Chapter 4
Love was a weakness I couldn’t afford.
I took lives, I didn't protect them.
I was alone and I liked it that way.
No one would change that.
As I knocked back the last finger of my scotch, a bump to my left had me jerking till I was wearing it. The 90-dollars-a shot liquor dripped down my vintage leather jacket, splashing onto my fresh white t-shirt. To say I was livid would have been an understatement.
“Hey!” An irritated voice spoke over the music. “Watch it, asshole!” I frowned as the hairs on the back of my neck began to stand on end.
Interesting…
I placed my now empty tumbler on the bar as I geared myself up to give whoever that was a piece of my mind. But the moment I turned, everything went to shit.
A pair of shocking blue eyes stared venomously into my own hazel ones. I contained a swallow as I let my eyes roam down her lithe body.
Qué carajo!
“Hey! Watch it, asshole!” Her cherry red lips seemed to slow on every word, and I was mesmerised.
“Me? Love, I think it’s you who needs to watch where you’re going.” I said, swiping scotch from my chin with my thumb. “You walked into me, and you made me spill my favourite whisky.” I smirked as she rolled her eyes in disgust. “So, are you gonna keep me waitin’?”
“Waiting for what exactly?” She scoffed as she crossed her arms. Fuck, I could devour this woman. She had chocolate, honey blended hair down to her arse, and icy blue pools that were fanned by long, soot black coloured lashes.
“The apology you owe me.” I said as I stepped closer to her.
My nose tickled as her perfume invaded my senses.
Despite my six foot four frame towering over her much smaller five ‘five, she didn’t lose her nerve.
I distractedly took note of how the bar’s dim lighting illuminated her face, making it easier to see the freckles that decorated her button nose and high cheekbones.
“I wouldn’t hold your breath. But go ahead, be my guest,” she winked. Clicking my tongue, I reached out and grabbed her wrist, my fingers sinking into her velvety soft skin.
When she glanced back over her shoulder, her face remained impassive, but judging by how her hands were fisted at her sides I could tell she was pissed off. “I’d be careful speaking to me like that,” I started. “People might think you don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are,” she hissed before snatching her hand away and stepping close until we were toe-to-toe.
“But I’ll tell you one thing, you sure as hell have no idea who I am.
Have a nice night, London.” With a satisfied glint in her eye and a flick of her hair, she stomped away.
I couldn’t help but watch how easily she weaved through the sea of people and exited via the staircase at the back of the bar.
Well, that was fun.
“Pretty, huh?” I frowned and flicked my eyes to the bartender who was stood drying a shot glass. “Trust me, I would.” He winked. I was just about to tell him to keep his filthy trap shut when a voice came from behind me, beating me to it.
“You would what, exactly?” An older geezer, dressed head to toe in black and hair so red it should have come with its own warning label leaned against the bar to my right.
“Wipe the drool off your fucking mouth and get back to work.” The guy tossed the bartender a napkin as the young lad scurried away with his tail between his legs.
I chuckled to myself as I began to leave only to be stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Not so fast, kid, someone wants to see you.” Kid?! Is this guy feeling alright?!
“You like your hands, Fireman Sam?” I asked.
“I’m quite attached to them, yeah.” He laughed and it was clear he wasn’t just anybody.
Did I care? No, I didn’t.
“Then get the fuck off me.” I shrugged his hand off but that didn’t stop him.
“Wasn’t a request, kid.” Uh-huh, so this was an order. Good job I didn’t take orders.
“And that someone can go get fucked for all I care. Ta-ra.” I made it all of two steps before I was intercepted by another older bloke, again dressed all in black. He pressed his index finger against his chin as his head tilted to the side.
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” The dark-haired gent was sterner than the other. With both of them clapping their hands to my shoulders I quickly determined it would be better to see who was beckoning me before trying anything. “The quicker you cooperate, the quicker you get to fuck off.”
“Alright, alright!” I flicked their hands off my shoulders. “No need to get your fuckin’ knickers in a twist! I’ve got legs.” I caught them glance at one another with a smirk. Wankers .
They directed me towards the same stairs the woman from earlier had disappeared up.
This could mean I was either getting thrown outside or ‘someone’ wanted to see me in the back office.
I rolled my eyes at the unwelcome interruption to what should have been a celebration.
As we exited the noise of the club into a dimly lit corridor, I noticed a heavily armed guy in front of a wooden door. He nodded before letting us through.
“Boss.” The red headed guy said as a middle-aged, Italian-looking man glanced up from behind a big mahogany desk.
The geezer had on a crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows showcasing an elegantly scrawled name ‘ Anastacia’ tattooed down one forearm.
Dark locks framed a harsh face that sported a long-healed scar running along his cheekbone.
He cleared his throat and tapped a finger sporting a black wedding band against a crystal whisky tumbler.
This man needed no introduction, it was clear as day who he was.
Lorenzo Ricci, Don of the Sicilian Mafia. Shit. And here was me thinking I was gonna have a quiet night to myself.