"Maybe she's one of the girls?" I asked. Enzo pursed his lip in thought, shaking his head after a minute.
"I'd remember that hair," he said. I didn't doubt he would, such was Enzo's memory about little details like that.
I watched for a moment, and when she finally turned her head to the side to face the bartender, I got a good look. "Fuck," I hissed. "Doesn't matter."
"Who is she?"
"No one that Scar will ever let himself touch if he finds out who she is. She's too clean for him. He'll think he doesn't deserve her." I shook my head, wishing I could get through to the stubborn man who had dedicated himself to protecting Ivory. Who'd given his life for hers without hesitation, and then somehow miraculously survived.
"I don't know man; do you see the way he's looking at her?"
"I don't blame him. She's one Hell of a woman. Only an idiot would let her walk away," I grunted, tapping the bar at the edge of the VIP area twice and heading for my office. I needed a drink if I had to watch Scar sabotage the best thing that would ever happen to him. Enzo followed, though he seemed hesitant to leave the show.
He didn't know Scar like I did, didn't know the history he had and all the ways it had left a mark on him. He'd watch all of us find our women, believing that we deserved it. In his mind, we'd given him everything. Given him a second chance at life. Pulled him off the streets and away from the mother who couldn't be bothered to care about him.
Matteo had already started trying to arrange a match for him, as his status as Ivory's bodyguard earned him a wife. But nothing would work, nothing would convince the man that he could have a woman by his side and not stain her with the things he'd done.
The things he'd survived on the streets.
Maybe the woman downstairs would be enough to pull his head out of his ass.
But more likely he'd hightail it without touching her.
Within minutes he'd come up the steps, joining Enzo and me. The look on his face confirmed everything I would ever need to know.
"Who was that?" Enzo asked, grinning at him like he'd found a juicy piece of gossip.
He sighed, looking down at the floor below and undoubtedly staring at her where even from my desk I could see she sat with her head hanging and dejected. "Someone who deserves far better than me."
Enzo's eyes glanced to me, but I shook my head.
One day, I'd force him to see that he wasn't tainted by his childhood. That he could have a life of his own and not give up his loyalty to the Bellandi's.
It was just not that day.
“Why don’t you go ahead and give Ryker a call?” I asked him, putting a stop to whatever prying Enzo might have been ready to unleash on Scar. “I need an update on Connor. See what he’s found.” I did need the update, in all fairness. I’d intended to make the call myself, so that Ryker could hear the frustration in my voice again and know exactly what was at stake.
My sanity.
I needed him to be found. The threat he posed to Samara was just too much for me to tolerate. Any threat to her was too much, but the piece of shit who’d hurt her would have a special place in Hell waiting for him when I finally let him die.
Scar cleared his throat, brushing off the lingering melancholy that the woman he so clearly wanted had prompted in favor of going back into business mode for my sake. “You got it, Lino. Mia Romano just walked in. I know you were looking to have a word with her and maybe string her up in the warehouse,” Scar said with an uneasy chuckle. There wasn’t much that we drew the line at, but hurting women was generally one of them.
But sometimes it was unavoidable for the ones who really deserved to suffer.
Mia’s crimes hadn’t warranted her death, but they did warrant her getting out of my fucking club. “Send her up and then call Ryker from Enzo’s office while I deal with her bullshit,” I ordered, pouring myself a drink.
I didn’t bother sitting, lingering at the window of my office and staring down into the club to watch as Scar approached Mia. She flinched when he barked at her and pointed up to my office, and her eyes were big when she followed his finger up. She couldn’t see me, but from the look on her face I would have guessed that she knew damn well I was watching.
She heaved out a heavy breath and nodded before making her way to the staircase. I didn’t move from my spot at the window as I sipped my whiskey. The sound of her heels thumping against the floor told me the moment she stepped up to the door.
“Lino—” she sighed, anxiety in her voice.
“I think Mr. Bellandi will do just fine. Let’s not pretend that we’re friends.” I spun to face her, setting my drink down on the corner of my desk and leveling her with a glare that I knew would make Matteo proud—all cold intensity and not a trace of any emotion. My temper normally ran hot. I usually lost myself to the fire of it and showed too much of myself, but I’d worked to school my features.
I’d learned, and I tossed all of that effort in her face.
“I just worried about her. I wanted her to understand—”