Page 5 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

FOUR

Olivia

T he lock clicks into place and I slam my back against the metal door, my breaths coming out as harsh pants.

What the fuck did I just witness?

"Shit!" I hiss. Fear thrums through my veins as I wait for a knock to sound on the metal door behind me. Fuck, what if he gets inside?

My feet thump against the floor as I run through the back, swinging open the door to the courtyard and rushing through the empty space into the bar at the front of the building.

I make it to the front doors, locking them quickly and flicking the light switch.

The front windows are tinted, and I thank God for whichever of my family members made that decision.

"What are you doing?—"

"Get down!" I shout at Joey, who's still prepping for service. One of his thick gray eyebrows tics up at my demand. "Girlie?—"

I don't let him finish before I'm behind the bar, my butt hitting the floor as I tug on the bottom of his shirt to pull him down with me.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asks once he's sitting next to me. "Dragging an old fella to the ground." He shakes his head. "You think these knees are going to be able to get back up?"

"Shh." I interrupt his rambling, and his head rears back like he can't believe I just shushed him. To be fair, I can't believe I just shushed him. "I saw something that I don't think I should have."

Joey eyes me, waiting for me to continue.

"I was taking out the trash and—" I can't even say it. My throat clogs, and I'm worried I'm going to choke on the words before I ever tell Joey what just happened.

"What is it?" he presses, his voice more comforting. He must be able to tell that something bad happened and that's why I'm acting this way.

"I saw a man kill someone!" I whisper-shout.

Joey's eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hands on my shoulders in a somewhat reassuring gesture. "Olivia, do you know who it was?" He's serious now, no longer whining about the floor or his knees. He's trying to be calm, but I can tell from his furrowed brow that he's worried.

"No." I shake my head.

"Which building were they behind?"

I close my eyes and try to remember what's next to us. "The pizza shop," I recall after a moment.

Joey sucks in a breath.

"Why?" I ask frantically. "What does that mean?"

"Describe the men you saw. How many? What did they look like?"

I inhale deeply and try to remember. "There were two. One was younger and one was older, maybe middle aged." Normally, Joey would make a remark about me calling someone middle aged “older,” but he doesn't say a thing. Just looks at me with big eyes, urging me to continue.

"The younger one was wearing a suit that looked shiny, and he had dark hair. I couldn't really see his face, though. The other one had gray in his hair and he was wearing black pants and a button-down with the sleeves rolled up."

Joey’s eyes narrow. "Who shot who?"

"The younger one shot the older one."

"Okay, Olivia, this is important." He's gripping my shoulders tightly now. "Did anyone see you?"

My heart stutters. "Yes." I blow out an exhale. "The younger one. I dropped the garbage bag I was holding, and he turned around. He saw me run away."

Joey closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

This is bad. This is really bad.

"Did he see what building you went into?"

"I'm not sure."

"Okay." Joey nods. "We need to get you out of here."

"What?" I shake my head. "I can't leave! What about Grandpa?"

"I'll figure it out. You just saw a mob hit, Olivia! You need to go."

Banging on the front door interrupts our fighting, and both Joey and I freeze. Maybe if we don't answer, they'll go away. But deep down, I suspect that's not what's going to happen.

A mob hit.

That's even worse than realizing I just witnessed a murder. It was more than a murder.

Mafia.

The Italian criminal organization has been alive in New Orleans since long before I was born.

You don't grow up being half Italian-American without knowing about the mob.

And it was a frequent argument between my parents.

My mom considered my father a gangster. I asked Grandpa once, and he chuckled, telling me my father was not a criminal, just a dumbass.

At the time, I wasn't sure what that meant.

The harsh knocking continues, and after a moment, I hear someone yell, "Open up, or we'll break down the door."

Joey mutters a curse. "Go upstairs. I'll try to get rid of them."

I nod, too scared to argue. Slipping around the end of the bar, I head for the stairs that lead up to the apartment. Grandpa is still napping on his recliner when I shut and lock the door behind me.

I listen as Joey opens the door, straining to hear him talking to the men. He tells them it's just him inside, and I hear as they tell him they're looking for a girl with brown hair. He tells them he's never seen such a girl and they ask to check the bar.

I'm holding my breath as I listen to the sound of their footsteps below. They don't find me downstairs or in the storage room. Finally, I hear them come back into the main section of the bar and Joey asks if they found what they're looking for.

"What's upstairs?" one of them questions.

"Nothing," Joey says coolly. They must not believe him, though, because they ask to check. They're adamant that they need to check up here. Joey is telling them no, but it doesn't matter, because I hear the sound of their shoes as they stomp up the steps.

I'm frozen in place, air stuck in my lungs. They knock on the door and Grandpa startles.

"Who the fuck is that?" he grumbles, sitting up in the recliner.

I try to put my finger over my mouth, signaling for him to be quiet.

"Open up!" the man on the other side of the door yells, and my grandpa stands, hobbling over to me.

"What are you doing crouching there, girl?" he asks loudly, too loudly. And then he reaches over my head, undoing the lock. I steady my back against the door, but it's a futile effort. Once the lock is open, the man on the other side pushes the door, and I slide forward on the hardwood.

I look up, meeting the eyes of two scary men that my grandpa just let into the apartment.

The one in front grins as he looks down at me, and the sight sends a bolt of fear rippling down my spine.

"You're coming with us."

It was stupid to come here. All I wanted was a fresh start, and now I'm absolutely sure that this is how I die.