“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered, heading back toward the kitchen. “Next time, remember where you are.”
The second he disappeared, Trina leaned over, one brow raised. “You got a death wish, sugarplum?”
I blinked. “What?”
Trina just stared at me, her expression flat like she was waiting for my brain to catch up.
“I mean, sure, I gave that man a little attitude,” I said, “but it’s not like I spit in his coffee.” I paused, narrowing my eyes. “Wait—what exactly are you saying?”
Trina leaned in a little closer. “I saw how you looked at him.” She shook her head and frowned. “That kind of man? Fuck around, and you’ll find out.”
I rolled my eyes. “You think I’m scared of the big bad wolf? What’s he going to do, steal me away in the dead of night, tie bricks to my feet, and throw me in the Hudson?”
She snorted. “That wolf’ll eat you alive. Don’t play cute with mafia types unless you want your pretty face rearranged. Yousmile at men like that, you’d better be ready to choke on the consequences.”
“Oh, please.” I laughed, flipping a rag over my shoulder. “Mafioso is just a TV trope. Overdramatized bad guys with pinky rings and daddy issues. That guy? Could you imagine him being some kind of Godfather? Ridiculous.”
Trina didn’t laugh. She shook her head again and grimaced, like I’d pained her. “Yeah, that guy?” she said, her voice dipping lower. “Carmine doesn’t take such good care of men like him for no reason. You saw how he was sweating. You also know Carmine doesn’t take much shit under his own roof. So, you put two and two together.”
That shivery feeling returned, snaking along my spine and curling around my ribs. But I would continue to stand my ground. I always did.
When I was ten, Miss Minerva, the old fortune teller who lived alone up in the holler, had told me, “You’ll never be harmed when danger stares you down, long as you never blink first.” She was half blind, wore brightly colored scarves, smoked menthols like they were holy sacraments, and swore the stars whispered secrets through her window at night. People said she was crazy—and maybe she was—but half the county still drove up that winding dirt road to sit in her parlor and ask what the spirits saw. And damn if she wasn’t always right.
She’d said I was born under a warrior’s moon. That I was meant to chase storms, walk into fire, and never run. That real danger wouldn’t touch me—so long as I met it head on.
I had taken that to heart.
Ever since, I hadn’t been afraid to take risks. I’d learned how to perform ten or twenty feet above stages on aerial silks, chased Broadway dreams with nothing but a suitcase and my own tenacity, and pushed through the grief of losing my mama, daddy, and sister without breaking. I’d taken every dareand opportunity life had thrown my way—dancing, tumbling, riding bareback, mouthing off to men who thought “no” meant “maybe”—and I’d done it all with my chin up. People said I was brave. Truth was, I believed in my heart that I was untouchable.
And maybe that was why I hadn’t flinched when Carmine and Trina told me I’d just pissed off Mr. Dangerous.
Maybe that was why I smiled.
Because part of me knew that fear was not a part of my destiny. That was how I lived. No seat belt. No backup plan. Just heart, hustle, and a little bit of hellfire. I wasn’t built for shrinking. I was built for burning through whatever tried to hold me back.
That was my life now. By sunrise, I poured oat milk lattes for actors dreaming of Tonys. After dark, I danced for devils and didn’t care if they ever noticed me—until now.
Now, I’d love nothing more than to have that man’s eyes on me.
God help me.
The angrier I’d made him, the more heat had shot straight between my thighs. What was wrong with me?
Even back home, I’d always been drawn to the bad ones—the ones with tattoos, heavy metal—boys with no filters and faster hands than sense. But my daddy had always kept them at bay, Grandpa being a Baptist preacher and all. Here? There was no one to stop me.
And I didn’t want to be stopped.
“Order up!” shouted the barista.
Startled, I grabbed the tray full of food and drinks and delivered it to one of the tables by the window. Then I busied myself checking on tables, taking more orders, and cleaning up a mess left by three kids who’d been running their mother ragged as she’d tried to enjoy her latte. Still, my thoughts drifted back tohim.
That man. The one who wore danger like a second skin—black coat, black shirt, black watch that probably cost more than my car. Icy-blue eyes that cut into my soul and looked like they’d seen every sin known to man and committed most of them. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass and ink all the way up his throat and down his fingers.
Nothing about him screamedgood. But his threat? God, some buried part of me wanted him to follow through on it. Maybe Trina was right—maybe I did have a death wish. At least for my innocence.
Hours later, I hung up my apron on the hook by the back office and grabbed my things. I pulled on my old black high school hoodie—the Cosby Ravens—over my head, the sleeves bunching over the tee I wore beneath, the hem hitting me mid-thigh. Then I slung my beat-up canvas backpack over one shoulder and took off out the front door. My jeans were coffee stained from the morning rush, but I didn’t have time to care. I was already running late. Today I had an important audition.
With one glance up, my shoulders eased. The clouds had mostly cleared, and the sun sat high in the sky, casting a golden shimmer on the sidewalk grime. For once, the weatherman hadn’t lied. It was warming up just like he had promised, and thank God for that. The chill from this morning had finally eased, and the concrete jungle buzzed under blue skies. Car horns honked. Food carts sizzled. Somewhere down the block, a saxophone wailed as if it had a broken heart and rent due. I could relate.
