Page 5 of Convenient Mafia Vows

He catches me easily, the force barely even knocking him off-balance. “Are you hurt?” He sets me down and holds me at arm’s length, scanning my face for blood.

I shake my head. His presence has halted the one-sided fight, and I realize that everyone is backing off now that the entertainment is over. Peering up into his face in the glow of the streetlamp, I understand why.

This is Caleb Murray. Owner of the Wraith, a sleek, black-mirrored, high-rise hotel in the city. Billionaire playboy rumored to have connections in all the right places, or wrong places depending on which way you’re looking at it. He has to be one of the most photographed people in the States, and he just saved me from at least a couple broken bones.

With a nod in my direction to acknowledge that I’m alright, he turns his attention to Killian. “Why the fuck would you settle your shit in the street? You want the one-fifteen on your back?”

“No, Mr. Murray.” Killian lowers his fists, muscles still twitching. I’ve never seen him look so sheepish or heard him speak with such utter deference to anyone before. “You’re right, of course, Mr. Murray.”

No, sir. Yes, sir. Three bags full, sir.

What the actual fuck?

I can’t help staring at the wide shoulders and narrow hips clad in leather and wonder if the guy’s cologne exudes some kind of pheromone that makes other men want to bow in front of him. Or maybe the rumors don’t do the man justice.

Either way, Killian is still groveling—I almost expect him to drop to his knees and beg Caleb Murray to go easy on him—and I wish I’d taken more notice of his chest because, well, a solid chestandblack leather…

“I’m sorry but the dumb fuck’s been stealing from my place for weeks and I finally caught him red-handed.”

While I’ve been staring, Mason has managed to slink away, crawling under the radar and waiting for it all to go away. But the truth is, if Killian caught him stealing, I know exactly how this evening is going to pan out, and I’ll be the one who ends up paying for it.

I back away, silently, sticking to the shadows even though my senses are screaming at me to stay close to Caleb Murray because Killian won’t try anything while he’s around, but he isn’t going to help me sort Mason out. I don’t even know if I can sortout this mess, but I learned a long while ago that burying your head in the sand resolves nothing.

So, once I’m out of sight, I run.

I catch up with Mason at the subway entrance. Blood is still pouring from his nose, and his left eye is almost closed behind swollen purple flesh. I grab his arm, and he pulls away from me like he’s expecting me to be a middle-aged beefcake.

His shoulders slump when he realizes that it’s me.

“Mason, tell me Killian was lying.”

His good eye darts all around as if I might’ve brought my boss back with me for more of the same. “Go back to work, Vic. I can’t do this right now.”

It’s all the answer I need.

I watch him stumble down the stairs and get swallowed whole by the subway, shivering as the adrenaline leaves my body and the chill night air raises goosebumps on my arms.

I walk back to the diner on legs that have forgotten how to move. Mason might’ve gotten away with a broken nose and a black eye, but I still have to face Killian… Without the backup of Mr. Biking-leathers-Murray.

The crowd has dispersed outside the diner. I’m about to head inside when I hear the roar of a motorcycle from across the street. I turn around to find Caleb Murray fastening a helmet strap beneath his chin and pulling a black visor over his eyes, but not before he looks directly at me, his gaze holding mine a beat too long.

My heart freezes before slamming into my ribcage in its haste to catch up with the beats it missed, and pulse racing, I follow the matte-black Harley with my eyes until it disappears before heading inside to face the wrath of my boss’s bruised ego.

“Get that bitch out of here!” I can hear him from the front entrance where Roy has placed my belongings onto a cleared table to stop me from going any further.

“Sorry, kid.” Roy stands between me and Killian. “He’s been watching Mason for a while now. He’s been coming in on Specials’ nights, swiping tips off tables, and dipping his hand in the register when you’re not looking.” He lowers his voice. “You’re lucky he didn’t call the cops.”

Lucky?I can’t afford to lose this job.

“Can I just talk to him?”

Roy shakes his head. “You’re wasting your breath, kid.”

Of course, I am. I just jumped onto Killian’s back to stop him from killing my brother. A vision of my interview with Killian springs to mind, practically begging him to take me on because, without me, our little family would fall apart. I literally did everything but tell him we’d end up on the streets, so he’s never going to believe that I wasn’t tipping Mason off about the best nights to come in and swipe some cash.

Killian owes me two weeks’ money, but I don’t ask for it. I gather my stuff and walk outside with my head held high—no way the fucker is going to make me beg for my money. I’ll just have to find another job. Pronto.

When I get home, Mason is nursing his injuries on the sofa, head tipped backwards over the side, and a packet of frozen broccoli over his swollen eye.

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