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After the dancer swayed away, I returned to the bar where the manager had the daily log for me.

“There’s money missing,” I murmured for Franky’s ears alone.

He scrunched up his face and peered hard at the columns of numbers. “How can you tell?”

I pointed at three places.

“Still looks Greek to me,” he muttered and took a long gulp of his light beer.

Sitting back in my chair, I debated the mess I was in. Maybe it would be better to sell the club. Keeping it and cleaning it up might be more hassle than it was worth. Plus, I didn’t relish the idea of dabbling in this kind of business. It was just one of the many facets of running the mob with which I would have to come to terms and decide if my moral compass could stomach it.

Awareness tingled over my skin.

I swept a glance over the club, which was basically dead, and then turned to look at the door. A mountain of living stone stepped through the door.

He’s here.

What the hell was he doing here?! First the grocery store, then the café, and I swore I saw him walking through the parking lot in between the vehicles at work, but that could have been my imagination. But my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me this time. He was actually here. In the flesh.

In the dim light, he looked like something from a fairytale. Not the pretty kind that they made into cartoons for children. No…the real kind. Shadows bathed his features. But his sharp gaze took in the interior.

Right before it clashed with mine.

Air left my lungs.

The music faded, the stench of beer and cheap liquor muted. It was only me…and him.

And then the sudden urge to keep that steel grey gaze pinned on me consumed every fiber of my being. He moved to a corner seat, kicked up an ankle, and continued to watch.

What would it be like to climb onto the stage? To spin about the pole—even with my limited dance skills and lack of flexibility? He would watch.

And I wanted him to do just that.

“Uh-oh,” Franky muttered.

Torn from the mental vision, I focused on my right hand. “What is it?”

Franky tipped his chin. “We have company.”

A sickening feeling churned in my gut. I knew before I looked who it was.

“Isabella, cara mia,” Marco crooned. “What is a sweet little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. There was no way he could know what I was really doing. The cover story would hold up.

“Checking on Vincent’s investments,” I said coolly.

Marco tsked. He placed an order with the bartender before taking a seat next to me.

“This is no place for my brother’s widow.”

He didn’t have to add his future bride. The implication was in his voice.

“I own this place.” I spread my hands over the bar. And instantly regretted it when they made contact with something sticky. “I wanted to see if it was worth keeping or if I should do something with it.”

“Cara,” he moaned. “These are not matters you should be troubling yourself with. Spending your days at the cardealerships is bad enough—” He held up his hands when I made a noise of protest. “That, I understand. You said you needed something to do with your time, to take your mind off things. So I allowed it. But here? No…if you have concerns, that is what I’m here for.”

“It’s my club,” I insisted.