Page 2 of Drowned in Gold

I stop analyzing when his sharp blue eyes catch mine.

Oh shit.

My chest weakens just like it did growing up. Whenever he’d stop by, it was always the same. Not exactly a quick glance, not exactly a murderous stare, but something in between. His gaze is a time machine of teenage angst. Only he’s more dangerous now. Far more.

My stray thoughts are starting to get the better of me, then I feel Stacey posing next to me to try and steal his attention. That brings me back to reality. Except his eyes haven’t left mine, and I catch myself wishing – Nope! Don’t humor that teen crush, Gia. His scarred lip curves a little bit upward, a moment of recognition flashing in those cold eyes of his. They almost seem… warm. With a hint of—

His eyes shift away as he passes, before I can make up my mind at what that look was about, and the moment of eternal butterflies is over.

“You think he noticed me?” Stacey asks.

“Sure.”

We stare dumbly at the mafia conga line’s back, until a voice makes us both jump in place.

“Girls! What the hell are you doing? I just got a complaint that table six has been waiting thirty minutes for their food!” Marty – my boss – scolds us. “Chop! Chop! I don’t pay you to ogle the VIPs.”

Stacey hisses at him like a cat, then turns away to adhere to the order, grabbing me with her. “Uuugh, girl! How do we get in the baller room?” She tries to peek past the curtain.

“We don’t. They hire their own staff that they’re comfortable with… Probably because they do God knows what in there,” I say.

“I want to do God knows what in there,” Stacey says, half in a trance as I push her into the kitchen.

“Trust me, you don’t want anything to do with their business, Stace.”

“Here we go again. First you keep me away from your brother, now you try and stop me from hunting that piece of meat.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have the cops bang down your door, guns pointed at you? ’Cause I do. Marco’s been in jail six times.” I grab the next set of plates – including the bitchy girl’s pernil. “I’m trying to protect my friend.”

“My thighs are telling me that’s what I want, though. I can’t keep denying them!” She holds her plates high over her head while dodging another server, then winks at me on the way to her table.

She’s got a point… Castor is Adonis in human form, wrapped in devilish ink. An Italian with crystal blue eyes and blondish hair is as rare as an upstanding gentleman in this lounge, and seeing him again ignited something buried deep away.

My last four dates were spread out over three months, and none of them, I mean none of them, had an ounce of fire in them. It was supposed to be a good thing… I guess. Ever since Marco beat someone bloody at a family dinner at Castones in the city – just for getting his order wrong – I swore off the mob life. Not that I was ever a part of it, but still, I was close enough to be collateral one day. And by the looks of things, it would’ve been soon. So, no fire, means no problems.

It makes me nervous that my brother wasn’t with Castor. Those two are usually joined at the hip. I hope something didn’t happen to him.

After another hour of bouncing thoughts, and auto-pilot serving, the clock finally strikes midnight. I exhale a long sigh of relief and grab my tip roll for the night, grateful it’s enough to cover this month’s rent, and Friends reruns are finally on the horizon.

“Night, Stace.” I kiss her on the cheek.

“Bye, bitch! Gotta run. Have a Tinder swindler date in less than an hour.” She shimmies at me on her way out.

“What the hell kind of date starts at one in the morning?”

“The sexy kind. Bye!”

I smile as she hustles out of the restaurant, wishing somewhere deep down I had her energy. Most of the time I’m too exhausted to meet another dud, and sometimes I feel I have nothing to offer either. I’m in a rut… Which I guess I’m just realizing now.

Tap. Tap.

On my way out, two meaty fingers touch my shoulders, and my brow furrows when I turn to see Marty standing there with his arms folded.

“What now?” I ask.

“You’ve been summoned by his highness.” He nods toward the curtains, obviously annoyed.

“Huh?”

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