“Just wondering what the fuck is going on. You’ve had me camped out here for weeks—for what? To flirt with the annoying brat next door and tell you if she had friends visit this weekend? Host them all while you disappeared with one girl. What am I missing?”
I click my tongue in disapproval. “I thought you wanted my help, Cillian.”
“I do.”
“Then stop asking questions. We’ll deal with your issue tomorrow.”
He nods. I nod back, then continue walking.
“Send her to my room when you’re finished.”
I still, grip tightening on the bottle. Red tinges the edges of my vision as rage rushes through my body.
I don’t pause and think about why Cillian touching Carina is intolerable. I smash the bottle against the wall, keeping a hold on the neck. I shove Cillian against the fridge, my arm pressing against his throat and the jagged glass dangerously close to his carotid. The artery pulses frantically as danger registers.
“What did you say?” I hiss.
Cillian is smart enough not to repeat the request, the whites of his eyes straining as he tries to keep his gaze on me while the sharp point is perilously near his neck.
“Nothing,” he rasps, struggling to speak past my arm. “Sorry.”
I seriously contemplate killing him. Cillian senses it, his breathing turning erratic.
His family doesn’t have the resources to retaliate. Our bargain benefits him far more than me. But it’d ruin the rest of the evening. I’d have to summon a few men to deal with his body.
Carina is smoking upstairs, waiting for me to return. I’d have to drug her to ensure she didn’t see anything she shouldn’t.
My arms drop. “I don’t share,” I snap, tossing the shard of glass aside. “Clean this up.”
Cillian nods rapidly, not moving from the fridge.
I exit the kitchen, carefully avoiding the mess on the floor.
When I return to the bedroom, Carina asks what happened to my drink.
I kiss her so I don’t have to lie again.
END OF THE BEGINNING
Lola waves me over with her usual ebullience as soon as I enter the restaurant. I smile at Nancy, the middle-aged owner, as I pass the high-top table she’s waiting on and continue toward my friend.
“Did you hear?” Lola asks before I’ve had a chance to unzip my coat, sit, or utter a traditional greeting.
“Hear …” I hang my jacket and purse on the back of the chair. Sink down onto it.
Lola leans forward, green eyes glinting with eagerness. “We got the funding!”
“The funding?” I repeat blankly.
My brain is sluggish today. I’ve slept poorly the past few nights, my dreams taking place in pools and my waking thoughts especially restless as I lay in bed. I hurt Jude, and I lied to Isabella, and I miss Lev.
“We’re ordering you a double espresso when Nancy comes over,” Lola declares before continuing, “Thefunding. Hans Müller arrives next month! So, start practicing again! First chair is yours—I can feel it.”
“Wait, what? But that?—”
“Morning, ladies!” Nancy appears, beaming as she glances between me and Lola.
I met Lola, a cellist, when I auditioned for Chicago’s symphony six years ago. Five years ago, Lola decided to go vegan and found this diner that doesn’t serve any animal products. Since then, Nancy’s adopted us like a second set of daughters. Her biological children have both left the city—one for college and one to live with a fiancé.
