Page 6 of The Bonventi Hitman
I nod, my stomach knotted with nerves at the thought of what's on the other side. Bill pushes on the door, and we step into a spacious room filled with a group of mobsters, their faces etched with arrogance. My heart skips a beat when I recognize Liam, the man who brushed my ass upon our introduction, standing among them.
What is this something Bill wants me to do? He better not be the something.
"Stay here," Bill says to me.
He walks over to Liam and whispers something in his ear. Liam's gaze meets mine for a brief moment and then returns to Bill, a smirk playing on his lips. He nods in agreement and turns to the waiter in the room I hadn't even noticed. "Leave us," he commands. The waiter hurriedly exits.
Bill returns to my side and removes his jacket from my shoulders. He puts it back on and then leans in to me, his hand resting reassuringly on my hip.
"You're here to serve drinks and look beautiful. Nothing more," he says, his voice loud and steady so the others nearby will hear.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm and focused. I can do this. I look to my left and see a table in the corner. Atop it is showcased brown liquid in expensive-looking crystal decanters, a box of cigars, a black ice bucket, and some glasses.
"Take a seat, gentlemen," Liam announces and looks at me, "pour us a round, doll," he says while looking me up and down.
I nod and smile, "It would be my pleasure."
I turn to start making the drinks, and the large door slams shut. I'm startled and turn, and I see him. Standing against the wall beside the door is Gabriel. He looks in my direction, his green eyes piercing into me, and then shifts his gaze toward the men sitting around the table.
I'm fucking locked in a room with some of the most dangerous men in town, and a trained killer I just got way too close to is blocking my exit.
My hand shakes as I pour the brown liquid into each glass. The decanter feels heavy, and it almost slips out of my hands. I'venever served drinks at a party before, let alone to dangerous mobsters.
As the meeting begins, I circulate among the mobsters, handing them drinks and trying my best to blend into the background. The conversation is heated, with Liam and the others discussing territory and the need for the Italians to show more respect for their Irish counterparts. I keep my eyes down and my movements inconspicuous, praying that my cover won't be blown.
But I can feel Gabriel's eyes on me. Watching me. I glance in his direction, and he doesn't shift his eyes away.
He wants me to know he's watching me.
I hear Liam cough and he looks at me. He points to an empty glass. I grab the decanter and walk over to him.
He watches me closely as I refill his glass, his gaze lingering on my body. I feel a shiver of revulsion run through me, but I force myself to remain composed. This is all part of the mission, I remind myself. I can handle this.
As the meeting continues, the atmosphere in the room grows tense. Some of the mobsters are clearly unhappy with the way things are progressing, and their frustration is palpable. Bill, always the professional, tries to calm the situation, reminding them of the importance of maintaining a united front against their growing enemies in the city.
As time goes on, I can feel the anticipation building in the room, the mobsters seemingly on the verge of reaching an agreement that could reshape the balance of power. My heart races, knowing that I'm bearing witness to it.
Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by a deafening crash as three figures shoot their way through the windows surrounding us, sending shards of glass spraying across the room. My scream is drowned out by the sound of gunfire as the men open fire on the unsuspecting mobsters.
I drop to the floor as bullets ricochet off the walls. I reach for where my gun should be, but there's nothing there. My dress wouldn't allow me to carry.
The smell of gunpowder quickly fills the room.
I observe in horror as Liam's blood sprays across the table. I see Bill fall back in his chair, and while reaching for his gun, his body jerks, and he tries to stand.
On my god, he's hit. Bill's hit.
I scream out to him, but my voice doesn't break the noise made by the gunfire.
He turns to look at me and tries to speak, and then it's as if the devil had come to show me the worst thing imaginable.
Bill's shirt turns red, and he falls to the ground, his eyes on me as he's hit three more times. I watch as the only person who's ever believed in me falls to the ground and dies.
"Conner...Conner..." I scream, but the only person I want to hear me doesn't and never will again.
I feel myself hyperventilating; I'm not shot, but I feel like I am. My heart's beating a million miles a minute, and I struggle to breathe.
Someone yells, "The Russians. The fucking Russians," and the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. This is a turf war, and I'm caught right in the middle of it.
