It’s almost second nature by now, breaking down the bar like this as soon as the clock says it’s four a.m. Danny usually closes out the show, so we have the process down to a fine art, jumping into action as soon as she hits the second verse of her penultimate song.
“Cut them off,” I instruct needlessly. Terry has been here almost as long as I have. “And let's keep the VIP table reserved from now on. The boss is sure to show up one of these days anyway.”
Terry snorts. “Which one?”
It was a good question. Ownership of theCandelabrahas shifted hands so frequently in the last couple of years that it was sometimes hard to remember where half our protocols even came from.
It was a frustrating side effect of the place being owned by the Italian mafia.
Not that Terry knew that officially, but by now, I’m fairly certain he suspects. Especially now that the current don is an old, personal…acquaintance of mine.
Okay, scratch that—childhoodenemy,teenage rival, and adult…well, we’re civil now. Teo Vitale wasn’t so bad now that he was a father, though I didn’t particularly care for his new wife.
Not that I’d seen or spoken to them in months. Nor anyone else in the Guild, for that matter. Aside from my father, of course, who likes to call me twice a week like the needy asshole he is. I swear he’s getting clingier in his old age.
All in all, it’s exactly how I prefer things. The less I know about the Guild and the failing alliance it’s trying to form with the Prince’s Hand, the better.
Not that I know that officially, either.
“One of them just tried to snatch at Danny’s leg.” Terry’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and my eyes snap to the stage.
Sure enough, one of the bastards is half-strewn across the stage, laughing maniacally as Danny makes a hasty retreat.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Yeah. This has been a really bad day.
“ALRIGHT!” I yell as I vault over the bar. “SHOWS OVER FOLKS!”
I don’t need to check if Terry has my back as I march straight over to the VIP table. Luckily, most of the occupants are too inebriated to stop me as I grab the guy on the stage by the back of the shirt and drag him off.
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, pal, but there’s a $5,000 fine for attempting to touch the merchandise,” I inform him as soon as his bleary eyes meet mine.
He’s barely able to hold himself up. “Well, hey there, gorgeous. You come here often?”
I let him slink to the floor in disgust and turn to his companions. “Who’s going to settle this guy’s bill?”
A hand touches my back, and I react based on instinct. Terry knows better than to do something with my back turned, so I feel no remorse as I spin and throw my potential attacker to the floor.
The man looks up at me—another one of the drunken idiots—from beneath the boot pressed to his throat.
“You can’t treat us like this!” he garbles. “We’re personal friends of the boss. I want to see the manager!”
I laugh as I crouch down to get up in his face. A stray chunk of red hair falls from my bun into my peripheral vision.
“I am the fucking manager,” I snarl at him. “Now pay up before I tell Mr. Vitale exactly who’s been throwing his name around so carelessly.”
This, out of everything I’ve done to him, makes him pale. Of course, it does.
Things wrap up pretty quickly after that. Terry takes the payment and flags down a couple of bouncers to escort them out.
“I can close from here, Mia. Get yourself home early,” Terry throws over his shoulder as he returns to the bar.
“I’m fine.”
“You can cover me next time.”
I roll my eyes at him but don’t bother arguing. It’s been a bad day, and I’m sure my mood makes me irritating company, so I don’t really blame him.
“I have a day off tomorrow, but I’ll see you later,” I say as I make my way into the back.
