Page 14 of Invoking Ruin

Not sweet enough.

You could be a little more open, Sandro.

When are you going to settle down and be an adult?

I pull my hand back, and the voices quiet. The man is smiling at me, as though he’d heard every word.

Impossible. I shake my head.

“I wouldn’t mind another glass of that wine,” he says.

“I thought you didn’t like it.” I grab the bottle and refill the glass anyway.

“It’s growing on me.”

It sounds like appeasement, but what do I care, it’s his euro.

I hand him back the glass and he takes another sip. “Perfect, thank you, though you could work on your pour.”

“My pour is perfect.” The man is just trying to be difficult now.

He shrugs, still far too amused. “Nothing is perfect. That’s the beauty of perfection. What’s your name, bartender?”

Truly, some customers can’t be pleased, but my manager will have my head if he complains. “Alessandro.”

My full name feels less intimate than the nickname I usually go by.

“A grand name for a bartender. Shouldn’t you be off conquering the world, or something?”

“I don’t think that’s something people do anymore these days.”

“Shame. Modern people don’t care about living up to their potential. Or their destiny.” He takes another swallow of wine, making a face at the taste.

Is he drinking it for spite? Or is he already so drunk that the taste doesn’t matter? Not many people would be inebriated over one glass, but I’ve seen stranger things.

“Where are you from, then?” I ask, trying to change the subject from my inadequacies.

“What makes you think I’m from somewhere else?” he replies.

I wave around the bar and shrug. “Never seen you around, and this town is about eighty percent tourists this time of year. Not a hard leap.”

The man chuckles. “Fair, but you shouldn’t make assumptions. Leaves a poor impression.” He wags the wine glass to make his point.

“And criticizing the wait staff doesn’t?” A waiter brings me another order. A welcome distraction. This wine won't go unappreciated at least.

Another laugh. Maybe I’m getting somewhere.

“There’s always room to improve. You should thank me for the constructive criticism. How else would we know the areas where we’re lacking?”

I wipe down the bar. The repetitive motion keeps my rising temper in check. Customers aren’t usually so difficult. He has to be trying to get a rise out of me on purpose. Some bet with his friends? Maybe someone’s filming this and I’m about to go viral.

Fucking wonderful.

Well, I’m already in the shit, if that’s true. Might as well go all in. “So because I’m not attempting world domination, and you’re determined to drink wine you don’t like, I’m the one who needs to improve myself? You don’t know me.”

“Ah.” The man leans forward, his dark eyes taking on a predatory glint. “That’s where you’re wrong, Alessandro. I know a great deal about you.”

A chill runs up my spine. “We just met,” I point out, keeping my tone mild. “You didn’t know my name five minutes ago.”

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