Drowned in Gold: A Brother's Best Friend, Standalone Dark Mafia Romance

Chapter 1

Gia

Chewing my gum really hard is just about the only thing keeping me from strangling this customer. It’s the last hour of a long shift at Bingo Bangos – my feet hurt, my hair is pulled back too tight, and I’m about one skirt-grab away from biting someone’s head off.

“C’mon, hunnie. I told you. I’ll have a porterhouse for two and you on my lap so I can feed you.” This clean-shaven man with a chiseled jaw has worked up a steam trying to impress his friends. He has blonde, Jamie Lannister hair that I want to yank clean off, but I can’t tell if I’m just being overly bitchy, or he’s really this insufferable.

When I do nothing but close my eyes and sigh, he laughs in the most cringeworthy way imaginable. His mouth opens so wide I can see his back molars, and he slaps his friends’ shoulders like he said something clever.

What an ass.

“Okay, Farquaad. Be right back with your bib and bottle. First, I’m going to take the men’s orders, if you don’t mind.” I smile facetiously and turn to the quiet guy at the end of the table.

“Ohhh!” The other guys roast Mr. Lannister for my quip, and it feels kind of good to mess with him.

“Oh, she totally digs me. You see that smile, boys? Oh yeah, you’re just jealous, Matt.”

I take the orders as quickly as I can and rush to the kitchen. It’s about that time of night where my flats start sticking to the floor. Enough drinks spilled in the restaurant-turned-lounge on a Saturday, marking my cue that soon, I can count my tip roll and get the hell out of here to my cozy little apartment.

I know it’s dumb, but I paint landscapes when I get home while watching reruns of Friends. Don’t judge. It’s therapeutic. Dealing with hairy-chested, V-neck wearing jerk-offs all day would drive anyone into Chandler’s arms – RIP.

That’s an hour and many whistles away, though. Sometimes I like the attention the Bangos uniform invites. A skirt that swishes every step, tight black blazer and a low-cut shirt making manbabies drool. It’s fun, sometimes. But tonight? Every glazed set of eyes and sweaty man’s underarms makes me want to yack.

I try to be in and out of the kitchen so the steam doesn’t cling to my hair. Grabbing three hot plates for another table is a balancing act of not getting burned and not bumping into someone. But Stacey stands right in front of the exit to ruin my flow.

“You heard, Gia?” She raises her eyebrows, grasping the door frame and flicking her curly hair back like a seductress.

“You taking shots on the job again?” I scoff. “Didn’t Marty tell you? No partying with the douchebags while serving.”

“Oh shut up, bitch.” She bares her teeth playfully at me. “Castor DeMatteo and his boys are clearing out a room soon. How do I look? Perfectly sex-tastic? Mmph. I hope one of them pull me for their private party.”

I tense up at the mention.

“Ooh. Marco didn’t tell you?” She’s playing with me, knowing full well I don’t associate with him anymore.

“No, Stacey, my brother didn’t tell me. And I don’t really care.”

“Oh, c’mon. You know Castor is hot shit. When he rolls in, all the panties drop. Even mine.”

“What do you mean ‘even yours,’ like it’s some rare event? You mean especially yours.” We smirk at one another as I scoot past her to deliver the steaming food.

She follows me and speaks loudly over my shoulder to combat the thumping music, “I think you should be a great friend and hook a girl up.”

“I don’t associate with assholes—”

On cue, a burly man whistles at the two of us.

Stacey looks at me knowingly.

“—To the best of my ability.”

I recall the orders of the table by memory – even with Stacey buzzing in my ear – and assure the snippy fourth at the table that her food is coming right out. Slow-cooked pernil is named such for a reason. Her stringy blonde hair and painted-on eyebrows would’ve got a pass if she didn’t just snap her tongue at me.

“Oh-oh-oh!” Stacey latches onto my arm, squeezing tight. “Here they come.”

The Red Sea of servers parts for an entourage of mobsters strutting into the restaurant. Who’s at the head other than Castor, my brother’s closest friend growing up. Gold rings line each of his fingers, framing fists lathered in ink. He fills out his blazer so well, unlike half these other schmucks.

His crew battles for his ear – three men who continue leaning over to tell him something – and a small army strut farther behind. Some have women on their arms, others have their hands crossed over their bellies like bodyguards… It’s a whole show.

I stop analyzing when his sharp blue eyes catch mine.

Oh shit.

My chest weakens just like it did growing up. Whenever he’d stop by, it was always the same. Not exactly a quick glance, not exactly a murderous stare, but something in between. His gaze is a time machine of teenage angst. Only he’s more dangerous now. Far more.

My stray thoughts are starting to get the better of me, then I feel Stacey posing next to me to try and steal his attention. That brings me back to reality. Except his eyes haven’t left mine, and I catch myself wishing – Nope! Don’t humor that teen crush, Gia. His scarred lip curves a little bit upward, a moment of recognition flashing in those cold eyes of his. They almost seem… warm. With a hint of—

His eyes shift away as he passes, before I can make up my mind at what that look was about, and the moment of eternal butterflies is over.

“You think he noticed me?” Stacey asks.

“Sure.”

We stare dumbly at the mafia conga line’s back, until a voice makes us both jump in place.

“Girls! What the hell are you doing? I just got a complaint that table six has been waiting thirty minutes for their food!” Marty – my boss – scolds us. “Chop! Chop! I don’t pay you to ogle the VIPs.”

Stacey hisses at him like a cat, then turns away to adhere to the order, grabbing me with her. “Uuugh, girl! How do we get in the baller room?” She tries to peek past the curtain.

“We don’t. They hire their own staff that they’re comfortable with… Probably because they do God knows what in there,” I say.

“I want to do God knows what in there,” Stacey says, half in a trance as I push her into the kitchen.

“Trust me, you don’t want anything to do with their business, Stace.”

“Here we go again. First you keep me away from your brother, now you try and stop me from hunting that piece of meat.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have the cops bang down your door, guns pointed at you? ’Cause I do. Marco’s been in jail six times.” I grab the next set of plates – including the bitchy girl’s pernil. “I’m trying to protect my friend.”

“My thighs are telling me that’s what I want, though. I can’t keep denying them!” She holds her plates high over her head while dodging another server, then winks at me on the way to her table.

She’s got a point… Castor is Adonis in human form, wrapped in devilish ink. An Italian with crystal blue eyes and blondish hair is as rare as an upstanding gentleman in this lounge, and seeing him again ignited something buried deep away.

My last four dates were spread out over three months, and none of them, I mean none of them, had an ounce of fire in them. It was supposed to be a good thing… I guess. Ever since Marco beat someone bloody at a family dinner at Castones in the city – just for getting his order wrong – I swore off the mob life. Not that I was ever a part of it, but still, I was close enough to be collateral one day. And by the looks of things, it would’ve been soon. So, no fire, means no problems.

It makes me nervous that my brother wasn’t with Castor. Those two are usually joined at the hip. I hope something didn’t happen to him.

After another hour of bouncing thoughts, and auto-pilot serving, the clock finally strikes midnight. I exhale a long sigh of relief and grab my tip roll for the night, grateful it’s enough to cover this month’s rent, and Friends reruns are finally on the horizon.

“Night, Stace.” I kiss her on the cheek.

“Bye, bitch! Gotta run. Have a Tinder swindler date in less than an hour.” She shimmies at me on her way out.

“What the hell kind of date starts at one in the morning?”

“The sexy kind. Bye!”

I smile as she hustles out of the restaurant, wishing somewhere deep down I had her energy. Most of the time I’m too exhausted to meet another dud, and sometimes I feel I have nothing to offer either. I’m in a rut… Which I guess I’m just realizing now.

Tap. Tap.

On my way out, two meaty fingers touch my shoulders, and my brow furrows when I turn to see Marty standing there with his arms folded.

“What now?” I ask.

“You’ve been summoned by his highness.” He nods toward the curtains, obviously annoyed.

“Huh?”

“Castor DeMatteo asked for you personally to help wait on their event.”

My heartrate starts to rise, pumping through my chest and right into my ears.

“N—no thank you,” I stutter.

“He pays in gold, Gia. Triple what you make in a week, for a few hours.” He keeps eyeing the curtain, as if scared someone is going to run out and strangle him.

“I know how he pays.” I fidget uncomfortably.

Marty leans in. “Look, he told me to be persuasive, but I obviously can’t force you back there. What should I tell him?”

A tingle runs from my chest all the way down to my gut – an uncomfortable feeling I haven’t felt in a year, easy.

Castor wants him to be persuasive… for me? Why?

His eyes locked on mine flashes through my thoughts again, bringing with it that schoolgirl crush rushing into my bones like lightning.

Temptation to stray from my boring non-fire routine gnaws at me. Every bone in my body wants to see what’s behind the curtain now that I’m invited. Periodic cheers and laughter sounds fun – better than the Friends laugh-track that I’m bound to.

Stacey would kill me.

I fidget in place.

“Gia? C’mon, I gotta get home.” Marty snaps his fingers.

Maybe I should just ask him where my brother is and leave.

I bite my top lip.

No harm in that.

“Hello, earth to Gia.”

“Fine, I’ll go for a little,” I say, and find my breathing suddenly shallow now that I officially betrayed myself.

“Really? Alright, great. High-heels in the back.” Marty smiles. “You just scored me some points with the Bangos big ticket. I owe you one.”