“Because I own the place.”
I know I should be shocked, but we are way past that. He’s a mafia Don, after all.
The bartender slams our drinks down one night, liquid sloshing over the rim, and I swear Giovanni nearly slamshiminto the table.
I take over before he can. “You’re watering these down,” I say.
“They’re fine,” the bartender mutters.
“They’re not.” I smile. “Make us new ones. And don’t ever try to swindle a colleague again.”
“Look, Miss?—”
That’s when Giovanni’s face goes dark. His hand slams on the table and his ring catches what dim light there is to catch. “The lady said to make them again.” He doesn’t rise from his seat, but his tone is hard enough to bruise. “Make. Them. Again.”
Maybe it’s the danger in Giovanni’s tone. Maybe it’s the second the bartender’s eyes snag on the ring and widen in recognition.
The guy blanches. “Of course, sir. Apologies, sir.”
“Don’t apologize to me.” Giovanni nods my way. “Apologize to the lady.”
“M-My apologies, Miss.”
My jaw nearly drops.
Once the guy leaves, I stare at Giovanni. “Do you scare everyone like that?”
“Only when they deserve it.”
Another night, I watch him finish a game of darts without missing a single shot.
“Do you ever smile?” I ask.
“I smiled once,” he says. “Didn’t care for it.”
I snort into my drink.
A few nights later, I catch him scanning the door again.
“Expecting trouble?” I ask.
“Always.”
“You must be exhausting to live with.”
“I don’t live with anyone.”
“Shocking,” I say sarcastically.
A corner of his mouth twitches.
The silences stretch, but they don’t press as hard anymore.
His updates aren’t much. Most of the time, he has nothing to report. But I always look him in the eye as he says it, and despite every instinct telling me not to trust men like him, I see nothing but the truth in them. Just a sea of burnished brown with hints of russet. Like rum, or sherry wine.
I tell myself Rose is safe. That the second she’s not, I’ll see it in his eyes.
And I keep showing up at the pub.
