Ignored by a Girl at the Party, the Mafia Boss Smirked—“That One… Bring Her to Me”
Penelope Hayes crossed in front of the most dangerous man in Manhattan for one reason.
Not revenge.
Not courage.
The last truffle slider.
Zero Bond was glowing that night in shades of blue, violet, and expensive sin. Champagne flutes caught the light. Men in tailored suits spoke in lowered voices beside women pretending not to notice them. The air smelled like cologne, truffle oil, ambition, and money old enough to think manners were optional.
Penelope did not belong there.
She knew it.
Thirty-one, senior antique jewelry appraiser at Christie’s, plus-size, calm, and fully aware that rooms like this measured women before listening to them. She wore an emerald velvet wrap dress, vintage pearl earrings, and the expression of someone who had already decided the party was not worth uncomfortable shoes.
Her best friend Holly stood beside her in a silver dress, whispering like the walls had microphones.
“Penny, please. Cassian Romano is supposed to be here tonight.”
Penelope took a sip of sparkling water. “Unless he brought me a seventeenth-century diamond to evaluate, I don’t care.”
“You don’t understand. Men like him don’t attend parties. Parties reorganize around him.”
Penelope looked past her toward the catering table.
“There’s one slider left.”
“Penny.”
“I saw it first.”
At that exact moment, the private doors opened.
The room changed.
Conversations thinned. A laugh died near the bar. A man lowered his phone. Even the music seemed to step back.
Cassian Romano had arrived.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal suit that looked more like a warning than clothing. Four men moved with him, but nobody looked at them. The club looked at him. People shifted aside before he reached them, as if power had entered the room and expected oxygen.
Penelope, however, was looking at the silver tray.
Cassian and his guards stopped directly in her path.
Most people would have waited.
Most people would have apologized for existing too close to him.
Penelope said, “Excuse me,” stepped in front of Cassian Romano, reached past him, took the last truffle slider, and walked away.
She did not bow.
Did not flirt.
Did not tremble.
She did not even look back.
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut the room in half.
One of Cassian’s guards moved his hand toward his jacket.
Cassian lifted one gloved finger.
The guard froze.
Slowly, Cassian turned his head.
Across the lounge, Penelope had settled into a velvet booth, opened an article on Victorian mourning jewelry, and was eating peacefully like she had not just ignored a man half the city feared.
Cassian Romano had been hated, obeyed, desired, and challenged.
But he had never been dismissed for a miniature sandwich.
Not like that.
Something changed in his eyes.
Not anger.
Interest.
The dangerous kind.
He leaned toward his guard and said quietly, “That one. Bring her to me.”
A minute later, a large man appeared beside Penelope’s table.
“Miss,” he said. “Mr. Romano requests your presence in the VIP lounge.”
Penelope looked past him.
Cassian sat above the main room, one arm across the back of a leather sofa, dark eyes fixed on her.
She looked back at the guard.
“No, thank you.”
The man blinked.
“I don’t think you understand. Cassian Romano is asking for you.”
“And I’m declining politely.”
“It wasn’t really a request.”
Penelope set down her glass.
“Well, today is a day for firsts.”
The guard stared.
“I don’t know Mr. Romano. I have no business with Mr. Romano. I am not a dog to be summoned across a room because he snapped his fingers. If he wants to speak to me, his legs appear functional.”
The guard looked completely unprepared for that sentence.
When he returned upstairs and whispered in Cassian’s ear, Penelope saw the smirk disappear.
Holly appeared beside the booth, pale.
“Penny,” she breathed. “What did you do?”
“Refused a conversation.”
“With Cassian Romano.”
“I gathered.”
“He kills people.”
“I said no thank you. That is usually not a capital offense.”
Then Cassian stood.
The room parted again.
This time, it was not respect.
It was anticipation.
Everyone wanted to see what happened when a powerful man was told no by a woman he expected to obey.
Cassian descended the glass staircase and walked straight toward her booth.
Penelope kept her chin lifted, even as her heartbeat betrayed her beneath the emerald velvet.
He slid into the seat across from her without asking.
Up close, he was worse.
Too handsome.
Too calm.
Too aware of the fear he carried into rooms.
“I hear you have a problem with walking,” he said.
Penelope folded her hands on the table.
“I have a problem with being summoned.”
Cassian stared at her.
Then, unbelievably, he laughed.
Low.
Rough.
Unused.
“You ignored me,” he said.
“I was hungry.”
“Nobody ignores me.”
“You were blocking the food. It wasn’t personal.”
His smile sharpened.
“What is your name?”
“Penelope.”
“Penelope,” he repeated, as if testing how it felt to say it.
She stood. “My friend is panicking, and I want to go home to my cat and my sweatpants.”
Cassian did not stop her.
But as she passed, he caught her wrist gently.
“We are going to see each other again, Penelope.”
She pulled free.
“I doubt it. We run in very different circles.”
By Monday morning, Cassian Romano had bought a hundred-million-dollar estate jewelry collection.
And the only appraiser he requested was her.
…Read more in C0mment