TWENTY-SEVEN

Arturo

Un-fucking-believable.

Florence hadn't been out of prison for five minutes and I'd already lost her again. The incident with the gun and her subsequent arrest had left me the closest to shaken I'd been in a long time, because somehow neither I nor any of my men had seen it coming. I tracked Florence's phone, of course I fucking did, but I'd never thought it necessary to keep an eye on her private text messages. Her capacity for walking into danger never ceased to amaze and infuriate me.

I threw another whisky down my throat and relished the burn, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. Soon enough the pain would fade; I was only just getting started.

"How about a spin with one of these ladies?" Renzo slurred from beside me, chuckling at his own obscenity. "That's sure to get you in a better mood, no?"

I opened my eyes a crack, irritated at being dragged from my thoughts. On a platform in front of our bar stools, a half-naked woman danced around a silver pole seductively. Her hair was raven black, contrasting with the red of her lacy underwear which seemed so scarce that I was surprised it managed to stay on.

I sighed and closed my eyes, falling back into my drunken stupor. "Not interested," I said, waving my hand dismissively.

The memory of turning up at Marco's house was still too fresh in my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about it, replaying the betrayal again and again. All I'd wanted was the chance to explain to Florence why I did what I did; I needed to make things right with her. She hadn't been back in my arms five seconds and I'd already lost her again. Now all I could picture was Marco's frame blocking the doorway and his hushed voice, trying to protect Florence from hearing us while she had locked herself in the bathroom.

"Where is she?" I demanded, throwing open the front door into Marco's house without knocking.

The fact that he had allowed her to walk away from me so easily made anger flare in my chest, but right now I was more concerned with seeing Florence. She just needed to understand why things had to be this way.

Marco emerged from the dining room and immediately rested his arm against the wall to stop me getting upstairs. His expression looked apologetic but unyielding. "Easy, easy," he said as I tried to push past. "She needs time. Give her time."

"Let me see her," I demanded icily. From upstairs, the sound of movement in the bathroom snapped my head up. "Is she up there?"

"She doesn't want to see you right now, Don," Marco explained calmly.

"She has to," I seethed.

"No," he folded his arms, "she doesn't. I'm not going to make her."

A staring contest broke out between us. My glare was cold and hard, Marco's steady and unyielding. He was genuinely choosing to listen to her over me. His boss. His best friend.

He wasn't going anywhere; neither of us would blink.

"Fuck you, Marco. Fuck you."

It was the betrayal of it that really stung. Marco, who had helped implement the safety precautions I took for Florence, was now harbouring her from me like a fugitive while she somehow thought I was a terrible fucking human being. How was I supposed to win? To keep her safe and happy at the same time?

It was an impossibly infuriating puzzle. So, fuelled by rage, I would drink with the best partner I knew: Renzo.

"What's wrong with her, eh?" he continued pressing me about the dancer.

"Not my type," I muttered without looking her way.

"Boss, she's everybody's type." It was obvious from his devilish expression that Renzo was referring to the woman's plentiful assets which jiggled beneath her underwear as she span around the pole. "Let her give you a lap dance, then see what you say?" he elbowed me humorously but I didn't break out a smile.

"At what point did I say I wanted prostitution in my clubs?"

Renzo knocked back another gulp of whiskey and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Don't be a bore."

My irritation was growing with every second. We were sat in the club which I had gifted to Renzo as a project, but I could see from the moment I walked in that his business plan did not align with my own. The place screamed cheap and seedy, with gaudy dancers clinging to poles and a thick layer of smoke clinging to the air. The bar went mostly unmanned as there were scantily clad girls taking drinks orders at tables, so I'd already spotted one or two opportunists stealing liquor on the sly.

That sort of money added up.

"Did you listen to a word I said when I gave you this place?" I sighed, taking another sip of whisky before lighting a cigar.

I knew the alcohol was worsening my already sour mood, but usually being with Renzo managed to lighten it somehow. Not today. Not at all.

"Another round," I requested of a passing waitress, barely turning to look at her as I spoke.

She paused and came over to Renzo and I a little sheepishly. "Sorry," she stammered, "I didn't hear you." She pointed to her ear as if to emphasise just how deafening the music was. "It's my first day. What can I get you?"

I took a moment to look the girl up and down. She didn't seem like the others who worked here – she seemed softer, less sure of herself perhaps. Her tan skin glowed under the lights, contrasting with the bright blue of her eyes.

"Whisky," Renzo answered for me, "bring the whole bottle!"

The girl took her lip into her mouth and looked around anxiously. "Uh, we're not really supposed to do that."

Renzo shot me an amused look. She had no idea who she was speaking to.

I leaned closer to the girl, and as I did the scent of coconut wafted into my nose. I couldn't help the smirk on my face. "We won't tell if you don't."

"Uh, I really shouldn't..." She sure as hell looked uncomfortable, the gentle lilt of her southern accent becoming more pronounced with her anxiety. She was the complete opposite of Florence; quiet and afraid of breaking the rules. She wasn't bold. She didn't feel the need to be seen like the fiery redhead I'd fallen in love with.

"Go on sweetheart," Renzo pressed, obviously ogling the girl's glowing body, "be a darling and fetch us a bottle."

The crease between her brows deepened as she fiddled with the tray in her hands. "I..."

Clearly, whoever she was, she was eager to please in her new job. I could see how anxious she was not to break the rules but to keep us happy. I couldn't bare to watch anymore.

"What's your name?" I asked her, taking the tray from her grip and setting it down on the table. I could imagine Florence in the same position, tugging the tray back and walking away from me. Back before we really knew each other. Back when she was just another working girl.

"Leila," she responded hesitantly.

"Well, Leila." I sat back and held my empty tumbler up to the light, examining it. "Do you know who you are speaking to?"

Leila's long golden hair swayed as she shook her head, sending another waft of coconut into the air.

"My name is Arturo Lucchese," I explained to her. "And this is your boss, Renzo."

The second I said those words there was a marked difference in the girl. Her big blue eyes widened suddenly, emphasising the thick line of lashes above them, and her plump glossy lips fell open slightly. "M-mister Lucchese?" she stammered. "As in, the Mr Lucchese?"

Any trepidation which had filled Leila's eyes suddenly vanished, replaced instead by admiration.

"I'm so happy to be working for you, Mr Lucchese, you have no idea how much this job means..."

Clearly growing irritated at the lack of attention he was receiving, Renzo cut into the conversation. "How about that bottle of whisky, then, eh?"

Leila's eyes didn't leave my own. "Bring another glass," I told her.

"Right," she nodded, staying still.

"Go on then."

"Yes, Mister Lucchese."

Leila walked away from our table and Renzo elbowed me, clearly pointing out the hourglass curve of her long, slender body. Her hips swayed as she moved, but they weren't provocative; she had the sort of grace and elegance that most could only dream of. Nothing like my clumsy, hot-tempered Florence.

I had to stop agonising over her. There was nothing I could do, no way to get through to her, at least for tonight. What pissed me off the most was that she wasn't prepared to listen. She never listened to or did a damn thing that I said. It was oddly nice to have someone like Leila who didn't question or argue.

"I choose my employees well, no?" Renzo said, clearly noticing that the girl had caught my attention. Little did he know, it was more due to the Florence shaped absence she created than her actual presence.

"She didn't even know you."

"So I let some of my workers pick the ladies," he shrugged. "So what? Everybody is happy. And now you can stop thinking about whatever has pissed you off and think about her instead."

As he said this, Leila returned from the bar carrying a bottle of whisky and an extra glass just like I'd asked.

"I have a girlfriend," I hissed to Renzo.

He chuckled in response. "Not after today you don't. You really think she's gonna come back to you again?"

"I think you know nothing about it," I snapped.

Leila set the bottle down and looked nervously between us, obviously detecting tension. I unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured out a large glass, sliding it towards her. "Take a seat," I offered.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, mister Lucchese," she said, voice light and airy. "But my shift doesn't finish until twelve."

Renzo took the bottle from me and topped up my glass before taking several large swigs. "Have the rest of the night off," he slurred with a chuckle. "Come and lighten up the Don's mood."

"Renzo," I growled in warning but Leila's warm smile stopped me saying anything more.

"Would that be okay, Don?" she asked coyly.

I couldn't deny that the way she called me Don had me gripping my tumbler a little tighter. "Of course," I said through gritted teeth.

It was hard to push the anger I felt towards Florence and Marco out of my head. It was hard not to appreciate the way that Leila looked at me as if she would do anything I asked, agree with anything I said.

She pulled a bar stool up and sat right beside me, her right knee brushing my left.

I took a large sip of whisky; this was going to be an interesting night.

"I beat you again!" Leila's melodic laugh carried over the sound of the music and brought a faint smile to my lips.

"Next time it's my game," Renzo promised, pointing the end of his pool cue in her direction and earning another bout of laughter. "One more?"

The two of them had been playing pool for the past half hour, bantering back and forth as the amount of whisky left in the bottle rapidly decreased. Meanwhile, I'd fetched my own bottle from behind the bar and had been making my way steadily through it, sinking into even more of a stupor.

"I think Mister Lucchese should come and play," Leila sang, taking another swig from the bottle. The alcohol had done plenty for her confidence levels.

"I don't play," I said dismissively, staring into the brown liquor between my hands.

Leila rested her cue against the edge of the table and sauntered over to me. "Come on," she purred, reaching for the bottle I was currently clutching. As she leaned down her hair fell over her shoulders sending another wave of her scent in my direction.

In my head all I could think was no, but somehow when she reached for it I let go of the bottle. She put it down on the table and then held out her hands. "Please, Mister Lucchese? One game."

Behind Leila, Renzo was nodding enthusiastically. My eyes flickered back to her hopeful expression. Her glossy, full lips were pulled into a pout matched by the alluring blue of her eyes.

I shouldn't.

"One game isn't going to kill you."

She wasn't Florence.

"I promise I'll go easy on you, Mister Lucchese."

I let out a deep sigh, allowing her hands to pull me up. "Fine. One game."

Renzo set about organising the pool table so that it was ready for us to play, while I walked over to the cupboard where the cues where kept. I surveyed each of them, different heights and thicknesses, until my fingers came to rest on my favourite. I hadn't played since I was twenty, yet my hands still curved around the wood as though I knew it like a part of me.

I moved to the head of the table and leaned down, preparing to break the triangle of balls Renzo had arranged, but Leila appeared by my side and rested a hand on my back. "I'll break," she said, lips next to my ear.

Leaning against the bar beside Renzo, I threw another gulp of whisky down my throat and watched as Leila's sleek body arched, her elegant hands gripping the cue. From beneath her lashes, she glanced up at me, a faint smile ghosting her lips, before she sent the white ball hurtling to the other end of the table.

"Nice try," I smirked, watching the balls scatter but none quite reaching the pockets.

"I'm just warming up," she shrugged.

"It takes you four games to warm up?" Renzo chuckled, taking the bottle from me as I grabbed my cue and walked over to the table.

Leila stood just to the side, watching me intently.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Just getting some tips from the pro."

The worst thing about Leila was that she didn't even mean to be so seductive. All the flirting, all of her allure, it came naturally. She wasn't even aware of the effect she had on people – and not just men. Her personality was magnetic, just like everything else about her.

I tried to concentrate on anything but her gaze as I took my shot, just managing to pocket a striped ball.

"Your turn again," Leila reminded me, watching intently as I repositioned.

I caught Renzo's amused smirk out of the corner of my eye and fought the urge to flick him off.

This time I hit a yellow stripe that bounced off the edge of the table and went off at an angle, miles away from any of the pockets. The alcohol was starting to get to me. I could feel myself relaxing.

Relaxing was never a good thing. I didn't like letting my guard down.

Behind me I suddenly felt Leila brushing past, and I startled. She moved like a ghost sometimes, so quiet and elegant that you never noticed until she was somewhere else.

"Maybe you could show me how it's done?" she suggested, placing the bottom of her cue on the ground between us and pressing the other end into my chest. "Please?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea," I told her, but my will power was quickly fading.

I'd spent so much time trying to protect Florence, trying to make a life with her, and the second we ran into problems she ran away. She wouldn't talk, she wouldn't see me. After all this time and all we'd been through she still didn't trust that the decisions I made were to keep her safe.

Not everything had to be a battle.

"It sounds like a good idea to me," Renzo smirked, finishing off the bottle of whisky and stumbling on his feet. "If you don't, I will."

"We all know I'm a better player than you," I shot back.

"Then prove it." He gestured to Leila who was waiting for me to make a move.

"Fine," I sighed. "But put a jacket on, Jesus." I slipped out of my suit jacket and put it over her shoulders as she positioned her cue.

Spurred on my the alcohol in my blood, I stood by her side and bent down, matching my body to hers. "Okay," I breathed unsteadily. "Your eye level needs to be lower, you need to be able to see exactly where you're aiming."

Leila followed my instructions, pushing her butt into me as she bent down further. I took half a step back to alleviate the contact despite the faint desire that that touch had sparked.

"What else?" Leila asked, looking up at me over her shoulder.

I surveyed the scene. "Your hands," I told her. "They're in the wrong position."

"Show me."

As I moved closer, I couldn't help but think about the time when Florence had worked in my private office with Rachel and Fay. They'd put on their best shows, sauntering around the pool table for my men to admire as they worked, but Florence had never once touched a cue. She hated things like that.

I'd admired her for it.

Resentment at myself twisted in my chest as I leaned over and slid Leila's soft, warm hands into the right position. I resented this.

"Help me take a shot," Leila requested, her voice coming out more like a breath.

In that moment, I felt it. A fork in the road. A decision that would take my life in two very different directions. The warmth of Leila's sculpted body waited for me, arched and poised to perfection, but I didn't want it.

This wasn't what I wanted.

"I have to go."