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The remnants of the encounter linger—the scent of sweat still hanging in the air, the memory of his hands on my skin fresh and vivid. Even in this dimly lit section of the club, I’m keenly aware of the intensity of his gaze.
I steal a sideways glance, catching him with his eyes on me. They twinkle with amusement, causing a blush to creep across my cheeks.
How can I let go of this need for retribution? Can I really carry out my plan and still call myself a good person?
I can because I must.
Marcello is one of Don Giorgio’s men. I can’t trust him.
He seems to grasp my discomfort, chuckling as he takes a sip from his beer. “So,” he starts, his voice a captivating low hum, “Tell me more about you.”
I squirm in my seat, suddenly at a loss for words. I feel naked and vulnerable under his scrutiny, as if he can see past my exterior, straight into my swirling uncertainty.
I want to respond, to shatter the silence between us, but my throat is parched and my words seem to be trapped somewhere between thought and speech.
He leans in closer, his smile almost soothing. “It’s okay,” he murmurs gently. “Take your time."
I stumbled over my words because I’d never thought through how I'd handle this situation, so I decide to give him truthful parts of myself, knowing I'll never see him again after tonight. I relax a little and share about my life as a waitress, the hobbies I left behind, and the life I once had.
Marcello watches me intently, nodding along with my stories, but I can’t help feeling like he sees through my facade. I shift in my seat as I catch myself divulging just a little too much.
Uncertainty creeps up within me and I remind myself of my plan. The only way to gain my happiness is finish this and put it behind me.
"Oh goodness, I think I left my phone in the bathroom." I open my purse and push stuff around. Then I see the powder, nervously I glance up at him.
“I’ll go grab it for you. Stay here.” He stands and takes a few steps.
“Can I borrow yours?”
Marcello’s eyebrow lifts.
“Just while you’re getting mine. I just want to call my roommate. She’s expecting me back and I’d like to hang out a little longer with you, if that’s okay.”
My stomach twists in knots and my breathing quickens. A million possibilities race through my mind—of what could happen if Marcello learns what I’m up to. But I have to take the risk.
“Huh...sure.” He passes me his phone, and I take it with a shaky hand. “Be right back.”
He makes his way to the bathroom, he turns back and smiles before stepping inside. The door closes behind him and I quickly get to work.
I glance around me, apparently the bartender is having a great time with the women at the other end of the bar. He’s far enough away that I can easily hide the phones.
I turn my back to the crowd. I pull out a vial of white powder and sprinkle it in his drink. With trembling fingers I toss the vial back into my purse and retrieve a cable.
For the next few minutes, I watch the bathroom door and pray the transfer completes before he returns. I’ve practiced this part a million times, but it never feels any less stressful.
The seconds passing each feel like an eternity. Then the door opens and I glance down at the screen. I need fifteen more seconds.
Marcello walks in my direction with confidence strides.
Seven more seconds...
He’s stopped by a man, one of the bouncers I think, and I exhale.
Five more seconds...
They talk and I see the bouncer turn to leave. My sweaty hands shake as I shove the cord back into my purse. I yank out the cord and place his phone on the bar, shoving my own back out of sight.
Marcello drops back onto the stool beside me. “I didn’t see it anywhere.”
