But tonight it's nearly empty. Just a handful of patrons scattered at the bar nursing drinks. My skin prickles with unease.
A woman appears from the shadows near the host stand. She doesn't smile or ask how many in my party. Just gestures for me to follow her toward the back of the tavern where the lighting grows even dimmer. Vintage whiskey barrels serve as decoration along the walls. The floor creaks under my feet.
She leads me to a corner booth tucked away from the main room. A man I don't recognize sits there with his hands clasped on the table. Several other men stand at attention around the space—positioned near exits, by the bar, watching.
This is definitely not good.
"Miss Elena, please sit."
The man's smile makes my blood run cold. He's older—maybe mid-fifties—with thinning gray hair slicked back from a broad, fleshy face. His nose looks like it's been broken more than once and healed crooked. Small, pale eyes study me with an intensity that feels predatory. He's stocky and thick through the shoulders. The kind of build that comes from violence, not gyms.
Everything about him screams danger. The expensive suit that doesn't match the casual venue. The too-calm demeanor. The way his men have positioned themselves strategically throughout the tavern.
I sit cautiously and keep my hands in my lap.
"Do you know who I am?" His voice is calm. Almost pleasant.
I shake my head. Fear builds in my chest. This isn't Marcello and I should have realized something was wrong when the location changed. Marcello wouldn't meet me at a place like this—too public, too many potential witnesses even if it is empty tonight.
He laughs. "I suppose you wouldn't. My name is Ronan, and I work for the Costellos."
My eyes widen as terror floods through me. He's Irish, inner circle. This is so much worse than I thought.
"Don't worry, Elena. I'm not going to kill you. How would I get my money if you're dead?" His smile is predatory as he continues. "I'll get right to the point. Elio owes us a lot of money, and since we can't find him, we've come to you."
He leans forward, the overhead light casting shadows across his face. "We don't like repeating ourselves. I shouldn't have had to come down here personally, but..." His gaze travels over my face and down to my chest. "It's not a total waste of time. You are one pretty little thing, aren't you?"
My skin crawls at his tone. I shouldn't have come here.
"I-I'm sorry, I..." I stammer.
"I don't need apologies. I need money," he says sternly.
"I don't have any money. I've been trying to find Elio, but I don't know where he is..."
"Silly, Elena,” he tisks. “You’re part of the Rosso family." Ronan leans back with satisfaction. "And I know you have a trust fund from dear old mommy. So get me the damn money or..." Hepauses. Lets the threat hang in the air. "I'll have to pay a visit to Rina and Sofia. Make sure you really have no family left."
Tears form in my eyes at the thought of losing them. They're all the family I have left.
"No, please." My voice cracks. "There has to be something else. I'll work off the debt. Is there something I can do for you?"
The words are out before I realize how they sound.
Ronan's expression shifts. Something dark and hungry crosses his face. He reaches across the table and grabs my wrist. His grip is bruising.
"Something you can do for me?" He pulls me toward him. I try to yank my arm back but his men move closer. Blocking any escape route. "I can think of a few things."
"That's not what I meant—" I start.
He hauls me across the table and into his lap in one brutal motion. I land hard against him. His breathing goes ragged immediately. I can feel his arousal pressing against me and bile rises in my throat.
"Let me go!" I struggle against his grip. Try to push off his chest.
His hands tighten on my waist. "You offered, sweetheart. Don't back out now."
I manage to get one arm free and slap him hard across the face. The crack echoes through the empty tavern.
His expression turns murderous. Before I can move there's a knife pressed against my ribs. Cold steel biting through my shirt.
