No Neri.
Just him.
That detail needles at me more than it should. I don’t know why I notice absences so easily now, but I do. I notice patterns. Gaps.
I spend the whole night watching him out of the corner of my eye while pretending I’m not. Every time I glance his way, he’s already looking at me. Not staring or anything. Just… watching, like this is all deeply entertaining.
It pisses me off.
I glare at him whenever I catch his eye. He answers with the faintest curve of his mouth that tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking and finds it funny.
After dinner service, he moves to the bar.
Of course he does.
He takes a seat at the far end, one arm draped casually along the counter, and the looks continue. If anything, they get worse. More lingering. Like he’s testing how long it’ll take before I snap.
I don’t give him the satisfaction.
I pour drinks. I wipe counters. I smile at customers who don’t know or care that my nerves are stretched thin. I ignore Giovanni with professional precision.
Closing time can’t come fast enough.
When it finally does, I’m coiled tight with irritation and something I don’t want to name. I lock the back door, finish wiping down the bar, and reach for the light switch.
I turn around.
He’s right behind me.
“Fuck—” I curse, heart slamming into my throat.
“Tense much?” Giovanni says mildly.
I clamp down hard on the urge to punch him square in the chest. My hand actually twitches before I stop it.
“Do you get off on sneaking up on people,” I snap, “or is that just a bonus feature?”
He lifts an eyebrow. My words don’t seem to bother him one bit. “I didn’t sneak. You were just very focused on not looking at me.”
I scowl at him, pulse still racing.
One day, I’m going to stop resisting the urge.
Tonight is not that day.
“So?” I draw myself up, trying to project more bravado than I feel. “Are you ready to tell me what happened to my friend?”
He doesn’t answer me. Just tilts his head towards the pub across the street.
Right. Our deal.
He starts walking. I debate for a second about doing the sensible thing—getting the hell out of dodge. Never talking toGiovanni Gallo again outside of bar service. Forgetting about Rose and hoping for the best.
But I can’t. I can’t forget Rose’s disappearance any more than I can forget Coral’s.
Can’t resist the pull of Giovanni’s back sinking deeper into the shadows.
Can’t ignore the gut feeling that, somehow, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
