"Oh—shit," she blurted, stumbling back half a step.
The man was huge. Thick neck, broad shoulders, suit strained just enough to suggest it was holding on for dear life. His eyes flicked down to the pizza box, then back to her face.
And that's when it hit her.
This was the underground of Commissioned. The place people whispered about. The place run by the devil.
Eiish.
Her grip tightened on the box as she forced a polite smile. "Hi. Pizza." She held it out to him, because that was what she was here for. Deliver pizza. Survive. Go home.
The man didn't take it.
He glanced past her, then down the corridor, then back again. "You don't give it to me," he said slowly.
"Oh." She blinked. "Okay. So… who do I give it to?"
"You bring it in."
"In where?" she asked, even as a very bad feeling curled in her stomach.
He stepped aside, revealing a stairwell descending into shadows.
Vee swallowed. Every instinct screamed turn around, but her feet didn't move. "Alright then," she said, trying for casual and landing somewhere near brave stupidity. "Lead the way."
She followed him in, then down.
Veronica's sneakers sounded too loud against the steps. Her fingers tightened around the pizza box, suddenly acutely aware that this was the dumbest delivery route she had ever taken in her life.
At the bottom, the man stopped in front of a heavy door. He knocked.
"Lunch is here, boss."
There was a brief pause. Then a low grunt of approval drifted through the door. It was visceral. Satisfied.
The door opened slightly, just enough. The man gestured with his chin for her to go inside.
Vee hesitated then stepped in.
And then she saw him.
The most good-looking man she had ever laid eyes on.
He was seated behind a massive desk, his head thrown back against the chair, fingers clenched hard around the edge. His chest rose and fell slowly. His eyes were tightly shut, jaw clenched, lips parted.
She thought he was dying.
"Are… are you alright?" Vee asked before she could stop herself.
His head snapped forward.
Blue eyes locked onto hers.
"Who the fuck are you?" he demanded.
Vee's eyebrows shot up, but she straightened instinctively, defaulting to professionalism. She lifted the pizza box slightly. "Pizza."
"Pizz… pizza?" he echoed, incredulous. "I didn't order no fucking pizza."
"Well," she replied calmly, "someone ordered pizza from Scalese Pizza Parlour."
"What—Scalese trying to poison me so he won't pay his debt?... Ooh, that's good."
His hands slid under the table, out of sight.
He exhaled slowly.
Veronica was truly confused at this point. Confused, offended, and rapidly losing patience. Whatever the hell she had just walked into, it was not in the job description. So she cleared her throat loudly, pointedly.
"I have a pizza delivery for a Marco," she said, annoyance dripping from every word. "And if you would show some respect and stop pleasuring yourself until I am gone, that would be really nice."
Luca didn't even look at her.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, jaw tightening, breath heavy as he concentrated on chasing the end rather than the unexpected little nuisance standing in his office with a cardboard box and entirely too much attitude.
His hand fisted in the woman's hair, holding her steady, commanding, as he pushed himself into her mouth one last time, finishing with a low groan that echoed obscenely in the room. The sound made Veronica stiffen where she stood, her face heating with discomfort and disbelief.
For fuck's sake.
"Seriously," Vee snapped, unable to help herself. "Can I get paid for this and let me leave, please?" She shifted her weight, eyes fixed firmly on the wall.
"Good job, love," Luca murmured absently.
The woman emerged from under the table, hair tousled, lips swollen, eyes glazed. Luca reached behind her and untied his belt from her wrists. He leaned forward, opened his wallet, and slipped a couple of hundred-dollar bills into her bra.
The woman straightened, smoothed her dress, and walked past Veronica.
Luca finally lifted his gaze back to Veronica.
She met his stare stubbornly, chin lifted. "So," she said, "do you want the pizza?"
"I didn't order pizza," Luca said flatly.
Veronica stared at him, incredulous, the absurdity finally tipping her over the edge. "You could have said so earlier," she snapped, "instead of making me stand here, watching that." She gestured vaguely toward the desk, the chair, the general aura of sex still hanging thick in the air.
"I didn't make you do anything," Luca replied calmly as he got to his feet. He adjusted his pants, buttoning his shirt. The movement drew her eye despite her best intentions—broad shoulders, lean waist, the easy grace of a man entirely at home in his body. Power rolled off him in waves. It pissed her off. It affected her anyway.
Veronica stood there, frozen, half drooling before she caught herself and mentally told her hormones to shut the fuck up. This was not the time. Or the place. Or the man.
"Why are you still here?" Luca asked, lifting a brow as he studied her.
"Well," she shot back, "who the hell is Marco in this building?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in curiosity. A faint, dangerous amusement flickered there. "Do you know who I am?" he asked slowly. She was standing in his office, in the heart of Commissioned's underground. Surely she knew.
"Are you Marco?" she asked.
"No?"
"Then I don't care," Vee said, exasperation finally spilling over. "Who is Marco?" She hugged the pizza box tighter to her chest. "I have to get paid for this. It was quite the distance."
He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet again. "You know what?" he said casually. "I am Marco."
Her jaw dropped.
"You're Marco."
"The one and only."
"So why the fuck didn't you say that in the first place?" she demanded.
He stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her pulse jump. "Because," he said softly, eyes locking onto hers, "you didn't ask nicely."