Page 34 of Wanted Beta

It’s everything I imagined when I dreamed about opening my own place.

I saved what I needed to make that dream come to life, working hard and missing out on little luxuries and, for the most part, a social life, and now here I am. Standing in the middle of a beautiful yet completely empty restaurant at what should be the busiest time of our day on a Saturday afternoon.

“We need to do something,” I murmur, though I’m not quite sure what that something is.

“That’s my department,” Gio admits, getting to his feet and putting his jacket on. “You’re the chef. You make the food. I’ll go find Jack and help him get the word out. Tell Arrow to call Jack when you need us back here.”

I nod slowly as he puts his jacket on and heads for the door.

Most businesses take a bit of time to start making money.

We’ve only been open for a few weeks.

We’ll figure this out.

Chapter Thirteen

Gio

Ifind the flyers before I find Jack. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume he walked six steps away from the front door of the restaurant and tossed them into the air.

The sidewalk is littered with them.

Christ.

We can’t get one single thing right with this business venture.

I walk on, trying not to wonder how much money those scattered flyers represent. They’re the least of our worries. We bought a fucking building. So, now if the restaurant fails, we’re stuck living in the apartment above it while we figure out our next move.

That was my mistake. I found this place. I picked it out of all the listings we looked at, sure that it was the perfect spot. I was the one who worked out the costs and decided it was smarter to put in an offer to buy than to rent.

If the restaurant continues to fail, it’s on me.

My pack are relying on me to take care of them, and it feels like I’m letting them down.

It doesn’t help that Enzo’s determined to make me quit my extracurricular money-making activities.

So what if gambling can be a little addictive?

The money’s good, and I rarely lose.

It’s the one damn thing I’m good at.

The only thing, really.

I blow out a breath as I weave my way through the Saturday crowds.

Everyone moves much slower on the weekends, and it drives me nuts.

My fingers itch to grab my phone and call Jack to find out where he is, but Enzo confiscated it so I’ll just have to take the route he said he would walk to hand the flyers out.

Whenever I’m not sure which turn to take, I can just follow the trail of flyers.

It’s like a yellow brick road, except it’s made of broken dreams.

Namely, Enzo’s broken dreams.

I should have found a better spot for him. I should have looked for something closer to the city’s centre, maybe something that hadn’t been closed down for so long that no one even seems to see the building anymore.

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