Page 23 of Queen of Vice

I had never seen the city at night. I was sent away to Aunt Molly before I was old enough to even dream of visiting. Now, it seemed something had come full circle. The driver took an exit and seamlessly maneuvered off the highway onto a road that immediately showcased the wealth of its residents and visitors. Luxury cars, each costing more than the average house, glided by, their sleek forms illuminated by the colorful glow of neon signs and streetlights. I couldn't help but marvel at the lively atmosphere.

Palm trees swayed gently against the backdrop of a twilight sky, adding to the surreal beauty of the scene. We continued down the bustling street, the vibrant lights and sounds enveloping us. We approached a more exclusive area, the buildings becoming taller and more sophisticated, slowing near a small line of luxury cars waiting to be dropped off, bypassing them to enter the same grand location.

There were two lanes: one for drop-offs and another for valet. There didn’t seem to be an option to park oneself. That would have been the first indication we were at an upscale restaurant, but the building itself was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Dior’s stood tall, at least three stories high, with a connecting hotel rising up behind it, its rooftop vanishing into the night sky. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I watched impeccably dressed women entering the building with theirsuited companions. I felt out of place among them, but I had to act like I belonged.

This was for Eva, for Aunt Molly, and for me. Despite feeling like an imposter, I knew I could pull off pretending to fit in. After all, there were probably other women doing the same thing tonight. My driver opened my door, and I stepped out of the car with one final steadying breath.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The moment I stepped out of the car, a man built like a brick house approached me. His eyes were also concealed behind a pair of sunglasses. Did Mateo's men have some kind of uniform code to abide by?

"Good evening, Miss Castello," he greeted me respectfully, his accent similar to Mateo's. "Please, follow me."

I nodded, taking a deep breath as I followed him into the restaurant. We bypassed the sign where patrons were checking in, moving effortlessly past people dining, all exuding wealth and sophistication. I didn't allow myself to meet anyone's eye. I was certain there were at least one or two diners that would recognize me. Instead, I focused on the interior of the restaurant. Loathe as I was to admit, the place was stunning.

The ambiance was a perfect blend of elegance and warmth, with wicker pendant lights casting a soft, golden glow.

Each table was adorned with fresh flowers and pristine linens. The soft hum of conversation mixed with the clinking of fine China and crystal glasses. Servers in crisp uniforms moved gracefully between tables, attending to guests with the utmost care.

My guide led me right through all of it. We ascended the stairs and moved through a set of glass doors, emerging onto a breathtaking rooftop bar and dining area. The cityscape glittered below, a sea of lights stretching into the night. Despite the opulence, the rooftop was empty, save for one figure—Mateo.

Even from behind, he exuded an unnerving degree of power, his presence commanding and almost palpable. His broad shoulders and confident stance made it clear he was a man accustomed to control.

I couldn't deny how attractive I found him, a magnetic pull that was both thrilling and terrifying. Peyton’s last warning echoed in my head, and I almost laughed. He stood near theedge, looking out over the city, but turned as we approached. The man who had escorted me gave a slight nod and stepped back, leaving me to face Mateo alone. As his eyes roamed over me, I suddenly felt ridiculous, like a child playing dress-up. But his heated gaze told a different story—one where he didn’t share my doubts.

Mateo began to approach, his steps measured. "You look beautiful. You are beautiful," he corrected.

I swallowed hard and peeked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a bartender that had previously gone unnoticed. So, he wasn't completely alone after all, but there was no guard in sight. My eyes drifted back to Mateo as he reached out and traced a finger from my jawline down to my chin.

"It's not wise to look at anyone else when I'm standing right in front of you."

I took a deep breath and caught a whiff of his cologne - a captivating blend of spice and warmth. "You do realize that's a woman, right?"

His gaze darkened. "Possession knows no gender, Elena."

Sensing the conversation veering off course already, I decided to change the subject. "This rooftop is beautiful," I commented, gesturing around us.

He placed his hand on the small of my back, sending shivers through me as he led me towards a central table. "It's one of my favorite spots."

Looking up at him, I asked, "Do you own this restaurant?"

"I own this entire city," he replied with a grin, pulling out my chair for me. I couldn't hide my surprise, and he chuckled. "Don't act so shocked. A gentleman should always treat a lady with respect."

"Of course," I replied with a hint of sarcasm lacing my tone.

He rounded the table and sat across from me, sliding his phone away after tapping out a quick text. Without a word, the bartender approached with his drink of choice and a margarita for me, made exactly the way I liked it.

I gave Mateo a questioning look. "How did you know?"

"You ordered this the other night," he said simply.

"The club. That's yours too," I deduced.

"Among other things," he replied, his eyes locking onto mine, making it clear just how extensive his reach was. I reached for my glass and took a sip, the hints of Patrón in the strawberry mix already helping to soothe my nerves. The door I came through opened, and servers appeared carrying an array of dishes, plating them on the table with practicedprecision.

"A medium-rare Wagyu steak with truffle butter," one server announced, setting the plate before me.

"An heirloom tomato and burrata salad," another added, placing the vibrant dish to the side.

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