family's downfall.
Her heart hammered with a cold, terrifying fury, but she did not allow a single muscle in her jaw to twitch.
"Put it on me yourself," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive, lethal whisper.
"A true gentleman wouldn't make his date struggle with a clasp in the back of a town car."
Darian’s eyes darkened at the challenge, surprised by the sudden intimacy she demanded.
He leaned across the console, his large, calloused hands brushing the sensitive skin of her nape as he fastened the heavy platinum lock.
His breath was hot against her ear, smelling of single-malt whisky and danger.
"Play your part well tonight, Nadia," he whispered against her skin, his thumb grazing her collarbone for a fraction of a second too long.
"And I might just decide to keep you out of the cleaning uniform for good."
May you like
"Don't make promises you can't afford, Mr. Costa," she replied, turning her face just enough for her lips to brush his cheek.
The car came to a complete halt, and the white-gloved valet pulled the door open to the blinding roar of flashing cameras and icy winter air.
