Page 51 of When She Unravels
“Wouldn’t put it past that son of a bitch to hire you just to spite me.”
“I don’t think Señor De Rossi spends a second of his time thinking about your feelings.”
Nelo’s eyes narrow into two lines.
Crap. I shouldn’t have said that.
He leans forward, bringing his face closer to mine. “What you know about how De Rossi spends his time?”
Our conversation finally catches the attention of his companions. One by one, their hard gazes land on me. They all look mean, without exception. One of them is sporting a fading black eye. Another has this gaunt look that can only be caused by excessive drug use or a life filled with violence. I’ve seen his lookalikes back in New York. Foot soldiers, usually. Men who live each day as if it might end with a bullet in their heads.
The last one seems the most normal at first, but then I see his eyes, and nasty déjà vu makes my stomach lurch. His eyes are just like Lazaro’s. Cold and utterly empty of any human emotion.
“I know he’s very busy,” I say, placing the last mixer on the table. “That’s all I meant. Would you like me to serve you the first round?”
Nelo flicks his gaze to the bottle and then back to me. “Sure,bella.”
He’s probably used to making people tremble under his stare, but my hand’s steady as I pour him and his friends their whisky.
The guy with the black eye says something to him in Italian. There’s too much of a local dialect mixed in for me to understand. Nelo snorts an ugly laugh. It’s enough warning for me to know I won’t like the next words out of his mouth.
He smirks at me. “There are some other ways we’d like you to serve us later.”
Placing the bottle back down on the table, I straighten out and pretend I didn’t hear him. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you guys. Have fun.”
The air grows taut and uncomfortable. It’s a game for them. They want to ruffle my feathers and show me just how superior they are to me. Round one is over. I turn on my heel and head back toward the main bar.
I decide I can leave them for at least thirty minutes while I serve my other customers. But not even ten minutes later, they wave me back over.
“We want the thing that table got,” Nelo says, pointing to a booth that has a six-liter limited edition bottle of Dom Perignon.
Of course, he does. Men like him are so predictable. They want the biggest, shiniest toy because they think it will make them look good, but in truth, people simply look at the shiny toy and glaze over them. “Great choice. Just so you know, it’s ten thousand euros,” I tell him while I eye the already-empty bottle on their table. Even with four people, they got through that quick.
“I don’t give a fuck. You think I look at the prices here?”
His entourage chuckles.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Great, I’ll bring it right over.”
“Hurry your pretty ass. And where’s the fucking dancer? We’ve been staring at an empty space since we’ve sat down.”
“She should be back from her break at any moment.” I glance around, my jaw tight. I really hate that my friend’s going to have to deal with them. I spy Astrid on the other side of the room making her way over here. She’ll recognize Nelo even without any warning from me.
The bright smile she wears wavers when she sees my expression. She takes in the men sitting in the booth, and I can see recognition flash over her face. But she’s a professional. She gets up on the platform in the center of the booth and greets everyone.
I doubt Nelo noticed her at the restaurant or knows that she’s my friend. It’s for the best. An association with me is unlikely to do Astrid any favors with this group.
The fancy bottle of Dom is so big that I need the help of another girl to bring everything over. A few people cheer as we walk by them. When we get to Nelo’s booth, his friends join in on the cheering.
“I need to get a video of that,” the gaunt one says. He pulls out his phone and starts recording as we set the bucket down on the edge of their table.
I’m so distracted by the commotion that I don’t notice Astrid isn’t dancing until I straighten back up. She’s not on the platform anymore. Instead, she’s standing directly across from me, by Nelo’s side. Her face is paler than normal. It dawns on me Nelo’s hand is gripping her wrist.
What the hell.
Guests aren’t ever allowed to touch the go-go dancers.
He tugs her to sit on his knee, like she’s a toy instead of a fully functioning human being and starts whispering something into her ear. She’s trying to pull away from him, but he won’t let her. Where are the bouncers?
