Page 7

Chapter 7

Eden

Once the introductions are done, a shorter guy built like a brick shithouse with buzzed hair and a crooked nose flashes me a grin from behind the bar.

Gus.

Aiken spoke highly of him in his email. Before I can make my way over to him, the lawyer intercepts me—probably feeling more comfortable now that I won't be mowed down with bullets—and starts in on the legal shit.

"Ms. Cunningham, right?" I cut her off and her rusty red lips purse into a thin smile. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"But we need—"

I pat the shoulder of her power suit. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Just in case she doesn't get my hint, I walk away and go behind the bar. She swiftly packs up her stuff, shoving papers into her briefcase, then walks rapidly toward the door on her spiky stiletto heels like she has a stick up her ass.

I don't like her.

Mentally, I add finding a new lawyer to my ever-growing to-do list.

"Making friends already, I see," a hoarse, raspy voice says beside me.

I turn and look at Gus with a smirk. "It's what I'm famous for."

His smile fades, and he rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't know Aiken had a sister. You're not from around here, are you?"

I had run from home full of rage and torment. Broken. I had put distance between this city and my parents, making Aiken a casualty in the process.

For the past few years, my life has finally felt stable.

Deciding to come back here had been a monumental decision, but I couldn't not come back after I found out Aiken was murdered.

"Let's not do this, yeah?" I shut down any conversation about my past.

Gus's eyes flicker over my face. A slight smile tugs at his lips, but his eyes look sad as he shakes his head. "You're just like him."

I wouldn't know .

And now it's too late. Aiken is dead. Gone.

Guilt rears its nasty, ugly head.

Aiken never tried to convince me to reconcile with our parents. In fact, after he learned what they'd done to Fenton and me, he had disowned them. He wanted to be a part of my life, but I couldn't stomach it. Aiken was a connection to my past, which didn't allow me to avoid facing the trauma I lived through.

Avoidance—that was, and still is, my greatest coping mechanism.

Even though that meant cutting Aiken out of my life in order to do so. My big brother, who only wanted to have me in his life, and I only gave him an annual I'm alive text. I couldn't even stomach a monthly phone call.

Guilt. Regret. Shame.

It all mixes to create a toxic brew in my gut, warning me that returning to this city was a mistake.

But Aiken deserves better than I ever gave him in life; he deserves better than to be murdered and his killer walking free. And I'm here to see that his killer pays.

Instead of trying to make me spill my secrets, Gus's green eyes crinkle as offers me a small smile and extends his hand. "We haven't been officially introduced yet. I'm Gus, and your right-hand until you say otherwise, Ed."

I grip his hand and shake it, sensing we're going to work together just fine. "Nice to have you by my side, Gus."

The Chamber elite approach the bar, obviously not ready to call the evening to an end, even though Gilly's is closed. Thankfully, I've had a lot of bartending experience.

"You know how to make a dry gin martini?" Gus asks me, then eyes Lixin, who has put his elbows on the bar.

I pull the gin and vermouth from the chilling area. "This for you?" I ask, and Lixin nods, watching me. "Lemon twist or olives?"

"Lemon twist."

I make the drink and push it toward him, offering a cool smile that's friendly enough but warns of the boundaries I'll keep in place, especially since I'm a female.

Lixin places the money for his drink on the counter, tilting his head and observing me. "It will be a pleasure to work with you, Ed."

I keep my resting bitch face mask firmly in place as our eyes lock. I refuse to be the one to break eye contact; I'm establishing my place here—where, as Gilly's owner-operator, I'm at the top of the pecking order. He breaks first. He holds up his drink in salute and makes room for Amazu.

"Beer. Doesn't matter the kind," Amazu says.

Before I can get Amazu's beer, a bottle of fire whiskey catches my eye. The sight of it kicks me in the gut. Pulling it out of the open tub of ice makes my heart ache. I set it on the counter and start putting out shot glasses. Gus catches on quickly to what I'm doing and grabs more glasses while I pour the whiskey. Then he hands out the shots.

"This shit will rot your guts, but for some unknown reason, Aiken loved it." My voice is steady, even though my insides are ripping apart. "The first shot is on the house."

Gus beams, ensuring everyone has a shot. "Your brother loved this shit."

I blink, needing to force back the sudden pressure of tears behind my eyes, and lift my shot glass.

"A toast to Aiken," a deep baritone voice says, making my cooch clench.

Vito.

The one-who-thou-shall-not-make-me-rip-my-panties-off, the fucking cunt, inclines his head to me. "To a man who never let you truly know him, yet his commitment to this city made you feel like you were in his home. Saluti ."

My throat closes with a wave of tumultuous emotions. Aiken was so accepted and respected here. This wasn't just a bar to him; he lived and breathed the purpose of Gilly's. And my stubborn weakness prevented me from having him in my life.

Vito watches me, as if waiting to do his shot until I do.

I toss back the fiery liquid, hoping that somehow my presence here and finding Aiken's murderer can be a small token of apology to my brother.

Gus coughs as he sets his glass on the bar, shaking his head. "Horrid shit."

I grimace in agreement.

I set a tray at the end of the bar for the empty shot glasses to be put on, and Gus begins serving the thirsty crowd of criminals around us.

"Tell me how you pulled the Houdini act." He side-eyes me while he pours a drink of high-end vodka over ice and hands it to Massimo.

Massimo says a quiet thanks and pays, speaking to his uncle Marco while they step away.

This is the tricky part: explaining how I got into Aiken's office without anyone knowing.

In his email, Aiken provided all the information I needed to know as the owner-operator. Including a secret entrance into his office through an underground passage that's known only to Gilly's owner-operators. This is what I used to get into Gilly's.

His email also mentioned another hidden back entrance, rarely monitored by security since access requires both a code and a key that was hidden in his apartment. This entrance opens into a backroom, used for illegal, high-stakes gambling games. Once inside the backroom, there's a door that connects to the storage room. Aiken's office is along the same hallway as the storage room, so it's believable that I entered the bar through this route and slipped into his office unnoticed.

I'm gambling that Gus knows about the back entrance but not the secret passageway that opens into Aiken's office. "Aiken told me about the secret back entrance that comes in through the storage room. I must've hit a time when security wasn't back there and went directly to Aiken's office."

Gus nods, accepting my explanation. "You took a huge risk entering that way, but it sure made a statement. Ballsy."

"I'm no wilting flower, Gus."

He laughs, and Bane steps up to the bar.

The huge, muscular guy with a stubble beard is the Havoc Guardians' VP. "Jack. No ice."

Short and sweet, no attempt at chatting me up. I like Bane.

Gus and I quickly find a rhythm of working together. He shows me where everything is while we serve the nonstop orders.

"You've worked behind the counter before," Gus surmises as he cracks a beer for Dominic.

"Nah, just a natural, I guess." I smirk.

Gus grunts a laugh. "Makes sense; Aiken was a natural, too. Maybe this is a bit like coming home, then, yeah?"

My throat does that weird closing-off with emotion thing again.

There's a break with no one standing at the bar now, and Gus pats my back. "I'll be right back. Just gonna grab a couple of cases of liquor."

My throat works, swallowing away the lump while I keep my head down to ensure my expression doesn't betray me and expose my emotions.

An arm encased in a gray suit jacket enters my field of view, resting on the bar in front of me, and I lift my eyes.

Vito Santoro.

I couldn't look away, even if I wanted to.

My gaze slowly moves over his muscular shoulders that perfectly fill out his suit, up the corded neck, the strong jaw, the lips I want to sink my teeth into, and finally, those blue-green eyes.

Eyes that are zeroed in on me like a fighter pilot locked on his target.

We're the only ones at the bar right now. He hadn't come up to get a drink earlier.

Did he plan that? Waited to order his drink when I was here alone?

I shake off that intrusive and ridiculous thought.

The guy is off-limits. Forbidden. He can get me killed.

Turning up the frigidness of my resting bitch face, I ask, "What can I get you?"

That mouth—full lips with the bottom a little fuller—spread into the smallest of smiles.

"Bourbon."

How can his voice sound like sex, sin, and redemption wrapped all into one?

Jesus, get a grip on your raging cooch, bitch .

He leans in slightly. "You'll have to bend over."

Holy. Shit.

I arch a brow. Thankfully, my resting bitch face is on point tonight.

He raises his eyebrows and gestures with his chin—the equivalent of 'go on'.

I rest my arms on the bar and lean toward him. "I don't bend over for cocks."

He contemplates me, his jaw shifting. "Is that so?"

I smirk inwardly. I have a pretty good idea of what he's thinking: I'm not into cock. If he thinks that, I won't correct that misassumption, as it can help keep unwanted advances away.

I have, in fact, had sexual relations with two women in the past—I'm not sure if I'd formally classify myself as bisexual, though. The two women I was with, I had been attracted to them as a human, not because of the slit and clit between their legs.

"What can I get you?" I repeat, keeping my expression unreadable with an indifferent tone to my voice.

"Bourbon," he says again. "You'll have to bend over."

A sarcastic barb is on my tongue, but then I get it. "To the right or the left?"

His lips twitch. "Left."

"Just so you know, this isn't me bending over for cock… even if you are one."

I push away from the bar, bend down, and grab a bourbon bottle from the bottom shelf. Whistling as I stand and look at the label. "That's some premium tastes, Mr. Santoro."

"A woman who knows her bourbon." He looks pleased. "And I'm not Mr. Santoro; that's my father."

I pour him the bourbon, watching the dark amber liquid flow out of the bottle, which I know retails for a couple of grand. "Am I serving stolen alcohol in my bar, Vito?"

He looks innocent but keeps quiet.

"You really are a fucking cunt, aren't you?" I really should watch my mouth, especially given the dangerous company I'll be keeping now.

He doesn't look pissed off, though. In fact, he looks… delighted.

After he drops five bills on the counter, he lifts the glass. "Not stolen; it's discounted , Eden."

"It's Ed," I firmly remind him.

He smiles. "Thanks for the drink, Eden." Then he turns and walks his magnificently sculpted ass and rippling back—evident under his well-fitted suit jacket—back to his table.

I don't know which emotion is winning—anger at his cockiness or lust.

The rattling of bottles jerks me back to attention as Gus puts three cases of liquor on the bar. I really need to get this Vito Santoro situation under control.

Ignoring Vito, and refusing to give in to the urge to glance at where he sits, I help Gus unpack the bottles.

He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "I can call a staff meeting tomorrow for you to go over the changes you're making."

I lean my hip against the ice machine. "Are there changes that need to be made?"

"Not really. I just thought…" His brows furrow, puckering the scar at the top of his nose. "Well, I guess a few things could be tweaked and improved."

"I'm not the 'let's sweep it all away and start from scratch' kind of person, Gus. I want to keep what works, but also, we can change what's not working."

He nods, but I can see the relief on his face, too.

"The only thing I won't tolerate is anyone getting handsy with the staff. Or doing drugs on the premises—that includes customers and staff."

"Those are both things I can support. The handsy part…" He frowns. "Your brother had the same rule; however, it can get dicey to implement sometimes."

"My place, my rules." I shrug. "Anyone who doesn't like it or won't follow them will be given two choices: leave or meet the end of my bat."

His eyes widen, then he smiles. "Aiken always was a brilliant lad. There's no doubt he made the right choice for his successor. I look forward to working for you, Ed."