Chapter One #2
I set the shaker down. “It depends on who’s asking.”
“Nico Torretti.”
My grip tightened around the shaker tin.
Torretti Harbor Capital was the company behind the countdown.
I left my hands on the bar and my knees locked. The room stayed too hot, too bright, too full of people ordering vacation in plastic cups.
He didn’t blink or fill the silence. He just waited while I absorbed it.
I gave him my best customer-service expression, the one that charged extra for fear.
“You’re a long way from Jersey, Mr. Torretti.”
“So are you.”
“I came for the weather.”
“I didn’t.”
Shay’s towel stopped moving at the edge of my vision. Taryn slowed near the host stand. Mari’s knife went quiet for one beat in the kitchen.
I gave them the smallest shake of my head. The message was simple: work, pour, sell. Nobody needed to panic until I could schedule it.
Nico noticed the gesture. He looked from my staff to the exits, then to the patio, the kitchen pass, the register, and the back hall. He took in my whole bar in three seconds and made it look lazy.
“What can I get you?” I asked.
“I’m not here to drink.”
“You sat at a bar.”
“I’m here about what you owe.”
The words stayed low enough that the tourists didn’t turn. A colder sweat gathered between my shoulder blades. Quiet men with nice watches were how trouble wore cologne.
I reached for the little plastic cup and slid it across the bar. “Then you can multitask. It’s a limoncello margarita, the house test batch.”
Nico studied the cup.
I waited him out.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“I came to collect a debt, not get emotionally assaulted by lemon.”
“You came into an Italian beach bar in Miami. Lemon was always a risk.”
He almost smiled.
I stirred the garnish tray with a spoon so I had something to do.
He picked up the cup and smelled it first, like he was on a yacht instead of in a bar where the equipment was threatening my life.
Then he drank.
His eyebrows lifted a fraction.
I leaned both palms on the bar. “Careful. If you compliment it, a fairy dies.”
“It’s too sweet.”
“You’re too overdressed.”
“It needs more acid.”
“You need less jewelry.”
Nico showed just enough teeth. They were very white, very straight, and just sharp-looking enough to make me remember I had survival instincts. Unfortunately, my survival instincts had a long history of confusing danger with dinner plans.
He set the cup down. “You always talk this much when you’re cornered?”
“I’m from New Jersey. This is how we say hello.”
“Is that what this is?”
“No, this is customer service. If I were saying hello, your shirt would already be part of the conversation.”
He glanced down at his open linen shirt, then back up at me. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“It looks like it came with a bottle-service minimum and a cousin named Rocco.”
Shay coughed into her towel.
He stayed focused on me. “You’ve got a lot to say.”
“I’ve got a liquor license, a fryer, and a man in designer swim trunks trying to scare me before dinner rush. Commentary is the complimentary bread.”
Mari slapped the bell. “Two mozzarella, three calamari, one tomato pie square, and somebody better run food before I start throwing cones.”
Dusty appeared from behind Nico with a tray balanced on one hand. “I’m available for mozzarella transport on a human level.”
“Be physically available,” Mari called.
“I can evolve,” Dusty said.
Nico turned enough to watch Dusty pass. “Your staff always like this?”
“Do you mean useful?”
“I mean colorful.”
“They’re mine,” I said.
He faced me again, and for one second, he went still enough that the noise around us seemed louder.
Then the front entrance filled with a wave of sunburn, perfume, beach bags, and damp flip-flops dragging sand across my floor.
Taryn lifted her hand from the host stand. “Nella, I’m seating eight on the patio unless the sky opens or someone confesses to a seafood allergy.”
“Seat them. Push the calamari cones. Tell them the limoncello margarita is almost ready for people with sophisticated palates and poor impulse control.”
Nico nudged the cup with one finger. “It still needs acid.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“You handed it to me.”
“I handed it to you so you’d have something in your mouth besides threats.”
He laughed.
He didn’t laugh loudly or like a cartoon villain. It came out low and surprised, and for one awful second I wanted to hear it again. I grabbed the lime squeezer and looked busy before he saw too much.
“What did your office tell you?” I asked.
“That you’re late.”
“I know I’m late.”
“That you’re overextended.”
“I know I’m overextended.”
“That you signed terms you don’t have room to ignore.”
I tightened my grip around the squeezer. Lime juice ran over my thumb, sharp and cold.
Nico went still for one beat. He didn’t move. He didn’t reach for me. He didn’t make a show of noticing.
I set the lime shell aside. “Did your office also tell you that I’ve got five days?”
“They did.”
“Then why are you here on day one?”
“To make sure you understand the difference between a courtesy window and a miracle.”
The fryer hissed behind me. A blender kicked on. Somebody on the patio cheered because a drink arrived on fire. It wasn’t supposed to be on fire.
I pointed toward Shay without looking. “If that’s the spicy pineapple, blow it out and charge them two dollars extra for drama.”
“Already did,” Shay said.
I faced him again. “I understand plenty.”
“Do you?”
“I understand that the people you work for gave me five days because even they know Bite Me can make the money if this week goes right. Summer vacation just started. I’ve got a full patio, a kitchen that smells like God loves carbs, and a drink menu designed to separate tourists from their dignity in a legally cheerful way. ”
Nico rested his forearms on the bar. His watch flashed under the string lights. “That’s your plan?”
“That’s the polite version.”
“I’m listening for the impolite one.”
“You sit down, order food, watch me work, and stop breathing foreclosure energy on my mozzarella.”
His expression tightened a little, but he still looked amused. “Foreclosure energy.”
“Yes. It clashes with the neon.”
“Nella,” Shay said quietly.
Hearing my name pulled me half a step back from the edge. Shay stood by the service well, not scared, exactly, but ready. Taryn had moved the waiting party away from the bar without making it obvious. Mari watched from the kitchen pass with a ladle in one hand and murder in her eyes.
My people were watching, this was my bar, and I was the one standing between them and the man in linen.
I lifted my chin. “You’re not doing this in front of my staff.”
He went still. When he spoke, his voice was more careful. “I didn’t come here to embarrass you.”
“No, you came here to collect.”
“Yes.”
“At least we’re being honest.”
“The honest part is the debt.”