Page 13 of The Devil's Playground

Just before I dial him, I glance out into the crowd. It’s the underboss in me; I know better than to be caught off-guard. A quick surveil around the club to make sure that everything is okay, then I’ll call Jake, make sure he isn’t giving me any more grief than he has.

One quick look an?—

Hang on?—

What’s going on by the bar?

Nicolette is back—but she isn’t alone. A man a head taller than her is standing right in front of her. She has her empty serving tray tilted up, shielding her in an obvious display of discomfort as he’s talking down at her.

The wallet is too close. Too familiar. Completely taking over her personal space as he leans in, tapping the briefcase he’s holding in his other hand. Her eyes are darting to the side, looking for help, though no one else at the Playground seems to notice she’s in trouble.

No one but me.

I look at my phone. Pocket it inside of my suit jacket, then slip out of the booth.

Know what?

Jake can wait.

Nicolette obviously needs my help—and I was a fucking moron to think I could really stay away from her.

FOUR

TEN GRAND

NICOLETTE

Sometimes I’m amazed that Officer Burns suggested I apply for this job.

That was back around Halloween. I’d only been working at Mama Maria’s for about six weeks then, but I met the steely-eyed cop and his young wife during one of my first shifts. Considering all of my prior work experience—that I was willing to put on a resume, at least—came from doing various serving jobs in Willowbrook, I settled in quickly at the cozy Italian restaurant near my mother’s house in downtown Springfield.

It was fine. Set in a seedier part of the city, the customers tipped as well as they could. I was still grateful to have found a job anyway, but when one of my regulars mentioned that I might be a good fit for the local nightclub, I was curious.

Then I discovered he meant the Devil’s Playground and I almost couldn’t believe it.

I thought it was so odd. A cop of all people having an in with one of the local mafias… but who am I kidding?

Two years in Willowbrook didn’t make me forget about the corruption in Springfield. I knew from experience that the cops were either in Devil’s pocket or Damien Libellula’s. The ones on the East End wouldn’t help me survive; they’d hand me right back over to Kieran if they knew the truth of who I was.

But Officer Burns? I think he saw in me a victim—fuck that, a survivor—and, regardless of whose payroll he’s on, I’ll always appreciate how he not only told me to apply, but he gave me a glowing recommendation to the man who interviewed me.

It was a formality. Rolls mentioned that Burns said I was his favorite server at Mama Maria’s, and while he and his wife, Angela, would miss me there, there was money to be made serving at the Playground.

And, like I told Rolls, I needed money. I’ve never shied away from the fact that I’m an independent woman who needs to survive on my own. Money makes that possible.

Did that mean I was for sale?

Men like Miles Haines obviously think so.

I don’t know why I’m so hard against just taking a second gig upstairs. With my mom in Florida, it’s not like I have anything else to do when I’m not working. Too worried about being seen, I go to the Playground and back, and that’s really about it. I stay home. I watch television. I read books.

Why shouldn’t I kill a couple of hours with some company, get paid well for it, and forget for a moment that I’m super fucked up when it comes to intimacy?

I want to say it’s being here in Springfield. That the specter of Kieran Alfieri has me holding back, but if I’m being honest, it’s more than that.

It’s him.

I know I’m being silly. Ridiculous. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, I keep sneaking peeks at my gorgeous boss—not Jessie, but the man who hired me—whenever he’s at the Playground. Maybe if he hadn’t been the one to so matter-of-factly explain that I could stay downstairs and sell drinks, or I could go upstairs and sell myself, I might have thought about it.

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