Page 45 of The Bonventi Hitman
I look into his eyes, contemplating my next remark.
I place the glass down.
"Good girl. Now," he says and leans against the bar, "why don't we leave?"
I scoff. "I'm here on a date."
Gabriel's face changes, and he looks at me with an intensity that I know is frustration. "I'm your only date."
I shrug. "Well, it's been three days, so I thought I'd test the waters."
I can see him get upset, but he doesn't allow himself to show it. I'm learning that sometimes he decides to hide it.
"I see. Well," he says and stretches out his arm for me to take, "we can't have that. You're coming with me."
My chest tightens as I hook my arm around his and allow him to escort me wherever he has planned.
We walk out of the ballroom and make our way across the lobby to the opposite end. We stop in front of some old-looking doors, and Gabriel opens one to reveal a hallway that slopes downward. It's lit by one dim light.
"Umm, that looks dangerous," I say sarcastically but honestly.
Gabriel laughs. "There's nothing dangerous about a hallway."
"When it looks like that, there is."
"Come, Bella. I have something to show you."
I hesitate for a moment, then retake his arm and follow him down the hallway. It's cold and bare. As we approach the one light source, it looks like an antique from the turn of the century. It has one of those Edison-style light bulbs where you can see the filaments.
"You know, they say Al Capone himself had this light put in, and that he'd turn it off if the cops came so they'd be in total darkness, allowing everyone to escape."
"Escape from where? The hotel?" I ask, not following the story.
"No. Up ahead. You'll see."
As we continue to walk, I see what looks like a dead end. A large sheet of worn steel takes up the entire wall, and nothing else is present. As we approach, I feel myself getting a bit nervous. I try not to let it show, but I feel Gabriel can tell, as my grip on him tightens.
He smirks and reaches forward, pressing something in the wall. A handle pops out, and he pulls. The large metal sheet swings forward, and I see it's actually a door.
I'm welcomed to one of the oldest and last remaining speakeasies in Chicago.
I step into the hidden room, and the warm glow of vintage lamps casts shadows across the mahogany wood and dark leather booths. The subtle scent of cigar smoke and whiskey hangs heavy in the air, fitting for such a place.
"Please, Sofia," Gabriel says and points to a cozy corner couch. "Take a seat, and I will get us something."
As I sit, I watch as he walks over to the bar and engages in a friendly-looking conversation with the barman. It's clear he knows him.
I take this moment to look over Gabriel. He's dressed in a fitted tuxedo with shiny black shoes. His matching bow tie makes him look almost like Mr. Bond.
I guess if James Bond was 6'4", had a fair bit of tattoos, and was a trained hitman whose job it was to kill people.
The way he carries himself, so confidently and easy-going. Never in a million years would you think he's capable of the things I've read about and now seen.
Gabriel returns and sets a fancy drink of some kind down in front of me and slides in, holding his usual whiskey.
I grab my glass and look at the pink-colored drink with a decorated rim.
"What is this?" I ask.
