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“What do you want me to do about the nail salon?”
“Give them a warning. Lorenzo’s going to be back in a few weeks. I’m sure they’d like to avoid a visit from him.”
“Will do.”
Elio brings the car around on time, but there’s already a line of waiting customers wrapping around the building, at least fifteen of them, all of them smelling of desperation. I’d turn them away if I could, but I’m under direct orders never to turn anyone away. Lorenzo’s loan shark business is what brings in the majority of his racket’s money. For better or for worse — usually for worse — these people are always approved.
My morning goes by quickly. I hear sob story after sob story, excuse after excuse. I don’t particularly enjoy the insidious nature of this job, but I’ve never disobeyed my capo’s direct order, nor will I start now. I approve loan after loan, pay them in cold hard cash, then send them on their merry way.
Many of them express their thanks, their gratitude. I wish they wouldn’t. Nobody should ever thank the man who helped them sign away their soul. They’ll be singing a different tune when it’s time for me to collect on their payments and they realize far too late that there was no hope for them in the first place.
By noon, I’m exhausted and ready to call it quits. Even with the sleep aids my doctor prescribed me, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since the funeral. I’m haunted by the sounds of the screaming, the violent ring of gunshots ripping through the air, the memory of the light draining from my brother’s eyes. If anything, the sleep aids only exacerbate my nightmares. I’d rather not sleep at all.
There’s a knock at my door; must be another potential customer. I don’t have an appointment scheduled for this one, so I figure it must be a walk-in.
“Come in,” I command.
In walks a woman with long black hair and legs for days. She’s dressed plainly in a pair of light blue jeans with a fitted black V-neck tucked in, accentuating her ample breasts and the sleek curves of her hips. She has a grey garment bag draped over her left arm and a folder tucked under her right. All in all, much more put together than the usual sort to come into my office.
Her eyes do me in.A delicate grey that reminds me of the winter sky after a heavy snowstorm. They’re strangely familiar. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met this woman before.
Her mouth drops open when she sees me. “You,” she breathes.
And then it hits me. Five years ago. The breathtaking spitfire of a woman I met at the airport. The one Milo scared off, insisting he did no such thing.
“Marina,” I reply slowly, rising from my chair. I round the desk and take a careful step toward her. She mirrors me, taking a step toward me, staring as if she’s seen a ghost.
“You remember?” she whispers.
“How could I forget?”
The air between us is electric. She’s so close I can smell the sweet vanilla scent of her shampoo. She hasn’t changed all that much in five years. If anything, she’s even more beautiful than the day I met her. She’s close enough to touch, close enough to kiss…
But a thought occurs to me, one that makes my stomach clench.
“What are you doing here?” I ask firmly.
She frowns, turning a little to read the name painted on the glass window of Lorenzo’s door. “I’m here to talk to somebody about getting a loan. Am I in the right place?”
I almost scoff. I have half a mind to chase her out. This is no place for a woman like her. Signing a deal with her will only worsen her troubles. For whatever reason, I refuse to put her in a position where Lorenzo can dig his claws into her.
She puts a hand on her hip. “Well?” she asks, not unkindly. “Am I in the right place?”
Say no, say no, say no.
“You’re in the right place.”
Fucking idiot.
I gesture to the guest chair, pulling it out for her while she takes a seat. Instead of returning to my chair, I stand in front of her, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” she says gently, looking around. “It’s quite the coincidence.”
“Yes. Quite.”
“How’ve you been?”
Ha. Isn’t that a loaded question.
