Chapter 2
Sofia
If the luxurious sequined cocktail dress I squeezed into wasn’t a big fat clue, the venue was. The second I stepped behind the marble bar, I knew I was in over my head.
At O’Malley’s, I dealt with college kids pounding cheap beer and old men who thought tipping a quarter was generous.
Here? Every drink order was like a scene out of The Great Gatsby.
French champagne, top-shelf vodka, bourbon so smooth I was afraid to so much as touch the bottle.
The women floated past in feathered masks and gowns worth more than my entire yearly salary.
The men looked like predators disguised in tuxedos, their faces hidden behind sleek Venetian masks, their eyes glinting like they knew the world—and owned it.
“Two martinis. Extra cold.” A man in a silver wolf mask leaned across the bar, his cologne sharp and expensive.
His dark gaze raked over me like I was part of the menu.
It had me fighting the urge to pull the strapless dress up for the five-hundredth time of the night.
I was one sneeze away from my boobs spilling out onto the bar like cheap champagne.
“Coming right up,” I said, plastering on a smile I didn’t feel. He winked, leaving a crisp hundred on the counter like it was pocket change.
A woman dripping in diamonds waved impatiently for champagne, barely looking at me when I set the glass down.
“Finally,” she muttered, like I wasn’t even human.
She tossed a ten-dollar bill on the bar with a roll of her eyes.
I guess she thought the ten was an insult.
Thank you very much for breakfast in the morning, I thought as I tucked it away.
The money was real, but the air was suffocating. Everyone was drunk on their own power, drunk on secrets hidden behind painted masks. I kept moving, kept pouring, reminding myself that one night here could ease the pile of bills stuffed in my kitchen drawer.
Isabella breezed by with a tray stacked high with crystal flutes, her cheeks flushed, hairline damp with sweat. She wobbled slightly under the weight. For the first time all night, my bar was empty.
“Jesus, Isa,” I said, grabbing her elbow to steady her. “You’re going to drop that.”
“I’m fine,” she panted, though she looked anything but. “They just asked me to take three drinks to Popov’s study upstairs. Of course they would pick me when I can barely breathe.”
“Give them here.” I slid the tray out of her hands, balancing it easily. “I’ve got no customers right now. You sit down before you pass out.”
Her eyes went wide. “No, Sofe—don’t. It’s not like delivering beers at O’Malley’s. Popov doesn’t like people snooping around where they shouldn’t.”
I smirked. “I’m not snooping. I’m delivering whiskey.”
She bit her lip, lowering her voice. “Just… don’t linger in there. He doesn’t like people seeing his business. Understand?”
Her warning sent a shiver down my spine, but I lifted the tray anyway. “Relax. It’ll take a minute.”
She lifted her masquerade mask to pat at the sweat with a small, square napkin. “Thanks, chica. Just… hurry,” she warned.
I didn’t know it then, but that one minute was about to change everything.