Page 12 of Ruthless Mafia Heir

"Okay, thanks..."

I wrestle my arm out of his grip and hurry off, and I hear him calling after me—the name I have on my tag, not my real one, which I haven’t been able to get printed up yet. I stifle a yawn as I reach the kitchen again and take a swig of the coke that’s sitting on the side for me.

It’s been two weeks or so since I got the job here, and I’m still getting used to the chaotic dinnertime rushes at this place. Though, honestly, the staff have been so kind and welcoming, it’s hard not to feel like I belong.

I have Blake to thank for this job, of course. But I’m still not entirely sure why he decided to help me get it. Sure, he’s just doing his job as a student support officer, but at the same time... at the same time, it feels like there’s something more to it. Something going on just out of sight, just out of the corner of my vision, that would help me make sense of this. I’ve been trying to ignore it, all this time, but I’d be lying if I said it was easy.

Is this his way of making up for the way he talked to me the first time we met? Surely not. He doesn’t strike me as the type who cares that much what people think of him. The way he’s been ducking and dodging my questions about his family, though, perhaps there is stuff he doesn’t want me to know.

"Hey, sweetheart! You need to get this out now! Boss is eating!”

My head snaps up, and I see Raul calling to me, gesturing to the food on the counter in front of him. I rush over and pick it up, and he gives me the table number.

And when I step out of the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks. Because at the table, along with Patricio, the manager of the place, is none other than Blake.

I blink, staring at him. I must be seeing things, right? There’s no way this can be real. Because… because Raul said it was the boss eating, and Blake isn’t...

I rush the food over before I can get too lost in my thoughts. Blake glances up and offers me a grin when he lays eyes on me. There’s something a little crooked about his smile, the way he flashes his slightly pointed canine teeth, and I have to swallow hard before I can get out a greeting.

"Hey, Blake..."

"Hey," he replies. "How are you getting on? I thought I would stop by and check on you."

"What, you’re a secret shopper now?" I manage to joke back. He chuckles.

"Something like that."

"She’s the one you hired, wasn’t she?" Patricio remarks as he gestures to me.

Hired? My ears prick up.

"Suggested, yes," Blake corrects him, and Patricio waves his hand and grabs the wine.

"You know what I mean. She’s here because of you."

"I am," I reply. "And I’m really grateful to both of you for giving me that chance..."

The bell rings in the kitchen again, and I dart off to deal with it. I don’t know why, but seeing Blake right there in front of me, there’s something about it that throws me off my game. Like he doesn’t belong here. Or maybe that there’s something I’m not getting in all of this.

The boss. That’s what Raul called him. And then, Patricio made that comment about him hiring me. Could have just been due to the generous portions of wine he lubricates his day with, or...

I pause for a moment to take a sip of my drink, leaning up against the office door as I do so. It shifts slightly behind me—oh, it’s not locked. I glance around, checking that nobody is paying attention, and, before I can think better of it, push the door open and slip inside.

It’s quiet in there, a little sanctuary from the noise of the kitchen and restaurant. I don’t even know what I’m doing in here, exactly, what I’m expecting to see, but I just want to make sure… to make sure that Blake isn’t involved with this place. I don’t know why, but I can’t relax until I’ve found out, one way or another.

There’s a chaotic pile of papers on the desk where Patricio works—bills, notes, scribbled messages, and phone numbers. Glancing over my shoulder to make sure that I'm not going to be disturbed, I begin to go through them, trying to find anything that doesn’t look out of place.

A lockbox catches my eye. A large padlock dangles off of it, and it’s inscribed with initials. I trace my finger over them—BD. BD... Blake Devereaux? But what would he be doing dropping money off here...?

"What are you doing in here?"

I flash around, my heart leaping in my chest.

"Sorry, I was just catching my breath," I reply to Raul, who’s leaning in the doorway, an incredulous expression on his face.

"You should keep out of here," he warns me as I push past him and out into the kitchen. "You don’t need to know everything that goes on behind the scenes in here. Trust me."

"Like what?"

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