Chapter 60

“You should not be discounting Christian’s friendship, Iris,” Frankie growls at me, pulling me closer to him, even as I dig in my heels and throw my weight back.

“Frankie!” I groan between my teeth, trying to be quiet and looking anxiously towards the office door behind us where there’s still a gigantic, terrifying mafia boss who thinks we’re on an Aperol run. “Can we do this somewhere else!?”

He hesitates, I think trying to see if I’m trying to get out of this or something, but then he too glances back at the door before starting forward. My arm still wrapped in his hand, we stride together into the bar where he pulls me into a corner. I briefly glance towards Andre, who just groans and tilts his head back when he sees what’s going on, before turning my attention back to Frankie.

“Like I was saying,” Frankie grinds out from between his teeth. “Christian would give a shit about everything that was happening in that room, and it would cause a lot of problems for him –“

“Exactly!” I say, tossing my hand up and kind of losing my cool, letting go of any pretense of trying to pretend for Andre that things are fine. “Problems for him! He wouldn’t have given a shit that his dad was trying to slide a hand up my skirt –“

Frankie’s face goes pale at the mental image.

“Or that he offered to make me one of his girls!”

Frankie’s hand loosens, dropping. Instantly, I fold my arms across my chest, glaring at him even though half of my anger is for Christian now. “Yeah,” I say, nodding, my words sharp. “That’s the problem, isn’t it – everyone is worried about the troubles I’m causing them, not about me.”

“Iris,” Frankie groans, covering his face with his hands and loosing a deep breath, clearly exasperated.

“And stop calling me that,” I say, dropping my clenched arms so I have a free hand to smack him with. “That’s not my name here, and as we learned last night, people are still looking for me.”

“Fine, fine,” he says, dropping his hands from his face and giving me a glare. “You’re right. I am…losing my cool and forgetting things now. But Bambi, if you think I went in there to get you because that’s part of my job?” he gestures, now, back towards the office. “And that Christian would care most because of the trouble?”

Slowly, deliberately, he shakes his head, holding my gaze the whole time.

And again, I go still, my mind processing his words.

Because…I mean, what is he saying right now?

“Are you two done?” Andre snaps, and I jump, spinning to see him standing at my side, glaring at me. “We have a bar to open, Bambi. And this drama, which you said didn’t exist, is getting in the way.”

“We’re done,” I snap, turning from Frankie after sending him a final glare. “And there is no drama. I didn’t lie about that.”

Frankie watches me go, his teeth clenched, but I do my best to ignore him as I stride at Andre’s heels, determined to concentrate on my work, but that all absolutely goes to shit as soon as Lucy’s scream breaks the air.

I freeze, my head whipping to the front of the room where two men come charging in, black ski masks pulled over their faces, the muzzles of their guns spitting fire.

Idiot that I am, I freeze in my spot as Andre dives behind the bar. Everything after that happens insanely fast as Andre shouts my name, clearly demanding that I get back behind the bar with him, but I can’t move –

My eyes are fixed on the men, who shout unintelligibly, looking wildly around. Somehow, in the mix of it, I catch the name “Romano!” but then there are two pops from my left and the men fall.

On instinct I spin, gasping as I look behind me to see Frankie standing there, his arm stretched out straight, a pistol in his hand. He looks forward and I spin again, back towards the men in the masks. They’re flat on the floor, completely still, but my eyes widen when I see the pools of red spreading out around their heads.

Head shots. Head shots.

Frankie, from fifty feet away in a dark room, executed two perfect headshots with about five seconds’ notice.

I start to shake before I can even process what’s happening, but Andre’s voice is already ringing out in the room. “Are we clear!?” he barks, and I start to blink, the sounds coming back to me in the room.

“Not yet!” Frankie shouts back, starting to stride towards the door. He spares a glance for me, his voice calm and low, “behind the bar, Bambs, it’s all right – I just have to check –“

And then he is beyond me, and I do as I’m told, ducking behind the bar and crouching down. Back there, my eyes lock with Andre’s. He holds my gaze steadily, giving me a nod as I start to hyperventilate a little bit, the panic and the shock hitting me all at once.

There’s still someone crying out there, but I can’t – who –

Beyond Andre, I see the two other bartenders crouching down, their faces stressed but set, like…god, like they’ve done this before.

Is this – is this a normal part of my job!?

“Clear!” Frankie calls and Andre stands, looking over the bar, his face grim.

I stand too, slowly now, peering out. As I do, Don Romano strides into the room, moving immediately for Frankie and ignoring the rest of us. I watch as the two of them have a quick consultation, as Frankie gestures to someone I can’t quite see at the front of the room – someone still crying – by…by the hostess stand?

My mouth drops when I realize that it’s probably Lucy –

“Bambi!” Frankie’s voice immediately draws my focus, and I snap my head up, looking directly at him. He peers at me from beyond Romano and lifts a hand, beckoning to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I stare for a second, but when Frankie tilts his head angrily to the side – clearly reading “right now, Iris!” – I get started on my shaky legs, working my way to the front of the room and working very, very hard not to look down at the brains scattered all over the floor, even as I try not to step in them.

The gorge rises in my throat and I cover my mouth and nose with my hand, trying not to smell it.

Romano strides past me, away, his phone already out of his pocket as he moves back to his secret office.

“I got you, Luce,” I hear Frankie murmur, and when I turn the corner towards the hostess stand I see him using a phone charger to strap a white napkin to her bleeding arm. My eyes go wide and I stop in my tracks, staring at them.

“Is it bad?” she whispers, her voice shaking.

“No, baby,” he says, laughing a little, clearly being cheerful for her as he cups her face in his hand and shakes his head. “Just a little tiny flesh wound. Barely a scratch. You won’t even need stitches. Look at you, Lady Luck.”

Despite herself, Lucy laughs, looking up at Frankie with a great deal of affection.

And, despite my shock and my panic, I…notice that look. Notice the familiar way between them, the way they laugh together even though something insane and horrible just happened.

Because there is…there is something here.

And they very, very clearly don’t want anyone to know that there is.