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ARIANA DE LUCA
I didn’t see Bastian the following day.
Probably for the best.
I wouldn’t have known what to say if I had. I just wanted to finish my shift in peace and give myself time to think about turning in my badge to Wilks.
Turning in my badge.
I couldn’t believe it had come to this.
I didn’t know much about myself, but I knew giving up went against my very nature.
Because every time I thought about it, frustration and anger and resentment would bubble in my throat, practically demanding I continue with my legend when my heart fought so hard against it.
When the bar closed, and everyone had relegated closing duties to me before I’d even had a chance to volunteer, Vincent Romano entered the bar alone.
No security guards trailing behind him.
Just him.
I coiled walls around my mind, everything in me alert as the head enforcer for the Romano family strode my way. His bespoke suit and tailored button-down spoke of money, but he looked worn out.
Fine lines of wrinkles piled onto his forehead like rippled sand dunes in a desert. His cheeks had sunken in a little.
He looked like my aunt after her cancer had sucked the soul out of her. Though he had vibrant dark hair, it had lost most of its fullness, and that fit body of his had lost some of its mass since I’d last seem him, too.
I shouldn’t have, but I lowered my guard. A little.
It was the eyes.
Vincent Romano had a hardened exterior, but when he looked at me, those clear blue eyes spoke of kindness. Putty. I should have been hard as a rock, but this cover had turned me into putty.
If I were being honest, I liked it.
I didn’t want to be hardened or jaded. That wasn’t a way to live. Look at Bastian. I’d never met a man so on edge, and he seemed miserable.
I ran a rag along the bar top and gave Vince a slight smile. “It’s just me here. I think your nephew left a while ago. I haven’t actually seen him today.”
“I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”
I froze and stared at him, doing my best not to look flustered. “Oh.”
“You’re pretty well-spoken for a Degory alumna.”
My lips quirked up.
Who would have thought I’d be sitting alone in a bar, passing lighthearted jabs with the enemy of my family?
“That’s what people tell me. Can I get you anything?”
“A scotch, please, darling.”
He coughed a little, and I considered getting him a glass of water instead. He really did look bad.
I poured a glass of top-shelf scotch and slid it his way, genuine concern etching my brows together as I set the bottle beside his glass and asked, “Are you okay?”
He let loose a long sigh. “I’m old.”
