The Woman on the Stage Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Mafia Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

Advertisement

A little sliver of white folded between the bills.

I dropped the cash and reached for the paper, unfolding it and finding a note.

Café 72. Tomorrow, 3pm. - M

I was pretty sure Café 72 wasn’t even open for lunch. But he clearly had pockets deep enough to make the manager and chef open just for him.

For us.

I mean, I wasn’t going to go.

Right?

Even as I tried to tell myself all the reasons it was a terrible idea, though, all I could think about was the way his gaze lingered, how his lips felt on my hand, how he crooned my name.

Yeah.

I was going to be there.

I just had no idea it was a damn job interview.

CHAPTER FIVE

Milo

Jesus Christ, she was beautiful.

She stood under those stage lights like she belonged to them—the black dress, the soft spill of her curves, her dark hair falling loose, her blue eyes sharp enough to hold a room captive without any force at all.

And I had the distinct, irrational sense that noticing her was a moment I would never forget.

I tried to look away. I really did. Tried to anchor myself in the reason I was there—work. I was there with the expectation that I’d leave with something settled, something to bring back to my Family.

But my attention kept circling back to her, like my body had already decided what was important.

Then those blue eyes lifted, swept the room, and for half a second it felt like she’d found me. Not accidentally. Intentionally.

It was there in the twist in my gut.

The desire.

But hunger wasn’t even the right word for it. Hunger implied impatience, need. This was something slower, heavier. An awareness that if I let myself keep watching, something in me might shift. Like I’d already crossed a line. Like I wanted to keep going.

So I sat captivated by her as she sang, as she held the whole room in the palm of her hand.

Then I was on my feet nearly the second she finished, desperate to get closer to her, to get her to agree to spend some time with me away from the crowd.

It was pure fate that Frank was quick to step in. That Monroe was someone he thought of as his little pet.

And to an untrained eye, maybe you’d think she was enamored by being owned.

But I had sisters.

I knew a fawning smile when I saw one. Knew what a woman looked like when she was uncomfortable but trying not to escalate a situation.

I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Monroe might be looking for another job, a way out. And, yes, a way to take her creepy-ass boss down in the process.

So getting myself invited to the after-hours poker game had been a perfect excuse to get close to her again.

I’d jotted down the note, slipped it into the cash, and waited for the right opportunity to hand it to her.

I hoped she would know it was from me.

That she would show.

A woman with a face (and body) like that in a town like this, she had to be used to endless men trying to get her to meet for a meal.

I hoped the intrigue of an afternoon meal (since she worked nights) and a chance to eat at a very exclusive restaurant before it opened for the day might be reason enough for her to show up.

Because I was trying really hard not to think about the way I swore she sang just to me as she was crooning a song that was not-too-subtly talking about someone handling all her curves.

I was trying not to let this get personal.

Not if she was my way in to Frank Martin.

Besides, there was no one to say we couldn’t let things get personal after the job was done.

I tied my shoelaces after a restless night of thinking way too much about her and headed outside, wanting to shake the thoughts (and the desire attached) with a long, punishing run up and down the Boardwalk.

I’d just started to break a sweat when I heard the thump of feet behind me.

I thought nothing of it. There were a decent amount of people out early. Biking, running, walking dogs.

Then they gained on me.

Matched pace.

I tensed.

Until he spoke.

“Your second left.”

Then he charged ahead, going past the turn he told me to take.

I slowed my pace, then went down to a run, made a show of stretching a bit.

Then turned down the space between buildings.

A metal door creaked open.

Then there was Remo in another of his all-black outfits.

“Come on in,” he said, watching down the alley until we both ducked inside.

He flicked on a light.

And we were surrounded by multi-colored, differently sized stuffed animals.

“The fuck is this?” I asked, pushing a purple seahorse out of my way as I walked through.

“One of those shoot water in the center of a bullseye games. Closed for the season.”


Advertisement

Advertisement