Page 79 of Runaway in the Mafia
Sergio and Battista were already out when I walked out the door.
“Jet’s ready.”
It didn’t happen often, but sometimes I had to love my cousins.
Five hoursafter she told me she couldn’t be mine, I landed in London. It was three a.m. London was wet and cold as usual. We tracked him down to an exclusive, members-only VIP bar. The thing about exclusivity was that it came with a price. A friendly call to the owner, a fat cheque five times the payment of a yearlysubscription, and we were in. And I had to promise I wouldn’t kill him. Inside the premises.
We found the place tucked behind an inconspicuous black door. Karma must have called because it was located right next to an abandoned side alley, behind it, the dark waters of the Thames. Inside, the place was dark and moody. Burgundy walls, mahogany furniture, and a few drunks in suits. A glance at the menu when I passed showed no prices. It screamed money laundering, the kind of place where you charge a few hundred pounds for a cocktail, and you get a drink plus some amenities.
He was at the bar talking up a waitress. It was working, by the looks of it. I supposed if you squinted your eyes, took a fall and had a concussion, you could think he was charming. You’d probably have to have a drink first, too. Maybe a couple. I didn’t have the luxury of any of those. The drinks I’d downed had evaporated into mad rage. All I could see were fingers and hands that were going to look charming under a chainsaw. Sooner rather than later.
Sergio and Battista, hanging near the doorway gave me a warning look. Fine. I’d first sweet talk the man out of a public place.
I should have known they weren’t here to support me.
I strode up to the bar. Put my forearms on the counter and leaned against it. My peripheral view caught the waitress switching her attention. She dropped the jackass in mid-sentence and swayed up to me.
“Can I get you anything, sir?”
I turned to catch her fully. Ran my gaze down to the nip of her cleavage. Too pale for my taste, but yeah, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
She smiled, seduction in every move, and rocked up behind the bar. She whispered something to the bartender, who noddedand disappeared behind the counter. I watched her pour, ignoring the glare on my side. Irritation itched my skin at the amateur way she poured the amber liquid. She added ice.Clearly, her talents must lie in another area.
When she set it in front of me she dipped unnecessarily low, shoving her tits in my face. “Anything else for you, sir?”
“Nah,” I turned partly to the side and took a sip.
“You sure? You look sad. Maybe…” She made a show of reaching up and tightening her ponytail, making her tight blouse stretch on her full breasts. Another ponytail came to my mind, and my groin thickened like an instant touch.
A beat of silence and I realised I’d missed her words. “I missed that.” Fuck’s sake.Keep to the script, Vitale.
She gave me a look. Annoyed that I’d missed the show. “I said maybe I could help you out.”
“You think?” My stomach twisted with disgust as I gave her an appreciative glance over the rim of my glass.
She nodded eagerly.
“I guess I am sad.” I forced a laugh. “My wife left me.”
“Oh no.” She perked up. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“Right?” I dropped the glass on the table. “So what? She had it coming.”
She frowned.
I elaborated. “I only smacked her once.”
The girl backtracked so fast she stumbled into the cupboards behind her. Her gaze skittered all over the place, catching on my audience, behind my shoulder, to the left and to the right. Everywhere except on me. Was it the smacking part that did it? At least she had some standards. Knew what was right.
I frowned at her. “You seem distracted.”
“Me? No,” she croaked.
“Another customer?”
“Yes.” She grabbed tightly onto the escape route I gave her. “Excuse me.” And she was off like she’d had roller blades instead of feet.
