Page 4 of Power & Punishment

“You have until the end of the week to give me an answer,” the stranger says, giving my already seething brother an ultimatum. “Think about my offer. You know where to find me.”

The man’s dark yet smooth tone is enough to make me turn my head an inch. Which proves to be a mistake because before I can resume my neutral position, two sinful eyes pin me in place. The glance is brief before he turns back to my brother, but it’s enough to make my clothes feel like they’re clinging to my body.

I shift nervously on the barstool, squeezing my thighs together tightly. It’s the first time I’ve felt like fleeing since I got here.

The stranger lowers his voice, sinking to a muffled tone that I can’t hear. All I can make out is a few grunts before I hear two heavy footsteps coming my way. The first thing I see is a pair of leather loafers that look shiny enough to see my reflection in.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not nice to eavesdrop?” the man says, pulling my attention from the ground. I have to crane my neck at just the right angle to see his face, and when I do, I wish I was still staring at the stained tile.

A devastatingly handsome face stares back. Olive green with gold specks dance around his pupils, daring me to come closer. He has pitch black hair perfectly styled on top of his head in a classic, messy way that suggests carelessness but screams for attention. Not to mention his lips are perched in a careful smirk that tells me everything I need to know.

This man needs to be taken down a few pegs.

“If you don’t want people to listen then don’t talk so loud.” I shrug, turning back to my beer. He lets out a small huff of amusement, stretching out his forearms on the bar. The bartender comes running, but he coolly brushes her off.

“Very cute,” he laughs, undoing his sleeves that are rolled up to his elbows, “but I think you should be more careful in a place like this with that mouth. Someone not as nice as me might take that the wrong way.”

“That’s funny. I don’t get the feeling you are very nice.”

My insult only seems to pull him in closer. “Depends on who’s asking, Cara,” he drawls, sending a sweltering breath down the side of my neck. I pull at my sleeve to cover up the goosebumps waiting there to give me away. “But you should know, the man that owns this bar doesn’t appreciate strangers snooping around.”

I swallow hard, feeling thankful when he pulls away. “I don’t need a lecture,” I murmur. “Or a babysitter.”

“Wasn’t offering. Besides, you couldn’t handle one of my lectures,” he says, making small fireworks erupt all over my skin. My mouth goes dry as I try to regain my composure, but then he reaches for my hair, and I go stiff.

“Fuck off, pretty boy,” I growl, hoping he’ll get the hint. Thankfully, he drops his hand and steps away, but then another shadow takes his place.

“As much fun as this has been, I have places to be, and you have a date with the devil. Goodbye.”

I let out a long and much-deserved breath of relief, but the feeling is short-lived.

I guess I don’t have to find Dante.

He found me.

“Mia? What the hell are you doing here?”

3

MIA

“Ilove what you’ve done with the place,” I observe nervously, wading through the awkward silence.

We’re in the back room, which is basically an office, equipped with a rusty metal desk, a chipped-up poker table, and my dad’s old record player that collects dust in the corner. It was the one thing Vince kept when he took over the outfit.

“You can take off that dumb disguise. No one here is going to recognize you. I barely did,” Dante mumbles, lighting up a cigarette and balancing it on his lip. I wrinkle my nose, but I don’t say anything. Smoking is the least likely thing to get him killed. He’s lucky he made it into his thirties with his temper.

I nod, gripping the back of my wig and pulling it to my lap. Now there is no doubt that the man in front of me is my brother. We have the same dark brown hair and eyes. I’ve always looked more like Dante than Vince. We both looked like our mom, and Vince was Dad’s twin.

“I guess you’re here because you heard about Vince,” he says, taking a drag of the cancer stick. Dante doesn’t blink when he says Vince’s name, and if he were anyone else, I’d be concerned. But my brother grieved differently. He held everything inside until he found an outlet. It was usually fighting—another thing we had in common.

“Yes and no,” I say, rubbing my damp palms against my thighs. “I’m investigating Vince’s murder.”

“I’m aware,” he says nonchalantly, causing the back of my throat to burn.

I blink slowly. “Excuse me? How do you even know I’m a detective now?”

“Come on, sis,” Dante says, leaning deeper into his chair. “You might have left our family, but you can never truly leave. Vince kept tabs on you since the day you turned your back on us.”