I feel inexplicably hungover as I trudge around the Angels the next day in the late afternoon, serving the few early guests. My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts as I rush here and there, carrying trays of diverse mouth-watering meals.
The memory of Liam's kiss from the previous night is still so fresh in my mind, and I can't help but replay it over and over again, like the best scene in my favorite-all-time movie.
The way his lips felt against mine. The warmth of his touch. That's all I can think about. I want – no, I need to feel that again. To experience the same rush of emotions that washed over me the night before.
"Your bacon cheese fries with extra mayo," I hear myself say mechanically. The customer, a young woman with square-rimmed glasses, looks up in surprise.
"Sorry, there must have been a mistake. I ordered a mini shepherd's pie as an appetizer."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I apologize quickly. "Let me take this back to the kitchen and get back to you with your pie."
I'm in luck, and the woman is nice, so she laughs it off. Regardless, I can feel my face burning with embarrassment.
I was so focused on Liam Cavanaugh that I completely lost my focus on my job!
Coming into the kitchen does not help. My devious mind instantly imagines the two of us standing there, away from the prying eyes of the customers, Liam leaning in closer, pushing me against the kitchen counter. His eyes are filled with desire, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on my neck, sparks flying between us.
I slap myself back to my senses. Focus, girl.
Having finally correctly taken an order for two plates of mini beef wellingtons with onion marmalade, I keep reminding myself I must play the role of a dutiful waitress.
Dancing for the clientele is off the table so waiting tables it is. At least I have this job and can sus out the employees in the hope of finding out where Kieran is keeping Zerina.
Someone is bound to slip up with some information sooner or later. I've been here for hours and still haven't seen the faintest trace of my mother.
I slept like a stone beside Liam last night. Everything: the raid, then encounter with Mom, and eavesdropping on my parents had been too much for my already exhausted mind and body.
I expected to have nightmares, but they never came. And when I woke up, only a slight rumple on the sheets and a faint scent of open sea were proof that Liam had even been there with me in the first place.
I freeze in the doorway of the club kitchen. A shiver runs through me, then my body flushes hot-red as Siobhan's amused eyes and Nico's lustful gaze briefly settle on me.
She is wearing the same uniform as I am –: a fitted black dress, crafted from luxurious velvet which clings to her curves. It features a daring V-neckline that dips just low enough to hint at her decolletage without revealing too much. Our skirts, hemmed just above the knee, tease the audience with a glimpse of our toned legs.
The finishing touch to our ensemble is a pair of delicate silver earrings that dangle from our ears, catching the light and adding a bit of sparkle to our overall look.
My eyes dart between them, noticing Nico's palm on Siobhan's thigh. I never would have imagined these two were an item.
"So sorry," I blurted. "I just came in here to get the appetizers. I'll be out of your hair."
"No worries, darlin'. Nico and I don't mind if ye stay and watch, do we now?" Siobhan drawls.
My cheeks explode with heat, and I'm at a loss for words.
"No, we do not. Yet, I don't think Sandra here harbours such voyeuristic tendencies," Nico, surprisingly, comes to my rescue. "Don't mind Siobhan. She's usually a good girl," he drones with a wink.
"Good girl indeed," Siobhan says, her smile becoming wolfish.
If my face wasn't already on fire, that would have done it. Clearing my throat, I grab the two plates with appetizers, dump them on the nearest tray, and practically run out of the cooking space that's becoming too hot for my liking.
Weaving through the throng of tables, I balance a tray laden with food, my heart pounding in sync with the beat of the low-fi music. My gaze darts across the dimly lit club, searching for the secluded corner booth where I'm supposed to deliver the mini beef wellingtons.
As I approach, two men lift their heads, and the one closer to me gifts me a smile which combines boyish charm and roguish confidence.
His attire reflects his discerning taste: a tailored suit is hugging his athletic frame. His crisp white shirt, left partially unbuttoned, reveals a hint of tanned skin. A simple gold chain adorned with a delicate pendant rests on his collarbone.
I carefully place the tray before him. The tantalizing aroma of freshly fried food wafts through the air.
"Enjoy," I say warily without returning the smile, my voice carrying a hint of nervousness.
The man's eyes gleam with appreciation as he surveys the culinary delight, and then he turns his gaze towards me.
His dark hair, neatly styled in a classic pompadour, frames his chiseled face, accentuated by high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His eyes, a deep shade of sapphire, sparkle with a dash of mischief, hinting at his playful nature.
"Gracie, bella," he replies in Italian, his voice a smooth baritone.
"And thank you for being the most appetizing appetizer I've ever seen," says the other man, shorter and stoutier. He runs his fingers through his sparse blond hair and a blush creeps up my cheeks at the boldness of his words.
"Now, now, Tonio," the Italian chastises his table companion and then chuckles. "This one is much more than a delightful amuse-bouche, I assure you," he adds, his blue eyes twinkling with impishness. "She's a main course, a delectable feast for all senses."
"Always the flatterer, Matteo." Tonio snorts.
"Will there be anything else?"
Matteo's lips twitch at the wariness in my tone. The infuriating man clearly finds amusement in my discomfort.
"Your name, bella?" A dimple appears on his right cheek as the corner of his mouth tips up. "I don't recall seeing you in the Angels before."
I briefly consider not indulging his request, but then I rethink it. He's probably a regular and I'll most definitely be seeing my fair share of him. I can't draw attention to myself by acting all rebellious. I can handle this.
"It's Sandra," I reply curtly.
"Sandra," Matteo repeats the word with a predatory smile. "A lovely name. Did you know that in Italian, it means defender of people? You are as beautiful and charming as your name, cara." He leans forth.
A shiver courses down my spine, an instinctual warning that Matteo is getting too close for comfort. "If that would be all, I have other customers to tend to," I say dryly.
He lets out a chuckle, exposing a set of perfectly white teeth. "Or maybe they can wait, and you can take five and grab a drink with us."
Ew.
"My boss is specific about my orders, and my break times," I say. "'If you'll excuse me. I have to get to work."
Turning on my heel, I am determined to head back to the kitchen.
In my peripheral, I see Matteo standing up, determined to follow suit. Good Lord.
Okay. That man has some serious bravado. I'm all for confidence in a man, the more the better, but Matteo's confidence lacks any substance.
He intercepts me, a slimy grin on his face.
"Let me buy you a drink, Sandra," he says, reaching for his wallet. "Just the one, bella."
Wow. He's probably not used to rejections.
"The lady has said no already." The black velvet voice wrenches my gaze to the kitchen entrance.
Charcoal suit. Broad shoulders. Expression as dark as his tone.
My pulse skitters into overdrive.
Liam.
He bars the doorway, his irises glinting like sharp shards of emerald glass.
His imposing figure casts a menacing silhouette against the dimly lit club backdrop.
His body holds dangerously still, like the calm before a storm.
When did he get here? How long has he been standing there? How much has he seen, or heard?
The tension in the air is palpable as two men size each other up, their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills.
Matteo's mischievous smile widens, and he defensively raises his palms. A hint of amusement is playing in his eyes. "My apologies. I want no trouble," he says and retreats to the shadow of his corner booth, silent like a tomcat. Soon enough, only his sapphire eyes gleam from the dark.
Liam pulls me aside, daggers in his gaze.
"He's just a customer," I say, when the silence becomes too oppressive to bear. "I was bringing them some appetizers." I hate seeing Liam like this, and at the same time, I hate having this need to justify myself to him.
I am free to do damn well as I please.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I didn't do anything. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
Still, my nerves rattle like a loose windowpane in a windstorm.
"That man is not just an ordinary customer, sweetheart," Liam finally speaks up. His voice rumbles like a distant earthquake, sending tremors through my veins. "He is a member of the Italian mob. What did he want from you?"
I inhale a soft breath for courage. "To buy me a drink."
Liam's eyes sparked. "To buy you a drink?"
"Yes." I didn't want to lie, and Liam could probably find this information out with the snap of a finger, anyway.
"Nothing else? No information fishing? No hidden intentions?" The velvety tone doesn't change, but the undercurrent of danger ripples closer to the surface.
"Nothing else. Not that I've noticed."
"Right, if ye say so." If Liam grinds his teeth any harder, they'll crumble into dust. Goodness, how infuriating.
"I approached their table to take an order." If I am telling the truth, I might as well tell the whole truth. "I brought the order back. He asked to buy me a drink. I declined. He left, as you saw. The end."
Liam's eyes were near-black now. "Obviously not the end, given this lovely display of stalkerish behavior. Given my need to intervene."
"It's just a drink." I understand why he is upset, but he is making it into something bigger than it was. "It was harmless. And there was no need for you to intervene." I jut my chin.
"Some Italian mobster fucker wants to buy ye a drink, is singling ye out from all the other waitresses, and you want to tell me it's harmless? It doesn't take a genius to figure out what his intentions were."
Frustration overrides my misplaced guilt. "I couldn't care less about his intentions. I can't control what other people do or say. I told him I wasn't interested, and I'll tell him again if he persists. What else do you want me to do? Get a restraining order against him? I work here. Or at least I convincingly pretend that I do. I'm a big girl, Liam. I can handle myself. I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
Liam runs his fingers through his raven locks and sighs. "Fine. I trust ye."
I shift beneath his heavy stare, unconvinced.
"Just don't... Draw more attention to yerself than ye need to. Don't jeopardize our mission. Did ye find something out? About where they're holding Zerina?"
I shake my head no.
"Nico hasn't got a clue either." He sighs. "He brought her to Angels but hasn't been able to find out where she is now. It could be days before we locate her. Kieran is being extra careful now."
"It doesn't matter," I say. "I'm dedicated to the cause and I am not backing down. Sooner or later someone will slip up."
My answer only stokes the fire in Liam's eyes. "See, that's exactly what I don't want you to do. I hate it that ye will have to come back to this accursed place, day after day. Ye fancy yerself a tough nut, aye. Think you can handle my world and anything it throws at you. But..."
"Why does it matter?" My frustration bubbles over into a rush of words. "And yes I can handle it, I can handle myself like I've already told you and... Stop hovering around me like some... guard dog." I spit the insult at him in fury.
"It matters. It fucking matters. I've seen this life bring full grown blokes to their knees before, Sandra," Liam growls, fully justifying my use of the guard dog simile. "Ye shouldn't be here. Ye should be safe and sound, in yer hospital in Tirana, healing the world. Not strutting scantily clad, around feisty lads who look over their shoulders at every turn and question who is gunning for them this week."
"Well, tough luck because I'm stuck here for an unforeseeable time now. You don't get to dictate what I do, what I wear, how I feel and who I talk to, Liam Cavanaugh. That is not part of the agreement. You offered accommodation and protection. For everything else, let me do things my way."
Silence reigns in the aftermath of my rant.
Liam and I stare at each other, the air crackling like a frayed electric wire between us.
One wrong move, and it'll burn me alive.
I brace myself for his reaction – an explosion or yelling or some kind of veiled threat.
It doesn't come.
Liam merely mutters something along the lines, "Jaysus Christ. This woman is doing my fecking head in," before he walks away, not sparing me another glance.
I practically run into the kitchen, a welcoming sanctuary from all the negative energy of the club. The place offers a temporary respite for my already frayed nerves.
I slip through the swinging door, my heart still pounding from the unpleasant confrontation with Matteo and Liam.
Siobhan is there, leaning against the counter. Nico is nowhere to be seen.
"Everything okay?" Her face is etched with worry.
I manage a nod.
"What's going on with Liam?"
"Just dealing with his possessiveness. He's acting like some..." I don't even know how to phrase it. "Territorial alpha male."
Siobhan chuckles.
"What?" I lift an incredulous gaze. Does she think this is somehow funny?
"Oh, come on, Sandra," she says. "He's jus' being protective, luv. He cares about ye so much."
My eyes widen. "You think so?"
Siobhan nods, her expression soft. "Course I do," she assures me. "I've known the lad for a decade now. He and Nico are like brothers, they are. He can be a bit overbearing sometimes, but the way he's treating ye... Let's just say he's got your best interests at heart. I've never seen him behave like that around another woman before. And..." Her voice cuts off abruptly.
I lift my gaze, wondering what she was going to say.
Siobhan's irises dart towards the door, her tender expression morphing into a mask of sheer fear.
"Siobhan, what's wrong?"
Before she can word a reply, a heavy object strikes me on the back of my head, sending a jolt of pain coursing through my body.
The world spins around me, my vision blurring, my consciousness slipping away like sand through my fingers.
The last thing I see through the black-and-white haze is Siobhan's horrified face, her eyes wide with panic, her mouth agape in a silent scream.