Chapter 2
MIA
This place hasn’t changed.
The second I push open the door, I’m bombarded with a familiar mixture of cigarette smoke and stale vodka. It smells like home, but that’s probably because my family lived above this bar for most of my life.
The lead from Vince’s murder had quickly gone cold.
Keith and I spent the afternoon following up on the valet ticket at Ristorante Ottaviani only to get stonewalled by a terrified waitress and a room full of people who’d rather jump off a tall building than talk to a couple of cops.
The only thing I learned was what I already suspected. Vince had been with someone important the night he died. Someone very difficult to track down without a solid set of prints or a license plate number.
It’s almost midnight, but a few patrons are hovering near the bar with a drink clinging to their hands. It’s hard to see faces through the haze of smoke, and I’m thankful for the extra cover.
Being back here slowly stirs up memories I spent the entire day trying to bury. Even the good ones like Sunday dinners with my mom laughing from the kitchen and my brothers arguing over who got the last slice of bread were too hard to relive. Because all those memories ended the same way.
My mom suffering from her disease and my dad desperate to keep her alive, pushing him toward riskier jobs that ended in his demise.
And then there’s the suffocating guilt of how I felt this morning standing over Vince’s body.
I should’ve been devastated.
Unable to contain my emotions.
But grief doesn’t hit me the same way it used to. Now I spend my days surrounded by death, giving closure to strangers that I never got for myself.
I take a deep breath, waiting for my pulse to hammer out of control, but it stays steady. I guess that’s what coming home feels like, except I can’t convince my brain to share the same sentiment.
Instead of making a beeline for the back, I slide onto one of the barstools hugging the counter and order a beer from the young woman tending the bar. She looks perky and full of life. She must be new. Thankfully, I’m catching some luck today.
I scratch the nape of my neck, feeling overheated from the blonde wig I wrangled my messy hair into.
It may be a bit over the top, considering I’m barely recognizable from my preteen years, but I can’t risk anyone knowing I’m here, which might make getting to the back room difficult.
I don’t even know if Dante is around, but based on the group of intimidating jackets standing in the corner, his crew is here.
My eyes catch on the back corner where a familiar stairwell sits. The last memory I have of this place is Vince helping me carry my suitcase down the stairs in the middle of the night. Then shoving me into a cab and dropping me off at the train station with an address and enough cash to start over.
Keeping my posture loose and casual, I try to pretend like I’m another nobody looking for entertainment in the form of a glass bottle.
I use the smudged mirror behind the bar to observe my surroundings.
The hallway to the back is clear, but that’s what they want you to think.
I have no doubt one of my brother’s guard dogs is nearby looking for a fight.
The bartender slides my beer over to me with a bright smile that feels surprisingly genuine. Where the hell did they find her?
“First time at Stella’s?” she asks, dragging a dirty towel across the counter. The name makes me flinch for a second. This place was named after my mom back when my parents were still madly in love.
“Something like that,” I lie, trying to reel in an ounce of calm energy. I wrap my fingers around the ice-cold bottle to help. She nods before trekking to the other end of the bar to take another customer’s order.
I take a long, cold sip of my beer while contemplating how to get into the backroom without turning too many heads. The only logical way is to create a distraction to lure out the doorman while I sneak by to see my brother.
Except the only plausible idea I can come up with is starting a fight and blaming it on the poor and fully inebriated old man sitting a few bar stools down from me. I’m about to ignore the guilt stirring in my chest until fate decides to throw me a bone.
I hear a loud commotion from the hall as two men arguing emerge.
“I thought we could be cordial, but apparently your brother was the smart one.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my brother, Leo,” a familiar voice growls. I keep my head pointed straight in front of me, but the temptation of looking for two brown irises that match mine is almost too much.
“You have until the end of the week to give me an answer,” the stranger says, giving my already seething brother an ultimatum. “Think about my offer. You know where to find me.”
The man’s dark yet smooth tone is enough to make me turn my head an inch.
Which proves to be a mistake because before I can resume my neutral position, two sinful eyes pin me in place.
The glance is brief before he turns back to my brother, but it’s enough to make my clothes feel like they’re clinging to my body.
I shift nervously on the barstool, squeezing my thighs together tightly. It’s the first time I’ve felt like fleeing since I got here.
The stranger lowers his voice, sinking to a muffled tone that I can’t hear. All I can make out is a few grunts before I hear two heavy footsteps coming my way. The first thing I see is a pair of leather loafers that look shiny enough to see my reflection in.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not nice to eavesdrop?” the man says, pulling my attention from the ground. I have to crane my neck at just the right angle to see his face, and when I do, I wish I was still staring at the stained tile.
A devastatingly handsome face stares back.
Olive green with gold specks dance around his pupils, daring me to come closer.
He has pitch black hair perfectly styled on top of his head in a classic, messy way that suggests carelessness but screams for attention.
Not to mention his lips are perched in a careful smirk that tells me everything I need to know.
This man needs to be taken down a few pegs.
“If you don’t want people to listen then don’t talk so loud.” I shrug, turning back to my beer. He lets out a small huff of amusement, stretching out his forearms on the bar. The bartender comes running, but he coolly brushes her off.
“Very cute,” he laughs, undoing his sleeves that are rolled up to his elbows, “but I think you should be more careful in a place like this with that mouth. Someone not as nice as me might take that the wrong way.”
“That’s funny. I don’t get the feeling you are very nice.”
My insult only seems to pull him in closer.
“Depends on who’s asking, Cara,” he drawls, sending a sweltering breath down the side of my neck.
I pull at my sleeve to cover up the goosebumps waiting there to give me away.
“But you should know, the man that owns this bar doesn’t appreciate strangers snooping around. ”
I swallow hard, feeling thankful when he pulls away. “I don’t need a lecture,” I murmur. “Or a babysitter.”
“Wasn’t offering. Besides, you couldn’t handle one of my lectures,” he says, making small fireworks erupt all over my skin. My mouth goes dry as I try to regain my composure, but then he reaches for my hair, and I go stiff.
“Fuck off, pretty boy,” I growl, hoping he’ll get the hint. Thankfully, he drops his hand and steps away, but then another shadow takes his place.
“As much fun as this has been, I have places to be, and you have a date with the devil. Goodbye.”
I let out a long and much-deserved breath of relief, but the feeling is short-lived.
I guess I don’t have to find Dante.
He found me.
“Mia? What the hell are you doing here?”