Page 5 of The Deal

My nostrils flare as I blow out a long, frustrated breath through my nose and reach for my scotch again, downing the remaining amber liquid in one gulp.

I’m on my third drink, and I’ve finally managed to tune out my accountant. I listened to all the important things he had to say regarding our finances, but now he’s moved on to bragging about some young broad he’s been fucking behind his wife’s back.

Mistresses are commonplace in my world, but I havenever aspired to participate in that aspect of this lifestyle, which is why I’m content to remain single.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. I’m privy to a revolving door of beautiful women, but marriage is sacred to me. Well, it used to be.

As a young boy, I felt differently than I do now. I wasn’t aware of the dark side of my father back then. I thought I came from a normal, loving family and always envied my parents’ devotion to each other. I’d hoped to have something just like that for myself one day.

What a fool I was.

Up until my mother’s passing—God rest her soul—she kept my brother and me sheltered from all of it, but after we lost her, I found myself thrown into a world that felt more like a nightmare than my new reality.

The man I once looked up to … aspired to be like, turned out to be an illusion. Once you see someone for who they really are, you can’t go back to seeing them as the person you thought they were.

I’ve fought tirelessly to distance myself as much as possible from my father and his depraved values. I’ll never be able to sever those ties completely—the Mancini blood runs thick—but I have managed to go it somewhat alone and forge my own future. But, of course, my father has infiltrated every single one of my businesses to some point. It’s the price you pay for freedom.

If I wanted to continue living my new life, I had no choice.

Being yourself in a world that’s constantly trying to make you something else isn’t easy.

He’s toxic and tends to pollute everything around him, including my little brother … always creating problems for every solution. It’s a vicious cycle and so fucking draining. I try to live my life with honesty and integrity, but my old man doesn’t care about how I feel. He’s more concerned about how I make him look.

Pushing thoughts of him out of my head, my attention flickers back to the bar. It irks me that I’m so invested in my present enigma—the woman from the window—who is currently on her second drink. This one she paid for herself, using that mountain of loose change she dug out from the bottom of her purse.

She seems to savour every sip, or she’s stalling. I can’t quite work out which one it is. The slight hunch in her shoulders tells me she’s troubled by something. Is she weighed down by the world like I am? That thought has me wanting to go over there, wrap her up in cotton wool, and take her home, but that is not the type of man I am. That’s a whole lot of trouble I don’t want or need.

I would, however, like to offer her drinks on the house for the rest of the evening, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t want that. Pride can be a fickle bitch, but knowing your place in certain situations, and acting accordingly, is called self-respect.

Thankfully, the dick in the grey shirt took the hint and didn’t return, but within minutes, another guy approaches her.

Do they feel that same pull I do?

This one is staggering, which means he’s drunk, and that has the potential to lead to trouble.

I shift forward in my seat and rest my forearms on my legs to get a better look. My gaze briefly flickers to Marco, who is standing a few metres away from them, with his back against the wall. He’s now watching them as well.

At first, the drunk guy leans against the bar and signals the server, but his attention quickly returns to her. She’s oblivious to everything that is unfolding. She’s staring into space, so lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice him hovering.But I do. One false move, and I’ll be over there in a flash.

His drinks arrive, and I see he’s also ordered one for her, ready to make his move. I should have him cut off, but I’m curious to see where this goes.

She may not realise it, but she’s safe here. Marco is one of three personal security detail that follow me wherever I go. The other two are strategically placed throughout the room.

I also have a team that is a permanent fixture at my home. I hate that this is what my life has become, but it’s warranted, considering who I am.

The guy clumsily slides the drink he bought in her direction. Spilling some of it over his hand as he goes.Fool.

It’s not until the drink is in front of her that she notices both it and the dickhead beside her. She gives him a slight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, politely shakes her head, and pushes it back towards him.

The persistent fucker doesn’t know how to take no for an answer—just like the other guy—and immediately shoves it back towards her, but this time, he uses so much force the glass tips over and its contents spill into her lap, causing her to leap off her stool.

I’m so invested in watching her that I didn’t see Marco approaching them or the drunk guy’s friends cheering him on from the sideline.

As soon as my security grabs his arm, his friends, who appear to be just as drunk as him, move in. I can sense what’s about to happen even before the first punch is thrown.

By the time Antonio and I are across the room, all hell has broken loose, and the woman—my little enigma—is standing there wide-eyed and caught right in the thick of it.

Chapter 3

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