Mafia Intrigues

As soon as she walked through the doors of the upscale restaurant, the manager was on her in a flash. She’d worked here for close to a year now. She’d needed experience to get a job at a place this upmarket.

Gaining Ernest’s trust had been slow going. She’d wanted to bulldoze ahead with the plan. But the others had cautioned her to go slow.

If they took Leyla, the usual back room server out of the picture too early, then Ernest would just give the job to someone else who’d worked there longer.

So she’d worked hard like a good little employee, taking every shift offered, even when she’d felt dead on her feet with exhaustion and the effort of smiling and taking customers’ bullshit had started to take its toll on her temper.

Ágata wasn’t known for her patience or her control. So these last few months had been hell.

But tonight was the night.

De Almería was due to come into the restaurant for a poker game out back. An illegal poker game. With some of the worst criminals in the city.

Ágata had someone slip something into Leyla’s coffee this morning. She got the same coffee from the same shop every morning at eleven.

Yeah, Ágata kind of felt bad about making the other woman sick. But . . . Leyla was also a bitch. Ágata couldn’t prove it, but she was certain that she’d stolen her tips from her handbag one night.

And she looked down on everyone.

So if anyone deserved to spend a few miserable hours on the toilet, it was her.

And really . . . she should change up her routine. Ágata was doing her a favor.

“Ágata!” Ernest said in his fake French accent. She didn’t know how people thought that was real. “Ágata, thank God you are here!”

Ágata gave him a feigned wide-eyed look of shock. “Ernest, what’s wrong? You look worried.”

“Leyla is ill.”

Ágata frowned slightly. “Gee, that’s too bad.”

Crap. That sounded so fake. She didn’t want Ernest to suspect that she hated that bitch’s guts.

Luckily, he just nodded. “I know. I know. Poor Leyla.”

Okay, that sounded off. Maybe Ernest didn’t like the other woman that much either. Or perhaps he was worried about the high-rolling illegal poker game being played in the back room.

The one that she wasn’t supposed to know about.

“Here’s the thing.” Ernest looked around. Then he grabbed her arm and dragged her out to a back room. She wanted to twist her arm free and teach him not to touch her without permission.

Patience.

It wasn’t like Ernest meant anything by it, anyway.

But Ágata didn’t really like to be touched. Not by anyone except her closest friends and Adam and Elisabeth.

Just some left-over trauma from the Deity and his Sentinels. May the Devil torture their souls for eternity.

Push that back. Focus.

“What is it?”

“We have a, um, a private function in the back room and Leyla was meant to be their server.”

“Oh, right. And you need someone to cover? Do you need me to get one of the others?” Damn, she was a good actress.

Her heart raced. It was finally happening. Okay, she wouldn’t get the answers she wanted tonight. But she was finally going to get close to De Almería.

This was the first step in her plan.

Get close. Find some evidence of what happened to her dad.

And maybe that would help lead her to wherever Mama was.

She knew it was a long shot. Aarón complained all the time that what she was doing was idiotic.

But what else could she do?

“Yes, I need you to work the back room,” Ernest told her.

Okay. This was the part she had to maneuver carefully. Fuck. Ágata wasn’t that good at being subtle or lying.

“Oh no. I couldn’t do that.”

“You have to, Ágata. No one else can handle these guys.”

“Why not? What do you mean? I’m not giving them anything extra, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

“What? What do you mean . . . oh no, no! That’s not what they want. No one expects that. We run a legitimate business here. Nobody is expecting you to sell your body if that’s what you were thinking.”

Go carefully.

“Sorry,” she said hastily. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just with the way you were acting . . . you seemed worried about this group. And well, I haven’t worked here the longest. I thought you’d get Callum or Airam to cover Leyla’s shift.”

Ernest shook his head. “No, they won’t work. See . . . this private group, they are all men. Powerful, rich men. And they tip very, very well. Have you seen the car Leyla drives? Her expensive bags? All earned from tips from these men.”

Really? Ágata thought they might have been bought using the tips she stole.

“That means they expect a certain level of service. So while you are not required to do anything. No one will touch you, uh, they do like something pretty to look at.”

Ernest gave her a fake grimace. As though he was horrified at the idea and didn’t agree with what these rich and powerful men wanted.

But she knew that he got a cut of Leyla’s tips.

Jerk.

It was amazing what you could discover with a few well-placed listening devices in the staff room and his office.

But she nodded. “All right. I guess I can do it, as long as they’re only looking and not touching.”

Fuckers better not touch her.

“Thank you, my dear.” He took hold of her hand and she managed not to shove him away. Just. “I owe you big time. And you’ll find that while these men might be arrogant and demanding, they tip very well. Just give them whatever they want.”

She smiled at him, even as an alarm bell sounded.

“Within reason, of course,” he added hastily.

Of course.

Hernán De Almería was going to kill someone tonight.