Page 96 of Her Dark Salvation

“It’s okay you have a thing for him, Siobhán.”

“No, it’s not. Who has a thing for players?” She took the toothpick and remaining olive out of her drink and pointed it at me. “Players who don’t even like you. Players who actively dislike everything about you.” She ate the olive and drained her drink. “That’s messed up.”

“Consider you’re talking to someone pining after a man who told her they had no future together.” God, that hurt to say out loud. Siobhán winced, and I finished my martini. “You know what’s the worst part about the whole thing?”

“What?”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll have to go back to having boring sex.”

“Oh God.” She grabbed my arm, and a horrified expression crossed her face. “Was that what you were doing before Marco? Having boring sex?”

“Terrible! I can’t go back to that any more than I can go back to teaching. I can’t.” I shook my head. “I won’t!”

Her eyes widened. “This requires more alcohol.”

The second martini went down as easily as the first, and responsible middle-aged adults that we were, we slowed our roll with the third. I had enough trouble standing in high heels, I didn’t need any added challenges.

We danced in our corner to the music, free of troublesome men and inhibitions, and in a blur of vodka, dancing, and laughter, 12:30 a.m. and last call came out of nowhere.

“You’re not done, are you?” Siobhán asked, eyes sleepy with alcohol. “Do you want to go home?”

“Nope.” I glared at my martini glass, its emptiness a personal affront.

She cocked her head toward the winding staircase, which now had a bouncer standing in front of its velvet rope.

“Really? We can go up there?”

“Hell yeah, we can go up there.”

“Awesome.”

Siobhán grabbed my empty, put both glasses on the bar, and with an off-kilter twirl, pointed at the bouncer. “Upstairs!”

I laughed and half-danced, half-stumbled up the winding steps.

Cigar smoke stung my nostrils. The vents were working overtime to pull the thick smoke into the chimneys, but in the presence of a full gambling house, it was a losing battle.

All six card tables worked in earnest, hundred-dollar-bills stacked in piles next to each seat. Waitresses hurried between tables and booths, and a topless dancer spun suggestively on the pole in front of a few men chatting and placing bets with one of the servers. Marco’s men dotted the periphery, all muscles and sunglasses and intimidation.

Siobhán and I grabbed the last two seats at the bar and ordered another round of drinks. The smell of cigar smoke and leather combined with the dim lighting and soft music reminded me of Marco and the first time Siobhán and I had gone to Vesuvio for drinks. I’d already been smitten. I was still smitten.

No more lying to yourself, Anna.

All right. I’d fallen in love with Marco sometime between our first dinner and the night he showed me off in front of Boston’s high-society, pride and adoration beaming through his million-dollar smile. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I was sure it had happened, because every time I thought of a future without him, the space he occupied in my heart ached with emptiness.

I sighed and spun on my stool to face the card tables. Whatever. I didn’t need one more person telling me what I should and shouldn’t want from my future. That part of my life was over. Marco needed to come correct. And if he refused? Good riddance. I wasn’t about to try and make something work with a man who thought he could make my decisions.

A loud thump drew my attention to the back door. Two muffled thuds. The guards closest to the back straightened and signaled to the guards at the front.

The door swung open and slammed into the opposite wall with a bang. It startled me so severely I slid off my chair and landed on my knees. I scrambled, pushing the hair out of my face, and gripped the barstool.

Men dressed in black and wearing ski masks charged through the door pointing handguns and shouting.

Some of the poker players shot up from their seats and lifted their hands in the air. Others sat back, mouths agape, palms flat on the playing surface. The dealers spun around, eyes darting to where Marco’s men froze in place. The dancer pressed herself against the wall and covered her breasts with shaking arms.

Siobhán stood in front of me. The pale fingers of her left hand quivered even as her right hand reached behind her back, took the cell phone out of her jeans pocket, and handed it to me. My hand shook so violently I almost dropped it, but I managed to hold on, hiding it beneath my palm against the top of the barstool.

“Don’t fuckin’ move and don’t even think about going for your weapon or I’ll put a bullet through your fuckin’ head.” The masked man’s voice was thick with the Boston accent.

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