| 2 | The One & Only Heir

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

"You good?" Dominico squints at me, then tosses back the whiskey in his second glass.

"Sì, Signore." [Yes, Sir.]

The guy stares at me with furrowed brows. "Don't call me that."

My heart drops at his emotionless voice. My shoulders tense up, and my cheeks feel like they're burning. "Pardon?"

"I'm not your boss."

My gut clenches. Embarrassment heats up my throat and the back of my eyes. "Right." I try not to scowl as I put away the cleaning supplies.

What the heck is this asshole's problem?

Is it me? Because I didn't even try to look like I belong here? Is he disgusted by this outfit? Because I look too tacky for his refined tastes?

According to some pictures online, he dated a 20-something Spanish model slash actress. Therefore he probably likes women with immaculate fashion taste.

The jerk finally gets up from the stool and swigs the rest of his drink. As I keep my mouth shut, Dominico plops the empty glass back on the bar. "And I'm pretty sure you know my name."

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The dimly lit space around us remains still and silent as I stare at him, trying my best not to make a face or react to what he just said.

Is he being serious? Who here doesn't know him and his family?

The Tomassinis are one of the wealthiest clans in this country. Although it's his older brother and second wife who are frequently mentioned in business articles and finance news the past decade, lately Ignazio himself is also getting some attention and praise from his peers.

Can't say the same for his son, though. I'm not sure why this conceited jerk believes I know his name.

Who told him? Does he know about my secret? That I've been crushing on him since the first time our paths crossed?

We've never been formally introduced. I've seen him at the country club a few times, but that's it. We've never actually spoken to each other until now.

The humid air and my numbing feet are urging me to walk out when Dominico stares at me again. I want to get off this boat and forget this conversation ever happened, but the rest of my body feels frozen.

Darn it. I can't stop looking at his face, either. "Anything else I can get you?"

"I'm good." Dominico looks away and scowls at his phone again.

Shock replaces the embarrassment washing over me when he takes out a large bill from his wallet. A tip?

"Thanks for the drink."

"Sure." Giving him my best fake smile, I ignore the money he just about tossed beside the napkin I gave him. I eye the dim exit. "Have a great rest of the night."

When I step away from the bar without touching his money, Dominico smirks at me and finally steps backwards. "I sure hope so."

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"I know, Dad. Just...don't bother the Tomassinis again." I muffle a noisy sigh with my palm while my phone warms up the side of my face. "Talk to Mom. Please. Make her understand."

"Bakit, 'nak?" [Why, honey?]

"Dad, you know why." I shake my head and close my eyes. This dizziness won't go away, and it's not because I'm still on a boat. Or the fact that I just endured a disappointing, emotionally scarring one-on-one with the man of my dreams.

But not anymore. No thanks. I've changed my mind. I'm not marrying that guy...especially after he's made it painfully clear that I'm not his type.

"Something wrong, honey?" my father mutters, his tone worried.

"We can't afford to owe these people any more money." And frankly, I don't wanna keep working front desk at the country club for another five years. I have goals. Dreams. I won't survive in this economy on minimum wage throughout my 20s.

"I know, Sephie," my dad murmurs on the other end. Then he sighs as if something convinced him I'm not as calm as I'm trying to sound. "Listen. Stop worrying about us. Okay lang kami ni Mama mo. Kaya pa namin." [Your mom and I are okay. We're still managing.]

"Dad, I'm just saying..." I stifle a sigh. "We have other options."

"Yeah. I know."

"We can't owe them our whole lives." I palm my face and glance around. Coast clear, still. I'm hiding behind the bar, sitting alone on the hardwood floor, my butt almost numb. Thankfully most of the party guests prefer the poolside ambiance.

"I know, honey." My dad sighs loudly. "I talked to Ignazio yesterday, by the way."

"What? Why?" Mr. Tomassini talked to him on the phone? Maybe to remind my dad of how much we still owe their local bank. I'll have to sell my kidneys and then my liver just to pay off the principal's interest.

"He called me after I, uh, left the clinic. At first, I thought he was just checking on the renovations at the clinic, and, y'know, about the loans," my dad mumbles in his usually hoarse voice. "Then he starts asking about you."

"Me?"

"He asked if you're planning to go back to school soon."

"Sure. But, not right now." I scowl and squint at the yellowish lights. "We can't afford it yet." I don't enjoy talking to my parents about their growing debts and financial choices. But for their sake and mine, I sometimes remind them of my reality in this city.

My father won't pressure me into sticking it out until I earn enough to get rid of their debts and pay for my own tuition. But he'll be relieved to hear that I'm willingly pushing aside my academic goals for the time being. Just so I can help them sort out their money problems.

If the Tomassinis will reward my job performance this year, they might give me a hefty raise, and then my first promotion.

Fingers crossed.

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Exhausted and enjoying the quiet early morning breeze, I organize the liquor bottles stacked behind the bar. I like the privacy I have for now, almost as much as I prefer my own company.

Dominico won't show up again. Not at this hour. It's a relief that he left me alone before I completely lost my cool.

Unbelievable... We just had our first ever conversation. On his family's brand new yacht, at that. I'm bummed that our first real interaction didn't end the way I imagined it would.

Then again who am I kidding? Dominico probably thinks I'm just another desperate bimbo on his father's payroll, and I have a feeling Ignazio sees me the same way...not that he ever used his position and influence to make me do something dirty or illegal.

So far the man's only been helpful and nice to me ever since he gave me my first real job. Some people think Ignazio likes me way more than the other girls, mostly because the man has quite a reputation and I'm one of the youngest among the staff.

But maybe I'm just biased? Mr. Tomassini knows I don't do that kind of work.

Unless...

Unless he's also one of my subscribers? Has he seen my racy photos online? Is he "Angelx30"?

Yuck! That can't happen. I can't even stomach the idea of him paying to look at my half-naked photos and...

"No frickin' way." I shake off the thought and massage the back of my head. A dull ache persists near my left ear. But thankfully the nausea's almost gone. I step away from the varnished shelf and check my phone.

"Angelx30" is offline again. Maybe the guy's asleep.

Fine. I'm waiting for nothing. I need to up my sexting game. I roll my eyes and massage my nape. The pool table still looks messy, but I no longer have the energy to clean it up and the whole deck. My muscles are hurting.

It's almost dawn. There's no other staff around. The two security guards must've left while I was on the phone with my dad.

The other girls who came here to work (like I did) are nowhere to be seen. They're probably in the private cabins, doing their escort duties. I hope Mr. Tomassini and his guests are paying them enough.

I grab my handbag and turn the lights off. Thank God I don't have to go that far just to feed myself.

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The humidity clings to my skin like a wet cloth. Each step feels heavier as I walk past the dim pool table. Bringing a trench coat to this weekend party isn't doing me any favors.

The staff's cabin should be right below this rug, promising at least four hours of sleep if I'm lucky. After a long day of work, I should be asleep in no time.

Just as I'm about to reach the exit, muffled voices echo from somewhere. They're not too far, and they sound familiar. Two guys?

One's shouting and swearing in Italian. The other one's too muted for me to decipher what he's saying.

Wait. The older man's voice sounds like Ignazio's. I just don't know where exactly the noises are coming from.

The upper decks are still pulsing with club music and distant chatter, drowning out the ruckus I'm investigating. The bass-boosted beats are only worsening this stupid headache.

I take a few more steps to the right until I reach a dim, narrow hall leading to one of the private cabins. This side of the yacht seems quieter, and the splashes of the waves almost sound too distant from here.

I stop in my tracks when the voices get louder. My gut tightens at the sound of Ignazio swearing. Who is he yelling at? I press my cheek against the wall, his incensed tone rather foreign to my ears.

Undeniable rage spills out into his words. Then a grunt and thud interrupt the conversation.

My stomach churns. I'm not the most fluent in Italian, but I'm quite sure he just said he's gonna kill some guy named "Ottavio" if he actually lost "the cargo".

What cargo? Who's Ottavio? And who the heck's driving my employer hopping mad at this ungodly hour?

Shit. My common sense is telling me to run for the exit and pretend I didn't hear anything. But sheer curiosity is pinning my feet on this rug.

What exactly are they fighting about? Why does my boss badly want to hurt some guy for some lost cargo?

My heartbeat doubles its pace. I keep my mouth shut. I slouch beside the closed door, dissecting the conversation as quietly as I can.

I move cautiously to the other side of the door. I can just act like I'm on my way to the upper decks if Ignazio or the other person steps out any moment.

"Leandro will sort out the terms with Falco's son." It's Ignazio talking again, his voice somewhat calmer. "It needs to be done before that shipment gets here."

"From Colombia? When?" the other guy asks with a sigh. He sounds a bit younger than Ignazio.

"Giovedì." [Thursday.]

"Why does it have to be Leandro? Just leave him out of it, Pappa. He and Enzo don't need to get involved."

Shit. What the heck? That's definitely Dominico's voice. I grip the straps of my bag.

Is he alone in the room with his dad? Why are they arguing about his cousins?

I don't know Leandro or Enzo Tomassini personally, but I have seen them on the golf course a few times. I stay put and hold my breath, the tension palpable in the ominous silence.

"Stronzo!" [Moron!] Ignazio begins ranting in Italian about Dominico's stubbornness.

My breath catches when Dominico's comebacks only fuel Ignazio's temper. I cover my mouth when Ignazio resumes spewing profanities at his son.

Then comes a muted noise of something hitting something. It almost echoes. Another thud follows.

Every part of me turns into a stiff rod when the door flies open. The edge almost hits my forehead. I turn and almost run for the stairs, but then I see him.

The light in the cabin gives me a good view of Dominico's bloody profile. He's wearing the same clothes, and it's definitely his blood running down his pointed nose and pouting mouth. "Cazzo." [Fuck.] He swipes at the red stains with his fingers, then wrinkles his brows and forehead when he notices me.

The shock turns into fear and regret as I try not to gawk at him. Concern eventually pulls me out of the daze. I step closer to him with weak knees. I hand him my handkerchief. "You okay?"

The frown etching fine lines on his tan face doesn't leave. "What're you doing here?" Dominico squints at me and only glances at my handkerchief.

I feel like a dumbass. "I... Nothing. I-I was just..."

"Just what?"

Before I can attempt to properly explain my unwanted presence, a seemingly inebriated Ignazio steps out of the cabin with his phone. The man regards me with a look of surprise, most likely unaware of my encounter with his son half an hour ago. "Seraphine, che fai?" [What are you doing?]

"V-Vado a dormire, Signore." [I'm going to bed, Sir.] I try to smile as naturally as possible.

The confusion on Ignazio's face morphs into a faint smirk after he checks out my outfit. "Can you spare me a few minutes?"

"Why, Sir?"

"Step inside, dear. We need to talk." Ignazio opens the door wider. The stench of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath mixes with the musky scent of his perfume, making me dizzy again.

Still wiping blood off his nose, Dominico glares at his father and stands too close to me.

I want to faint. My legs feel like overcooked pasta. Ignazio wants me inside the cabin alone with him? At this hour? "About what, Sir?"

"I phoned your father. We had a brief chat about you yesterday."

"Y-Yeah. He mentioned." My voice cracks when Ignazio steps forward, too close, just as his warm hand touches my bare skin. The side of my arm. My back. Then my hip. I flinch when his thick beard touches the tip of my nose while his other hand strokes the side of my thigh.

Restrained panic begins to suffocate me, but I don't move or say another word. I can't. The wall's right behind me and my mouth feels paralyzed. My legs won't budge.

Before I can snap out of it, Dominico grabs my wrist and pulls me to him, seizing me away from his father's clutches. "No, Pappa. Lei viene con me." [She's coming with me.]

Hold on. What? I'm coming with him? To where?

Dominico's firm grip on my wrist yanks me out of my thoughts. I almost trip when he tugs at my forearm and brings me to the stairs leading to the upper deck, ignoring his father's glare.

We go up the narrow stairs without another word. Like Dominico's steps, the tense silence whispers urgency as we leave Ignazio behind. My vision's almost spinning.

I feel Dominico's grip on my hand and nothing else. My heart's racing, and I'm trying not to look too shocked beside him while he leads me past the pool.

The party's almost over. Most of the guests are probably in the cabins. Yet the music remains quite loud, the fun and vibrant facade around us masking the dark undercurrents beneath.

Once we reach the top deck, a silent apology lingers in Dominico's eyes, and he's no longer touching me. Then he lets out a sigh. For a moment he just stares at the dark waters surrounding us.

This yacht won't dock until sunrise, and I don't do anything except stand next to him with my arms folded over my chest. My skin feels slick with sweat, but my hands and feet are cold. A bit numb.

My chest aches a bit, and my breathing remains unsteady. There's no one else on this deck, but I feel much safer here.

What do I do now? Should I thank him? Apologize for eavesdropping? Give him a quick hug?

Maybe he thinks he had to rescue me. Well, he did, in a way. If Dominico didn't intervene, I wouldn't have been able to say no to his father.

I couldn't. Everyone knows that man doesn't take no for an answer. I just don't know exactly why Ignazio thought I wouldn't say no to him.

Just because my family owes him money?

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