The boss was a good guy, I think. He didn't like trouble much. In fact, he disliked trouble so much that he once beat Antonio Bianchi with a busted chair leg because Ant pulled a knife on another patron.
Safe to say, Ant doesn't come around much anymore.
The rest of the Bianchis are here basically daily. The boss had a deal with Don Carlo; protection from the police and lots of cash in exchange for a boatload of alcohol and an open door. It seemed like a great deal to me, since my whole job was to look pretty and move drinks from the bar to tables.
I rounded the banister at the bottom of the stairs, having no trouble finding Don Carlo's chubby, short form through the window into the boss's office. He was hunched over a map of Manhattan with the boss, making notes and circling buildings, bickering over something I couldn't quite make out.
Interestingly I couldn't see Bianca with them. She was a real wiz when it came to logistics, so she usually sat in on meetings. She had to be here somewhere.
Putting my curiosity to bed I threw on an apron from behind the bar and got to work washing leftover glasses from the night before. Was this part of my job? No, but I knew for a fact that Margot wouldn't do it, and she was currently on thin ice with the boss. In the interest of her staying on payroll, current maybe arrest not withstanding, I washed the dishes for her.
I finished up, dried my hands and moved out to the main room. I couldn't keep my mind off of Margot. What if she was caught? What would I do if she was in the pen?
Instead of indulging in that downward spiral I begin setting the stage, assuming, hoping, she would show up for her set tonight. I struggled to find the microphone for longer than I'd like to admit, but eventually I found the cable running into a maintenance hatch under the stage. Strange.
I crouched by the hatch and pulled on the chord gently, but the microphone seemed caught on something. A chill ran up my spine and I debated on having Craig hop down to dislodge the stubborn thing. Unfortunately that wasn't exactly an option with his massive frame. I took a deep breath, eased the hatch open and hopped down into the dark below the stage.
The air down here was way too hot. I assumed the hearing vents ran through here to the boiler, but I couldn't see for sure from how damned dark it was. Even after a solid minute my eyes had still not adjusted to the dim light coming in through the hatch above.
Shaking off the dread that has made its way into my chest I inched forward, using the taut line from the microphone cable deeper into the crawl space. The anxiety only grew as I approached the wooden crate that pinned the microphone down.
"How did you get here?" I wondered aloud as I carefully pried the metal from the crate. I had just gotten the microphone free when a pair of hands pressed me hard into the crate, forcing me to bend at the waist over the splintered wood, the thick cloth of my apron sparing my skin from the rough surface.
I froze, my whole body limp at the sudden aggressor, fear tightening in my throat.
Then I heard that obnoxious laugh. Heat rose to my cheeks as I shoved off of the crate and turned on maybe the most irritating woman on planet earth.
"What the fuck, Bianca. I thought one of your goons had trapped me down here!" I nearly screamed at her, standing there, brunette hair in a fresh perm to curl around her olive toned face.
Bianca Bianchi waved a perfectly manicured hand at me like you would an annoying fly, still laughing like there was nothing wrong with her behavior. "Relax Harlow, just teasing. Honestly I thought you might like a 'strong hand' from how touchy you are with my brother."
I bristled "From how touchy I am? Craig hugs every girl he sees and I'm not even sure he's hitting on them."
"Oh he definitely is. Did you see how he looked at Red last night? That girl hits a high note and I can almost see Craig's eyes pop out of his head." She smiled, misreading the flush returning to my face. "There it is, honey. I knew you wanted a piece of the Bianchi pie."
I fought the urge to retort. Of course I couldn't blame Craig for pining after Margot. She was perfect. Voice of an angel and a body to match. God what that woman could do with her mouth.
I cleared my throat and shoved Bianca lightly, causing her to laugh harder as I moved passed her.
"It's not that bad, Harlow. I'm sure I could put in a good enough word for you." She grabbed my shoulder again, forcing me to look at her dark chocolate eyes, "If you ask nicely, of course."
Thank God, an out. I smile at her politely, trying not to think of her too, pressed so close to me like this. Bia could be beautiful, and honestly she really was a marvel of genetics. He was so smart and pretty that most men would definitely consider her beautiful. My problem was that she knew this so well that she became... Well she was kind of a bitch.
I pushed her lightly to give myself some space. "I'm sorry Bia but I really don't like Craig like that."
"Sure you don't." She rolled her eyes and helped me get enough height to pull myself out of the crawl space, microphone in hand. I offered her a hand but she was already half out, not struggling at all. I blamed it on her absurd heels but I knew she was wearing the same shoes I was. Bianca just happened to tower over me in most situations.
Genetics.
She sauntered off to join the men in the boss's office while I reattached the microphone to its stand on stage. After that was finished I began to clean the dust from my dress and remove my apron. I could vaguely hear Craig greeting someone upstairs so I checked the clock on the wall.
Three O'clock. There were still three hours before the doors opened. Confusion wrapped around me as I watched the stairs, listening to two sets of footsteps making their way down and around the banister.
First my heart soared as I saw familiar legs in a truly scandalous black dress that stopped at her mid thigh. Immediately my heart dropped when I saw the man on her arm.
Tousled hair like an oil spill matched with steel colored eyes that cut through me when they found mine. He was the kind of beautiful that poets penned pages to describe, all tall, dark, and broody.
And Margot hung off of him like a new wife.