Dark Queen

“To make us fucking weak—make us look weak. I don’t know, Luca. We have enemies all over the place. What about those fucking sewer rat bikers out in Little Rock? They killed one of your men.”

A dark chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Those inbred idiots don’t even know who they killed. It was over some woman and has been dealt with. Don’t go coming up with wild stories and then believing them, Antonio. You escalate things that have been put to bed, I’ll be really pissed off.”

“You’re always pissed off,” he grumbles, throwing the pillow across the room and hurling himself back down on the bed like an obstinate teenager.

Storming over to the bathroom, I boot the door open, splintering the wood. Horrified screams make my cock jump, but the sight of the whores’ faces caked in smeared makeup and skin coated in crusty cum does nothing for me.

“You wonder why I’m pissed off all the time?” I grate out. Grabbing one of the women by the arm, I drag her over to the bed and sling her at him.

“The maid found one these thieves in mother’s closet.”

Jabbing a finger in his direction, I snap, “Get them out of this house and pack up your shit. I want you gone.”

He’s wrong about Annemarie and Mom, but Serena…her death is a deliberate message. I just needed to find out who sent it.

Chapter Twelve

Alyssa

“You take their order and come back here to collect it,” Hannah tells me, pointing to the guy behind the bar hanging up glasses on a rack above his head.

She told me his name already. Steve—no, Simon.

“If they ask what you recommend, always point them toward our most popular bottle.” She drags her perfectly manicured finger down the menu, tapping on a bottle worth nine hundred dollars.

My jaw unhinges, making her giggle. It’s light and beautiful and draws the eye of the men sitting at nearby tables.

I was a little nervous about starting today, but Hannah has a calming presence that puts me at ease. “I’m around if you need me. Don’t be afraid to ask questions.” She waves her hand in the air before giving me a pad and pen.

Even the notepads are bound in leather, and the pens have “Parker” etched on the side. Everything about this place is expensive.

I breathe in, hoping I can pull this off. I’ve birthed a cow and raised livestock, this is a cake walk…right?

“Oh, and, Alyssa,” Hannah calls out, “stay away from Mr. Leto if he comes in.” Her brow pulls into a frown as she disappears into the back.

“Does he come in often?” I turn to ask the guy behind the counter.

Simon smirks at me, a dimple in his cheek. “Unfortunately, he has an office here.”

“Is he as bad as Hannah makes him seem?” I picture a white-haired older man with a stick up his ass.

Simon stops pouring a drink to look over at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re kidding, right?” He laughs, but it’s a nervous one.

I shake my head, confused by his response.

“You know who Mr. Leto is—what he is?” The way he’s talking makes it sound like Mr. Leto is some mythical dragon. “Just do as Hannah says and stay out of his way.”

I’m only here a few days a week anyway.

Not a problem. It’ll be a breeze.

I’ve managed to take four orders and only mess up two of them—which feels like a win.

My shift is almost over, I’ve made eighty-eight dollars in tips, and life feels good. Until the man in the dark blue suit comes walking through the door like a celebrity flanked by two men in black suits who peel off to stand at either side of the doors.

My hand shakes as I try to hold my pen in place.

His friend told him you come here filters through my mind, and I shut the thought down as soon as it happens. He probably doesn’t even remember me.

Our eyes clash, electric blue shocking every cell inside my body. My lips part. My breathing accelerates. Shock registers on his features, his eyes narrowing.

Please don’t sit in my section. Please.

“We’ll take bottle number twelve.” The girl I’m supposed to be serving grins up at me, gaining my attention back.

Her smile is infectious. I can’t help but return it, despite the butterflies flapping maniacally in my stomach. It’s the cheapest bottle we serve and has a fancy name I can’t pronounce.

“Good choice,” I tell her, taking the menu and tucking it under my arm. When I look up, the blue-eyed asshole is nowhere in sight.

I give Simon my order and head to the back to use the bathroom, needing to splash my face with cold water.

A gasp flees my lips as a hand squeezes around my arm, “Come with me.” A familiar voice growls, dragging me into the hall leading to the back offices as I attempt to free myself to no avail.