Charlie
Ten minutes to two o’clock.
My stomach twists harder into a knot as the second hand ticks by on the clock hanging over the deli counter. I check my phone for messages from Oliver; nothing. I call him for the tenth time in the last hour since he hasn’t shown up. Goes straight to voicemail.
“Charlie, why are you so tense?” Joey walks behind me, bringing a box of chips to restock.
“No reason.” I fiddle with the stuff by the register, acting like I’m straightening up but I’m staring at the front door.
They’ll be here soon.
“Charlie, I have a catering order that wants to know if we can split the bill across three credit cards?” Silvia has her hand over the receiver of the phone with her head popped out from the kitchen.
“Uh.” I wipe my hands on my jeans; my nerves are frazzled, and my brain is bouncing too hard against my skull to think straight.
“I can just run three different amounts, that would work, right?” she asks when I keep staring at her.
“What? Oh, yeah. That will work. Payment up front, though, Silvia.”
She nods. “You got it, boss.”
Joey finishes stocking the chips and carries the empty box past me.
I take the box from him. “I’ll take this out.” I need some fresh air. I have five minutes before the Romanovs’ debt collectors come looking to break my brother’s legs.
“You okay, Charlie? You look pale.” His soft blue eyes fill with concern. I don’t want him to worry.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just want a minute outside.”
“All right. I’ll handle these customers,” he says and I whip around to see three men, all with midnight black hair, dressed in black slacks and freshly pressed button-down shirts walking toward our door.
Time’s up apparently.
“No. That’s okay. I’ll get it. Why don’t you show Silvia how to run the meat slicer again?”
“Why, don’t you like how I do it? You want to replace me with her?” Joey asks, his face blank of emotion.
I do not have time for a full conversation about who has what job duties around here.
“It’s good for her to know, Joey. In case she ends up being here when neither of us are and she has to do it on her own.”
The bells hanging over the door ring, slamming the brakes on my heart.
“I’m just pulling your leg, Charlie. I think maybe it’s time you took a vacation. You’re getting too tense.” He wags a finger at me then disappears into the back.
The three men sit at the table in the far corner of the deli, closest to the door. I check my phone once more, internally scream, then shove it into my back pocket. The lunch rush, if you can call what we had a rush, is over. These men are the only customers we have. And none of them seem interested in the menu. They speak low to each other, like they don’t want to be bothered.
And I don’t want to bother them.
But Oliver isn’t here. And I know him well enough to know he’s not coming. He’s put the garbage at my doorstep and now I have to take it out.
I take a deep breath, wipe my hands on my jeans once more, then grab the envelope I’ve stashed under the register drawer. In my head, I practice my speech. With any luck, they’ll take the envelope, thank me for my time, and walk out of the deli. Hell, I’ll even offer them a few subs. On the house.
They’re speaking low when I get to the table, but I can tell they’re definitely speaking Russian. No need to keep their voices so soft when talking in a foreign language. But I’m not going to point that out to them. No. I’m going to hand the money over, offer them any sub they want, and then wave goodbye.
I don’t let the fact that this is the Romanov family I’m dealing with sidetrack my positive vibes. I mean, sure, they’ve built a reputation in this neighborhood that would put anyone on high alert when they’re around. But I’m a woman. Surely, they don’t kill women.
Right?