His Witness Read online

  I don’t like doing this. I don’t like ordering people around and acting like a complete bitch.

  Really, there’s nothing about this job that I like, but I’m stuck here.

  I glance in a mirror to gaze at my angry reflection, my black curls like a dark halo around my head. For a moment I mourn the loss of the carefree, innocent girl I was only a year ago, before I began this mess. Now I’m a foul-mouthed borderline alcoholic.

  I resist the urge to crawl into my office with a bottle of tequila and slam the door shut. If I did, the whole place would go to hell. There’s always a problem, always a fight, someone trying to deal coke in the bathrooms, someone getting groped on the dance floors, problems with the live music, something.

  Fuck, there’s probably something going on right now. There always is.

  I reenter the club, the loud blast of music making my head pound. It’s a Friday night and the place is packed with people. Michelle, the club girl I hired a while back, tosses her blonde head on the dance floor. All she has to do is look hot and dance, and she gets free drinks. She gets paid for dancing, basically.

  I like her, though. She’s smarter than the other girls I usually deal with. By smart, I mean that her vocabulary is beyond “like” and “um.” It’s a welcome relief after dealing with so many girls in their early twenties who act like airheaded teenagers. Since I can’t afford college, this is the only social interaction I get.

  Pathetic.

  A man in a dark suit sits at the bar, calmly sipping his vodka tonic. The lights bleach his olive-skinned face and the black hair falling over his eyes. He notices me staring at him, and I look away. A rush of heat fills my cheeks when I recognize him.

  He’s one of them. They all wear suits. They’re all Italian. They’re all squeezing the life out of me. The guy I’m giving furtive looks once pressed a fifty-dollar bill in my hand when Michelle and I were hanging out in the back. I saw them exchanging something with other guys—drugs, probably. It was when I first started working under my dad. I had no idea what I walked into.

  He saw that I saw, and cursed under his breath. My heart jumped in my throat when he made a beeline toward me, and then he opened my hand almost aggressively to shove that fifty-dollar bill in my palm. Then he winked and walked away.

  He paid for my silence.

  It scared me.

  Even though some of them are handsome, even though some girls would find that kind of danger appealing, I don’t.

  I don’t really need that kind of trouble in my life, but she’s certainly begging for some.

  Michelle catches a glimpse of the man brooding at the bar, and gives me a grin.

  There’s a ring on his finger!

  But that doesn’t stop her. With her bubbly personality, her cropped tank top, and the skintight jeans she wears, no man seems to be immune to her charms. She boldly takes the seat next to him. My face burns in embarrassment for her.

  No, don’t do it.

  She mouths something near his ear. I can make it out by reading her lips.

  “Hi, Joe.”

  He turns slightly, takes in her appearance, and does a double take, because Michelle is a beautiful girl. A small smile flickers on his face as he slowly turns his hand, showing her his ring. I catch his voice from across the bar. It’s low and lonesome.

  “I’m married.”

  “So?” she says boldly.

  Oh God. Jesus, Michelle…

  Joe turns away from her, shaking his head as a smile plays on his lips. “Not interested, hon.”

  It goes through me like a punch to the gut, as if he said it to me.

  However, Michelle’s face is impassive. Her red lips shine in the low light and she dips her head, her curls brushing his shoulder.

  “Your wife is a lucky woman.”

  Then she looks at me, shrugs, and bounces off the stool in search of another one.

  Joe watches her long after she leaves. There’s no desire on his face, but maybe there’s a bit of longing. I wish I fucked her before I met my wife. That kind of thing.

  I see another man in a dark suit, his back against the wall as he crosses his arms. He raises his head and looks at me from across the room through beams of colored light, giving me a nod. A wave of revulsion rises inside my stomach and I resist the urge to flip the bird. Right on cue, a swarm of similarly clothed olive-skinned men enter the club, their heads swinging around for me. Joe turns his attention toward them and stands up to join his friends. Once they spot my face, they make a beeline for me.

  Fire licks at the flesh inside me and acid bubbles in my throat, caustic and painful. I have no love for these men. They’re like a cancer somewhere in my intestines, a painful growth that swells and bleeds. I just want to excise them from my life. I’d do anything to be rid of them.

  Within a few seconds, the one who grinned at me slides in front of me. He’s not as tall as some of the others, and only half-Italian. Maybe that’s why I don’t hate him as much as I hate the others. Fucking Italians. I’m sick of them.

  He wears a dark-green shirt that brings out the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. Light-brown hair falls around his face. Tommy’s face is smooth shaven, making him look younger than the others. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was some college kid. Often I’ll recognize him by his loud, deep laughter cutting through the noise in the club and then by his inevitable hand on my waist, which makes my heart pound no matter how hard I try not to think about it. He leans against my bar as if he owns it, and towers over me with a sweet smile on his face, looking at me as though I’m the only girl in the place. I like the way he looks, and he’s definitely attractive, but I’ll never date him.

  I know that he’s no good.

  The other men surrounding him are full-blooded Italians, olive-skinned and dark haired. They stand a little bit apart from him, unconsciously dissociating themselves from him.

  “Sweetie,” he says to me in his smooth voice, knowing that it’ll piss me off. “Why don’t you get us some drinks?”

  There’s just something about that overconfident grin and voice that makes blood pound in my head.

  I don’t fucking like to be called “sweetie.” How many fucking times have I told him? How many times have I told him to fuck off? I open my mouth to tell him off, but the piece of shit grins at me, knowing how angry it makes me.

  “Why don’t you go fuck yourselves?”

  I can’t stop myself.

  Tommy’s smile widens and his eyes glimmer with mischief. His amusement isn’t reflected on any of their faces. There’s Vincent, who once twisted my arm behind my back. Joe, who slapped me across the face when I didn’t have my payment ready for him. He didn’t like to do it, I could tell by the look on his face, but he still did it. Both of them are married men. It’s unfathomable to me. What kind of woman would marry, let alone date these fucking creeps?

  I brush past them, knowing that they’ll follow. Dread rises inside me like a storm, and I can’t cry in front of them, so it explodes out in a rage that I can never control. No matter the consequences, I say whatever the fuck I want to them because I can’t stand the Mafia. They’re the worst of the worst. Parasites. Thugs.

  They follow me into the Employees Only room, into my office, which is actually quite large. There’s a big leather couch and a seat behind the black desk, which Vincent takes immediately. My guts roil when I see him there, just sitting there as if he fucking owns it.

  I stare into his pitiless eyes and give him my lowest, deadliest voice. “Get out of my chair.”

  A cruel grin darkens his face. He looks at me as though he can hardly believe I just told him what to do. “Make me.”

  I take a step forward, prepared to take the chair and dump his ass on the floor, but the sound of laughter from the couch momentarily distracts me.

  Tommy shakes his smiling face. “She has the biggest balls in New York. Vince, now you understand why I like this broad so much.”

  Vincent’s smooth
voice cuts in as he gives me a nasty smile. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “I don’t care,” I say to both of them. “I wish all of you would just drop dead.”

  “Oh!” Joe immediately gets in my face. “The fuck is the matter with you?”

  Even though I’m a whole head shorter than him, I stand my ground. “Get out of my face!”

  The one in my chair looks up lazily. “You really need to learn to shut your goddamn mouth, Melanie. That’s no way to speak to your partners.”

  Yeah, my dad made them partners when his restaurant business went in the shitter. It’s been a nightmare ever since. They took over everything, redid the whole place into a club, and took care of the gangs selling crank. Of course now they have their own people selling drugs in the club. They rack up a huge tab every fucking time they come here, and never pay. Fucking nightmare. My dad tells me to stay out of it as much as I can.

  I want nothing to do with it.

  Vince opens a drawer and tapes a bag containing dozens of small baggies of pills to the back: molly, LSD and little gram bags of coke. He places it there and shoves the drawer closed. My eyes bore into his skull, which would make anyone else unnerved, but Vince is immune to my behavior.

  “You got something you want to say, hon?” The tone in his voice hardens and he looks at me with an unyielding expression on his face. A prickle of fear stings my arm, giving me goose bumps.

  “I told you. I didn’t want that shit in my office.”

  “Do you need another lesson in who calls the shots around here?” He stands up abruptly and takes a few menacing steps toward me.

  I stumble back, furious tears burning my eyes. “That’s right, hit a woman. Hit me, you piece of shit.”

  Coward.

  He raises his hand and I flinch, preparing for the blow, but he closes it. Vincent glowers at me for a few moments. His eyes slowly shift to Tommy, who still sits on the couch. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this broad?”

  Tommy smiles. “Let me handle her.”

  Vincent gets a good laugh out of that. “Yeah, I’m not that sick.”

  The glass twists in Tommy’s hand as he shoots Vince a glare.

  Vincent crosses his arms. “How the fuck are our associates supposed to get the drugs? It’s not like there are a lot of safe places around here to hide it.”

  My blood boils as Tommy helps himself to a bottle of vodka sitting on the coffee table. It’s my go-to drink when things get a little out of hand, which is often.

  My eyes burning, I grab the thick wad of money from inside my jacket and pull it out. I slam it onto my desk while Vincent thumbs through the contents. Violent feelings churn inside me. I feel lost—out of control, ready to scream.

  “This is a few thousand dollars short.”

  Vincent’s horrible voice echoes behind me as I stare at the dark walls. Every time I step inside this place, my spirit dies a little. It’s slowly being chipped away.

  “I took out money for the three-thousand-dollar tab you assholes are running. This place is a business and I can’t afford thousands of dollars in drinks.”

  “Business is doing great. Why do you always give us such a hard fucking time?” Vince looks irritated, as if he legitimately can’t understand why I’d be upset.

  “We’re just here to collect,” the other one says.

  “I don’t want to see any of this shit. Do what you have to, but please leave me out of it. I don’t want to see where you hide the fucking stash, I don’t want to see fights in my office, and frankly, I don’t have to see all of you at once.”

  Vince gives me a thoughtful smile. “Fine.”

  I stop in my tracks.

  Fine? Did he just agree with me?

  “Anything else you need to bother me with?”

  He smiles that dangerous smile that always precludes a bit of pain for me, and then he takes a few steps forward, waving the envelope of cash until it almost touches my face.

  “Next time, you pay the full amount. I won’t keep doing this, Melanie. If you don’t smarten up, you’re going to get badly hurt.”

  He makes me fucking fume and I hope he can feel the utter contempt rolling off my body, singeing his skin. I wish I could kill him, all of them, with my eyes.

  I’ll go to the fucking police, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll sing for them.

  I almost fucking say it. I bite down hard on my tongue to keep myself from actually saying it. Then Vincent gives me a sneer and moves from me. Joe follows and I’m stuck in the room with Tommy, who quietly drinks my vodka.

  I wheel on him, shaking. “You, too. Get the fuck out of here and out of my life.”

  He lifts the glass and raises it in a salute, and then he throws back his head and drains it. It slams loudly on the coffee table. He slowly stands up, pinning together his brown suit, which is completely at odds with those greaseballs. Even that annoys me. It’s as if he’s trying to stand out. Be special.

  Then suddenly he’s in my space, his hip bumping against mine. His arm tries to curl around my waist, and I pull away, heart pounding with fear. Breath catches in my throat. What the hell is he doing? I step around him, but Tommy blocks my path with a sly grin.

  “Dammit—!”

  “When are you going to let me take you out?”

  Oh Jesus. Not again!

  “Tommy,” I start in a firm voice.

  “Tommy,” he mocks. “Oh, come on. Haven’t I always been nice to you?”

  It’s true, but that doesn’t change who he is.

  His fingers grasp my chin, and I’m infuriated by how brazen this guy is, but then I look into his eyes. They’re warmer than I expected and it takes the wind out of my sails for a moment.

  “You called me a piece of ass the first time we met.”

  “That’s not a compliment? I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t know that I should have called you a cow.”

  The stern look I’m trying to freeze over my face melts a little.

  “Some women don’t like to be talked to like they’re objects.”

  “I learned my lesson.” His voice drops suddenly. “I call you ‘sweetie’ because I hope you’ll be my sweetheart one day.”

  Despite myself, a smile stretches my face, and he grins back, making heat flush my chest.

  Okay, fine. I’ll admit to myself that I like him. He seems to genuinely like me. Why else would he be so persistent? I met him six months ago and hated him instantly because he was one of them, but gradually he became one of the few I tolerate. He never let up all that time.

  I push his hand away and step back. “It’s never going to happen.”

  “Why? You don’t like Italians?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  I say it in a heated voice and Tommy falls silent. For a moment my cheeks burn and I wonder if I’ve crossed a line, but Tommy cracks a smile and his shoulders shake with laughter.

  “What the fuck is this world coming to? You’re prejudiced against Italians?”

  Not really. I roll my eyes at him and take a step toward the door.

  He catches my arm. “Well, good thing I’m only half.”

  “Still too much.”

  Sweet Jesus, what part of I’m not interested did you not get?

  He backs me against the wall and plants his hands on either side of my head so that I can’t escape. My heart pounds faster, fear churning through my veins, making me sick. He has a violent reputation, and even the other guys seem to stand apart from him as if he’s carrying a contagious disease. I’ve heard things. Nothing specific, but dark hints about his behavior fly out of their mouths sometimes when they have too much to drink.

  “Did you see that guy Tommy carved up the other day?”

  You don’t forget something like that.

  Tommy leans closer and I inhale a wisp of his cologne. Cedar. It feels slightly overpowering and I’m dizzy. He’s never been physical with me, has never shown an iota of aggression toward me, but like I said. I can’t forget the things I’v
e heard about him.

  “You know, if you were my comare, you wouldn’t have to deal with anyone else again.” His voice sends shivers down my back. “Just me.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  He smirks. “My mistress.”

  My insides clench horribly. I’ve no interest in him, and it has nothing to do with his attractiveness. Tommy is disarmingly handsome. He kind of takes your breath away, at first, all smiles and charm turned to the max. He’s the kind of guy who knows how good he has it, and he’s not afraid to make the first move. Not at all.

  If I met him anywhere else, I’d find him charming and polite, and I’d go out with him on a date in an instant. But I know him too well—I know the kind of people he associates with, and I know that he “carved up” at least one man.

  “And if you didn’t pay up, it would just be my hands punishing you. No one else’s.” His eyes smolder, as if the type of punishment he imagines involves me without clothes.

  Which is probably accurate.

  I block that sizzling-hot image out of my head and bite my lip to keep the rudeness out of my voice. “That’s tempting, but no.”

  Playful hands take a strand of my curly, dark hair and tuck it behind my ears.

  No, stop!

  I don’t seem to be breathing. He’s too close and my skin feels as if it’s on fire.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he says with a sigh that makes my heart clench. “Let me take you out. Just once.”

  I’m supposed to hate him, but how can I when he showers me with compliments that make my skin heat with pleasure? I can tell that he means them, too. He’s not full of shit. He’s also never been a jerk to me, even though I’ve rejected him countless times.

  I will not let him worm his way inside me.

  “No,” I say, finally. “Please get out of my way.”

  He sighs again through his nose, but drops his hand and steps back.

  “You know, you shouldn’t talk to them like that. You’ll just get hurt.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I murmur.

  The smile is still there on his face. It’s as if it’s a promise that he’s going to get me. He steps toward the door before I reach it and holds it open for me. My lips tug slightly from his beaming smile and I walk outside.