My throat is now entirely dry, so I sip some water, relieved when a beautiful, rich-looking pair walk through the curtain and stop at the host podium.
“You take this one,” Hallie says under her breath.
I ask for their names and tap the screen to register their entry. As they walk away, my gaze is irrationally drawn back to the table in the corner.
‘Il Diavolo’ is speaking with the man at his side but as soon as my attention settles on him, his gaze lifts.
Our eyes lock and for a few seconds everything around me stops. The music, the chatter, the pouring of drinks. Silence becomes a cushion softening the blow of sound as we stare at each other with something deeper than curiosity. Something way more intense.
I swallow, absently wondering how long it’s been since I last took a breath.
Then he stands, slowly. Buttons up his jacket, straightens his sleeves, runs a hand through dark, obsidian hair. He’s tall. Like, six foot four, five maybe. He towers over the guests who’ve chosen to sit in his orbit, and gives them only a cursory nod when he steps away from the booth.
With his back partially turned, he picks up his glass, throws a full measure of whiskey down his throat then drops it to the table. Then he slides the gun into his waistband and starts to head my way.
Instinctively, I back up. My fingers leave the podium and my heart climbs up my throat.
Il Diavolo doesn’t like when people stare.
But I can’t tear my eyes away.
He’s heading straight for me. A tall, dark, dangerous mobster with his face obscured by a brutally genteel mask is stalking toward the podium as though he wants to grab me by the neck and shove me face first into the screen.
My breath hitches. Another step back.
Four feet away.
I close my eyes. Whatever comes next, I don’t want to look.
When nothing happens, I lift my lids.
He’s gone.
“Someone’s not long for this earth,” Hallie whispers beside me.
I turn to her, slightly dazed. “Wh—what?”
“I’ve worked this club since it opened two years ago, and I ain’t never seen Il Diavolo look so pissed.”
I exhale a slow breath. He’s pissed because I stared at him and now someone else is going to pay.
I vow to never look a man here in the eye again.
But against my better judgement, my lids lift once more to the three remaining men in the corner of the room.
And a chill snakes down my spine.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were all staring back at me.
CHAPTER THREE
Fiero
The momentI saw her walk through the door, everything in my body seized up, triggered, sent hurtling back fifteen years to the moment that changed my life.
My chest strained as though a hand was clenched around it. My shoulders lifted and my knees locked in place as if a threat had entered the premises.
Karma hasn’t been enough of a bitch to Pfeiffer McAllister.
