Page 3 of Pink

“I could use the extra cash,” Lev said.

Not that he wanted to admit it.

Nickie arched a brow at the doorway Lev filled up and waved a hand as if gesturing to the line of people in the hallway that he couldn’t even see. “So could they.”

“They don’t guarantee you wins, though.”

That had his boss pausing.

“I need you serving directly from the bar to the front tables—”

“Who’s gonna be sitting in them?”

Nickie grinned. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”

Yeah, that was the thing about this place. One who was lucky enough to work here on a nightly basis—like Lev—and not just pick up extra work on fight nights learned quickly that everything was done with a purpose. And if he was serving the front tables, it was for a good damn reason.

“Marcello will be in tonight.”

Shit.

There was only one Marcello that regularly used Nickie’s as a place of business. Andino Marcello. Infamous mafia Capo. Raging asshole on his good days. Particular and demanding and difficult in every possible fucking way.

He also liked Lev. Or the way he made his drinks.

Why?

Lev didn’t have the first damn clue.

Nickie laughed huskily, reaching for the two fingers of whiskey and ice sitting on the edge of the desk with condensation dribbling down the glass. “Now you get it—the big boy will be in the house tonight, Lev. He’s bringing in an associate to do some … business. You know, while they enjoy the fights and all. You’re the only bartender I have on hand that he’ll even consider allowing to mix his drinks, so you’re gonna be handling him and his guys until told otherwise. Got it?”

“Can I fight later?” he asked.

He could really use that extra cash. A grand for stepping into the ring whether he won or lost—up to five-k if he pulled a win with enough bets on him. With only a handful of fights throughout the night, he really wanted to be on the docket. What little savings he had was already basically gone, and this place certainly didn’t pay enough to make his ends meet. The fights helped to make it through the drier spells, so to speak.

“Depends,” his boss eventually replied.

“On what?”

Nickie shook his glass with a smirk. “On if your name gets pulled, Lev, like everybody else.”

Fuck.

Usually, he had a little pull given he worked behind the bar. Not tonight, apparently. He couldn’t say he was surprised considering the situation Nickie had with a guy like Andino Marcello promising to show his face at the fights.

With an associate.

It was good for Nickie’s in the world of the underground. Bad for Lev when his chances of getting his name pulled to fight were about as good as the rest of the fucks lined up waiting outside Nickie’s office.

“But hey,” his boss called when Lev turned to leave.

He didn’t bother to turn around. “What?”

“Pay is triple tonight. You earned it, kid.”

Kid.

Maybe he was just a kid compared to Nickie’s middle-age crisis that he was trying to hide with the gold rings on his fingers and the new Porsche parked in the back. Lev held back from scoffing—he felt so far from a kid at twenty-four. That was a lifetime ago, and though life hadn’t been easy then … it was different. Sometimes, that was the part he missed the most.