Page 16 of Scorching Sienna

Between the money I saved from James' life policy and the substantial weekly cheque I received from working here (Damon wasn’t lying when he said he paid well), the tips were indeed a bonus.

I splurged all my first week's tips on a new wardrobe—slippers, pajamas, new shoes, tops, pants—the whole shebang. I hadn’t bought new clothes in years. I even treated myself to cute matching lace underwear sets—three of them —in black, red, and baby blue. I was wearing the red one today.

“Hey Brian, can you give me the usual for Marcello and a top-up for the boss? Please.” I place the tray on the bar and give Brian a reserved smile while he prepares the drinks.

“You got plans for tonight after your shift?” Brian places the drinks on my tray, removing the empty one, while leaning on the bar, waiting for my answer.

His question is innocent, but the look in his eyes is not.

“Just home and then bed. At my age, I need my beauty sleep.” I hope that reminding Brian subtly of how much older I am compared to his twenty-two years might dissuade him from whatever he is thinking.

“Bed. My kind of vibe.” He winks and smiles, and I remind myself never to use the word ‘bed’ in a sentence with him again.

I return his smile and pick up the tray, almost tripping when I see Damon's eyes are locked on me. His jaw twitches as if he is trying to hold back his agitation.

Once again, something I have done seems to have made him angry.Nothing comes to mind, but with Damon, it could be as simple as wearing two ponytails.

Even the uniform has changed since the first day I started. When I arrived the next day, I was issued with the uniform I now wore. Black fitted pants, two-inch heels, and a conservative black top.

Stacey hasn’t stopped bitching about it since then. Talia, the other server sometimes on duty with me, was also unhappy with the change. She attributed the decrease in her tips to the change in uniform and my arrival.

Many regulars now asked for me instead of her, which didn’t make me a fan favorite with her or the other server, Kate.

If they found out I had access to the restricted area, it would’ve made everything worse. Apparently, I was the only employee at our level with permission to come and go from the back section. As instructed by Damon.

Stacey warned me to keep my mouth shut regarding that little perk if I didn’t want to alienate myself further. Considering he drove me to and from my house, something I kept to myself, using the back entrance was logical. Still, it made me wonder why he did all that.

It can’t be because he likes me. The look on his face as I walk toward him and Marcello with their drinks is anything but joyous.

“Marcello, Damon,” I greet, only meeting Marcello's gaze as I balance my tray on the table's edge before taking each man’s drink and placing it in front of them.

“Sienna. My favorite part of the day.” Marcello doesn’t smile, but his face is friendly, unlike the man beside him.

I can tell from the way Marcello carries himself that he is someone of importance. Even amongst the men in this room, Marcello gets a tilt of the head or a gesture of recognition from every person as he walks past.

While I thought it was because he was older, closer to sixty, that thought was shattered days ago when I heard the word Mafia and his name in the same sentence.

But even his aura pales next to Damon’s. I try not to look at him as I collect the glasses on the table and place them on my empty tray.

Like a lithe panther, Damon’s tall frame owns the chair he sits in, like a throne. His one leg rests on the other, as does his left hand, idle on his thigh. The other hand lifts his glass, those perfectly plump, delicious lips meeting the rim as he sips his drink slowly.

I notice everything—a snapshot for later.

The veins on the top of his hand that respond like a guitar string with every movement. The little scar on his middle knuckle. The deep line on his palm that is supposed to allude to a long life. I have memorized every patch of visible skin, every freckle, every blemish.

He is wearing a black suit, as usual, this time with a tie. Unlike his gym attire, this look holds a different allure. Both are equally intriguing to me.

The tension between us crackles, as it always does when we are close. I fear even Marcello can feel it as he tilts his head to the side, his eyes darting between Damon and me.

“Sienna. Join us.” Marcello pulls out a chair, his hand patting the seat. It is not a request.

This is unusual. I’m still on duty, so I don’t think this is appropriate, but I’m also unsure how to handle the situation. Marcello doesn’t seem like someone you say no to.

I look over at Damon. He tilts his head, his eyes briefly touching the seat before meeting mine again. I sit.

Marcello chuckles, the sound strange in the quiet of the room.

It is not a busy time of the day, so there are only afew patrons around.

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