Page 22 of Claiming the Mafia Queen

She spun around on the bar stool and stood up, her eyes wide with surprise. She looks down at him and laughs briefly. “You know I could kill you right now and no one in this club would bat an eye…”

“What the…?” The man asks, before getting up and walking away.

“You’re such a charmer,” I snort.

“Another?” She asks, pouring whiskey into my empty glass.

"No," I say. “Maybe I should switch over to beer…. Or water…”

"But I've already poured it!”

"Drink it yourself," I laugh, pushing the glass to her.

She makes a face then pushes it to the man sitting to her left. “On the house…” she says with a wink.

The guy grins. “Thanks!”

“Get the girl next to me a club soda…” she points at me. Jamie smirks, but then looks at me questioningly.

I roll my eyes. “Just give me the damn whiskey,” I groan. “You’re as pushy as they come,” I joke.

“And you’re not?!” She jests. “How was your date? C’mon how was your date?” She mocks just before jabbing me in the arm with her index finger.

“I just asked how your night was,” I laughed, holding my hands up like I was backing away cautiously.

“Imagine that; a man can ask how someone’s doing without any ulterior motive…” she snorts, clearly losing her humor for the moment.

“So it was a sexually tense evening, I take it…” I smirk. Welcome to the dating world.

She shakes her head. “Hardly…thatI could handle…”

I didn't really know how to respond.

I had never been good at sympathy…

I’d also never been good at …comforting people.

But, there is a part of me that…wants to comfort her. And then again, there’s also a part of me that feels guilty for hearing all this. I shouldn’t know any of this. I shouldn't hear anything about her personal life. I’m here to kill her…

“Life’s a bitch…” she grumbles.

I nod, hoping none of the guilt I was feeling seeped through into my expression. Madam Rosa would be furious with me, if she knew I was talking to her like this. Despite myself I take another swig of the whiskey.

“Wow… I think I’m getting pretty damn drunk…” I muse.

“Pansy…” She brings the glass to her lips and downs it in one swift motion.

“Are you Irish?”

“Probably in there somewhere,” she considers quietly. “I just wish it tasted better…”

I shrug. “I think it tastes great… subtle hints of oak and aged vanilla…”

“Mixed with lava maybe…"

The bottom of the glass knocks her clutch over and out pours an array of items.

Lipstick…

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