She Drank Tequila Alone at 2:13 A.M.—Then She Realized the Mafia Boss Was There
She Drank Tequila Alone at 2:13 A.M.—Then She Realized the Mafia Boss Was There
At 2:13 a.m., Meline Hayes pushed her engagement ring into a puddle of tequila and watched the diamond catch the light. Twelve hours earlier, she had been choosing flowers for a wedding at the Drake. Now she could not decide whether the ring was worth selling or whether touching it again would make her sick.
The bartender set a glass of water beside her. “You should have some of this.”
“I should have done a lot of things.”
He left it within reach and moved away. Meline liked him for that.
Rainwater darkened the shoulders of her charcoal trench coat. Beneath it, an emerald silk dress clung coldly to her knees, the dress Bradley had once said made her look like someone who belonged beside him. She had put it on before leaving their apartment because it was hanging closest to the door.
The Obsidian Room lay beneath street level, hidden behind an entrance she had once mistaken for a service door. Bradley had brought her here twice, always late, always insisting they sit where nobody could overhear them. Tonight, she had chosen it because she knew it stayed open.
Now she wondered whether that had been another mistake.
Above the bar, on a small mezzanine, Declan Fitzpatrick watched her turn the empty glass between her fingers. He noticed the coat, the abandoned diamond, the way she checked the entrance whenever footsteps sounded on the stairs. Heartbreak explained the drinking; it did not explain the fear.
Liam O’Connor stepped into his booth carrying a tablet. “Carmichael missed another deadline.”
Declan’s gaze remained below. “How much?”
“Three million outstanding. We think he’s preparing to leave.”
“Find him.”
“There’s something else.”
That brought Declan’s attention around. Liam placed the tablet on the table, displaying a company registration and a photograph attached to a document. Declan looked from the photograph to the woman at the bar.
“Meline Hayes,” Liam said. “His fiancée.”
Below them, Meline’s phone vibrated inside her coat. She did not need to look to know who was calling. Bradley had gone from apologies to threats before midnight, and the last message remained bright in her memory: You have no idea whose money you’re interfering with.
She silenced the phone.
A stool scraped beside her.
“Taken,” she said without looking.
“Your coat seems willing to share.”
The voice was quiet enough that she turned. The man beside her wore a midnight-blue suit, and nothing about him suggested he had arrived hoping to be noticed. The bartender saw him and straightened.
“I’m not good company,” Meline said.
“I’m not asking you to entertain me.”
“Then what are you asking?”
He glanced at the ring. “Whether you intend to leave that.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“That seems to be the theme of your evening.”
She looked at him sharply. “Do you always introduce yourself by being unpleasant?”
“Declan.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“No,” he said. “It was an introduction.”
She almost smiled, which made her angry. He ordered bourbon, then waited while she picked up the water instead of the tequila. Beyond his shoulder, a man on the mezzanine watched the room with an attention that did not resemble leisure.
“You’re frightened,” Declan said.
“I’m angry.”
“Both can be true.”
Meline set down the glass. “You don’t know anything about me.”
His eyes shifted briefly toward her phone. “I know Bradley Carmichael has given you reason to be careful.”
Every small sound seemed to sharpen.
“How do you know Bradley?”
Declan looked directly at her. “He works for me.”
She slid off the stool, reaching for her bag. Before she could move away, the velvet curtains at the entrance parted, and three men stepped inside.
One looked straight at her.
Declan stood.
“Those men,” he said, “are why you shouldn’t leave alone.”
