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The champagne bucket was silver-plated, weighted with a thick brass base, and heavy enough to crack pavement. / Chapter 2 / 8

Chapter 2 - ELLIOT’S INTEREST

Gregor’s hands trembled. He looked at his unconscious crew, then at Priya, who stood over the pinned woman with her chest heaving, her apron stained with spilled wine and dust.

“Who the hell are you?” Gregor choked out, his gun wavering. “You’re not a waitress.”

“I’m working my first four hours,” Priya said, her voice chillingly calm as she kicked Gregor’s dropped pistol across the floor toward table nine.

Elliot Sterling stood up slowly. He was tall, imposing, and carried an aura of absolute dominance that suffocated the air in the room. He walked over, his leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the blood-streaked marble. He didn't look at Gregor. His gaze was fixed entirely on Priya.

“What’s your name?” Elliot asked, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that sent shivers down the spine.

“Priya Sharma,” she answered, not backing down an inch, meeting his predatory gaze with fierce defiance.

Elliot offered a faint, dark smirk. He reached out, ignoring the danger, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. His fingers were warm, smelling faintly of expensive scotch and cedar.

“Priya,” he repeated, tasting the name like fine wine. “You just saved my life. And ruined a very expensive dinner service.”

Gregor tried to make a break for the exit doors, but two of Elliot’s hidden bodyguards materialized from the shadows, slamming Gregor face-first into the brass doorframe and knocking him out cold.

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Elliot didn't even blink. He kept his eyes locked on Priya.

“Take the trash out,” Elliot ordered his men without turning around. Then, he looked back down at Priya, his eyes burning with an intense, proprietary hunger. “And bring Ms. Sharma’s belongings to my car. She’s coming with me.”

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