Chapter 7
Gianna
I barely have time to get ready this morning before Declan comes knocking on my door and ushers me out to the meetings.
I suppose I'm at least grateful for the respect this time. But considering right before that Finn barged in again to say goodbye before work, letting me know he'd had a talk with his brother, I can guess the reasons why Declan has behaved a little better.
I still don't know that I can trust either of them.
It's lonely, only trusting myself, because Vito isn't exactly at the top of the list either.
Being in the midst of angry Irish men who could devour me in a second is scary and intimidating, but attending those meetings is in my favor.
The sooner I get intel about the Irish, the sooner I leave this place and can figure out what to do next.
I've never been to any meetings Vito had, but I try to get as much information as I can.
Although, I'm told to leave after some minutes, to which I feel grateful and annoyed, but I have to remind myself that I can't possibly get intel in one day. Not the kind Vito would really want and consider enough to absolve me for.
Declan wouldn't be that stupid.
The hum of the hair dryer is a temporary distraction from my mind as I dry my hair from the downpour that hit us on the way back from those meetings.
Despite attending three of them, it's only just a little after lunchtime.
He's been only kind enough to get me a sandwich at a café.
I use a little of my own cash to get a new book; something to amuse myself with when I'm too in my head and all alone in this room.
It's funny how this is becoming as much of a prison as my room at the Rosso estate. I had vainly hoped this would be at least a little different.
I keep thinking of how I can reach Vito. I can't use my phone. I'm also watched 24/7. Even right now, Alex is outside my door.
Time ticks by, each minute more boring and silent than the last. I try to distract myself. I try reading a book, folding my clothes, anything to distract myself.
Finn doesn't return after he leaves this morning, so much for him being responsible for me.
Maybe it's for the best that I don't see him.
As the sun starts to set outside my window, a knock from the door catches my attention. I guess I'm still being treated with a slight bit of respect today.
I walk to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.
"Boss has called for you," Alex says, and my heart drops to my stomach.
I follow Alex down the elevator to the lobby, wondering where we're headed.
Walking around this estate feels like walking on the edge of a knife.
Not to mention, I have yet to figure out what's on all the floors.
I ask Alex, but all I get is a grunt. We walk out of the estate, and I stop, looking back. The sun has disappeared from the sky, and the air is a little chill for the jeans and sweatshirt I have on.
The city is alive, people pass by, cars drive past, everything looks as normal as New York should be. I can see three sleek black cars lined up down the steps from where I stand.
Alex realizes I stop moving and turns to me. He doesn't have to speak for me to know I'm pissing him off. My feet begin to move, and I catch up with him before we stop beside the first car.
The passenger window rolls down, and Declan takes out the cigar in his mouth. "Get in." That's all he says, and his window is back up.
I open the back door, wondering where we're headed, only to see Finn is in the back. Our eyes meet, and he looks shocked to see me. I blink, biting my bottom lip as anxiety sets in. Where are we going?
"Do you need to be taught to get in a car?" Declan says, talking to me like I'm just a speck of dust.
I get into the car, and Alex closes the door beside me. The ride is quiet, too quiet, and I keep glancing at Finn, but he just acts like I don't exist. His jaw and fist are clenched like he's holding back his anger.
What's his problem? Not like I care. Declan, on the other hand, is on his phone; they look like ordinary businessmen in their suits.
I look out the window, watching as the city passes by, its lights blurring like a dream I can't hold on to. I wonder what Elena is up to. God, this is torture.
The driver slowly presses on the brake, and the car comes to a halt. I look out the window, and my eyes land on the large, bright sign hanging above the entrance. 'Haven Bar.'
Why are we at a bar?
Before I can ask Finn, he's out of the car, and Declan too. I step out of the car after them, my boots colliding with the solid pavement. Declan and Finn go in first, but anyone can see there's a bit of friction between them. They look like they're arguing.
I don't know what to do, so I follow. I step into the bar and feel the weight of the room settle on me.
The bar is old, dark wood from floor to ceiling, carved like it belongs in some forgotten castle.
Every inch of it whispers money, history, and danger dressed up as charm.
It smells faintly of cigar smoke, leather, and aged whiskey—comforting, if you grew up around men who made their livings with blood-stained hands and well-ironed suits.
I scan the bar, and it has only about fifty people here, including the staff and bodyguards. I feel like the odd one out with how underdressed I am, and that earns me a lot of glares.
Behind the bar, rows of glass bottles catch the warm amber light. Nothing flashy. Just expensive. The broad-shouldered man with sleeves rolled to his elbows cleans a glass like he's been doing it since forever.
Declan and Finn disappear into the booth to my right, near the curtained archway where many of the men sit. All sharp suits and sharper eyes, laughter low and private. The chandelier above glows warm, casting halos over men who deserve anything but.
They're all members of the Irish. One of them, a redhead with knuckles like stone, another black-haired with blue eyes glaring at me in an uncomfortable way as he drinks from his glass. I look away, wondering why Declan brought me here.
I take a seat at the bar and keep my eyes front.
I wish the jazz music coming from the speaker were a little lower so I could eavesdrop on their conversation.
I try to, but all I can hear is laughter and the sound of every other person at the bar.
I sigh and raise my head to see the bartender looking at me like I'm someone who shouldn't be there.
I raise my brow and look away from him, but after a few minutes, he asks. "Do you want to order a drink?"
"No," I answer, even though I would very much like to, but I need to be alert.
This isn't a setting I'm familiar with. All it takes is one slip up, and I would become meat to chew if the men here knew who I am.
I wrap my hands around myself as cold seeps into my bones.
If I knew we were going to be out, I would have worn something thicker.
I glance to my right and meet Finn's gaze, glued on me. He says nothing but stares, and I'm starting to wonder if staring is one of the many talents of the Irish men.
I look away from him, my mind traveling to the argument we had this morning. I can't believe he would think of me so lowly. Sleeping with Declan? That's the most disgusting thing ever.