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Chapter One
Salvatore
Something feels off but I can’t figure out what’s bugging me. Nothing looks out of place. The restaurant is busy, as is usual for a Saturday night. Every table is taken, with people chatting, drinking, and eating. The food here is good. Mostly Italian with a few generic dishes thrown in.
The smell of garlic and tomato tickles my nose, reminding me I haven’t had time to eat dinner, but Mama will have left something in the refrigerator for me. Despite being a grown-ass man, like any good Italianmamma, she still feels the need to fill my fridge at least once a week. I’m sure she thinks I’ll starve to death if she doesn’t.
To be fair, she’s probably right. I can cook just fine but I rarely have the chance these days. We’re stretched too thin, which leaves me picking up most of the slack. It wouldn’t be so bad if my fuckingstronzocousin, Romano, pulled his weight, but nope, he’s too busy chasing pussy.
Women ogle me as I make my way to the bar area, some of the bolder ones throwing flirtatious smiles in my direction,but I ignore them. I’m here on business. I’m also not interested in fucking some random piece of ass. Casual hookups don’t do it for me these days. At 35, I’m too old for that shit.
“Bourbon, no ice.”
The bartender nods. I feel a hand on my bicep and tense. A woman with glossy dark hair and plump red lips is looking at me like I’m her next meal, her eyelashes fluttering in a way she thinks is seductive. Sheisattractive, I’ll give her that, but way too obvious for my tastes.
Her tongue flicks out to moisten her lips and her eyes slide down my chest, taking in my Armani suit, diamond cuff links, and Cartier watch.
“Nope,” I tell her, zero inflection in my voice. Her eyes widen in surprise. I bet she’s not used to being told no. Men probably fall over themselves to fuck her: she has a lush figure and her tits look natural. Which is a bonus in this age of fucking plastic dolls. Definitely Romano’s type. Maybe I should get her phone number for him? Although, knowing him, he’s already banged her. There aren’t many women left in this town hehasn’tfucked. I smirk to myself as she turns away with a scowl on her lovely face.
The barman slides my drink over the mahogany bar and I down it in one. He takes my money. “You wanna open a tab?”
“No, thanks.” He dips his head and walks off to serve another customer.
I scan the room again, searching for Declan fucking O’Connor. The fucker said he’d be here at 8 PM and it’s 10 minutes past the hour. My spidey senses kick up a gear, yet everything appears normal. On the surface at least.
The wait staff scurry around carrying trays of plates and drinks. Customers meander around the bar while they wait for a table. Soft music plays in the background. Then I catch sight of atall figure lurking at the back of the room, partially hidden by a large palm.
He’s no customer. I’d recognize Fitz O’Connor anywhere. He still walks with a limp after I shattered his tibia last year. What’s he doing here? Declan knows Fitz and I hate each other, so sending his brother is just plain rude.
The only other reason Fitz would be here is if they are expecting trouble. Then I spot Liam, theirstronzocousin, and I realize I’ve been fucked over. This isn’t a business meeting, it’s a fucking trap.
Cazzo.
I really should have known better and it’s too late to call for backup. The O’Connors have been angling to increase their territory for a while, but we didn’t think they were this ambitious. It seems they’ve upped their game. Pa’s going to be thrilled to learn Declan grew a set of balls. I’d laugh if I wasn’t in a sticky spot right now.
While I’m armed to the teeth and can more than take care of myself, we’re surrounded by innocent diners. The minute someone opens fire, it’s going to be a fucking blood bath. My eyes slide toward the exit but more muscle for the O’Connors has already arrived, cutting me off.Fuck my life.A door opens near the kitchen and the man of the hour appears.
Declan O’Connor, a dead man walking.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Two
Thalia
“My pasta is cold!” The bitch in a fancy dress hisses at me like a venomous snake. I’d roll my eyes at her tantrum but I literally don’t have the energy. After nine fucking hours on my feet, this is not a hill I’m ready to die on.
Temp jobs can either be heaven or hell. Heaven is when I get sent to a cushy office and asked to file all day; hell on earth is a waitressing gig on a busy Saturday night. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to be fussy, which is why I agreed to take this last-minute assignment.
What a mistake.
The restaurant is nice - the food looks delicious - but Emilio, the manager, is an abusive dick and I’m still waiting for a break. If I wasn’t being buried alive under a mountain of student loan debt, I’d report this fucking place for breaking all kinds of employment laws. Still, only one hour left to go and then I can collect my tips and get the fuck out of here. There’s a bottle of wine in my fridge at home - who needs actual food, right?
Judging from the expression on this bitch’s Botoxed face, I won’t be getting a tip from hertable. Oh well.
“I can only apologize, ma’am, and ask the chef to prepare a new dish for you.” Bitch-face can tell I’m low on the sincerity scale. She bares her perfect bleached teeth at me and considers making more of a fuss.
Honestly, she’s welcome to kick off. I know for a fact Emilio is too busy in his office banging some chick to care. He disappeared 30 minutes ago and from the moans and groans I heard, I’d say the poor girl is getting railed good.
