Chapter 8 - Arming the Waitress“Count me out,” I said instantly, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared at both of them. “You two can go play mobster civil war all you want, but this is my stop. You have your lieutenant back, you have your duffel bag of whatever illegal goodies are in there, and you have a clear path out the window. Go overthrow your brother somewhere else.”
Sal stared at me as if I had just spoken ancient Sumerian, his jaw dropping open. He looked from me to Roman, expecting the boss to put a bullet through my head for insubordination.
Instead, Roman just let out a low, gravelly chuckle that made his fresh stitches pull.
“You think Dante’s men are going to let you stay here safely once they realize I was in this apartment, Nora?” Roman asked, his voice dropping into a calm, chillingly logical tone. “Dante knows you saved me. Which means, to him, you are an accomplice. The moment we walk out that window, his cleanup crew will burn this entire building to the ground with you inside it to leave no loose ends.”
My breath caught in my throat. I looked around my tiny, pathetic apartment—at the floral rug ruined by blood, the shattered kitchen table, the broken door hanging off its hinges. The terrifying truth of his words settled over me like a freezing blanket.
I wasn't an innocent bystander anymore. I was collateral damage in a bloody family war.
“That is entirely unfair,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mixture of terror and white-hot rage. “I was just pouring club soda three months ago!”
“Life isn't fair, sweetheart,” Sal chimed in helpfully, earning a withering glare from me that made the seasoned enforcer take half a step backward.
Roman stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating off his broad chest beneath my oversized hoodie. He reached out, his warm, calloused fingers gently cupping my chin, forcing me to look up into his dark, unwavering eyes.
“Come with us,” Roman whispered, his voice softening into something hypnotic and absolute. “Help me take back what’s mine. And when this is over, I swear to you, every debt your father left behind will be erased, and you will never have to pour another drink for ungrateful strangers again.”
“And if we fail?” I asked, my voice barely a breath.
“Then we burn his empire down together,” Roman replied without a fraction of hesitation.
I stared into his eyes for three long, agonizing seconds, realizing with terrifying clarity that I had fallen completely, irrevocably into the orbit of a dangerous man who would destroy the world before letting me go.
“Give me a gun,” I whispered.
Sal choked on his own spit, coughing violently, while a dark, triumphant smile slowly spread across Roman’s face.
May you like
Roman turned to the heavy duffel bag Sal had brought, unzipped it, and pulled out a compact, matte-black Glock 19, checking the safety before sliding it gently into my trembling hands.
“Keep it on the safety until you’re ready to fire,” Roman instructed, his hand covering mine, steadying my grip around the weapon. “And aim for center mass.”
