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“I am here to see Mr. Manarch.”
“Who? You need to speak up sweetie.” She says laughing.
“I said I am here to see Mr. Manarch.” The room instantly quiets and my voice carries.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” I reply annoyed. All the men are looking at me. I feel so exposed.
“He is not available. If you would like to…”
“Let her in.” A deep voice interrupts.
My eyes follow the voice. I am met by a man like I’ve never seen before. I can tell he is tall and athletic. He looks like he just stepped out from a GQ magazine. He has a five o’clock shadow and his eyes are holding me in place. He looks like the type of man I should not be speaking to. He doesn’t look old enough to run the mafia. I would be surprised if he was no more than thirty-two. I take a deep breath and start walking. There is no going back.
Chapter Three
Viktor
“Come on, a few hours.”
“I said no.”
“But baby, I want to have alone time with you.”
“I’m not in the mood Jess. I’m done with you.” I am annoyed. I don’t know how many times I need to say it. It was one night. She is as pathetic as most of the women I encounter. They bore me.
“Viktor, come on.” She tries to sit on my lap. I push her off.
“Let some respect. Oliver, escort her out.”
“You can’t …”
I stop listening to Jess. The opening of the front door catches my attention. A woman walks in. I’ve never seen her before. She is visibly nervous but is trying to hide it. I am curious as to why she is here. No one enters the restaurant unless invited. She is talking to Tina who is trying to hear what she is saying.
“Quiet.” Instantly everything quiets except their voices.
“He is not available. If you would like to…”
“Let her in.” I interrupt. I need to see who she is. Who is brave enough to walk in here. Her eyes meet mine. She looks tired. She is wearing well-worn clothes. But it doesn’t take away how beautiful she is. Tina leads her to my table. “Sit.” I demand.
“No thank you. I am here to find out who dared to lend a gambling man who doesn’t have a penny to his name one hundred thousand dollars,” she spits out. Feisty. She intrigues me. No one wanting to live would ever speak to me like this.
“Are you a cop?” I ask even though I know she isn’t. It’s written all over her. Not to mention the fear in her eyes is real. She knows she shouldn’t be here.
“No.” She answers annoyed.
“That is Pat’s daughter,” Oliver whispers sitting beside me. She looks between us, I assume trying to hear what he said.
“Who is this man I apparently lend money to?” I need to hear her voice again. It’s like a sweet melody.
“Who are you? I want to speak with Mr. Manarch. The man who loaned money to a gambler.” Her eyes never leave mine. She has more balls than some of my men.
“I’ll ask again, what man? I can’t answer if I don’t know who you are or who you are talking about.” A flare of anger flashes. She must not know or care who I am.
“Pat O’Brien.” She finally says.
“And you are?”
