Chapter 1 - Amelia
This day couldn’t possibly get worse, could it? I flick my brown curly hair over my shoulder and sigh softly, waiting at the bar of La Club. What else is there to do after yet another horrible breakup but drown my sorrows?
“What will it be?” the beefy bartender asks as he approaches me.
“Vodka and lemonade,” I order, “make it a double.”
I watch him make the drink, knowing my father would be pissed if he knew I was out drinking again. Then again, he’d been pissed I’d been with Dave, to begin with.
I sway to the rhythm of the music, tapping my long nails against the wood of the bar while I wait for my drink. I can’t remember why I haven’t been to La Club in so long, but it’s nagging my brain. Something about the place doesn’t sit right with me, but it was in the neighborhood after my sudden and catastrophic breakup with Dave, and I just wanted to unwind and enjoy myself.
A few sleazy guys have their eyes on me, I can tell just by scanning the room, but I’m not in the mood for a rebound tonight. Everyone already questions my choices when it comes to men. I don’t need to add to my reputation so soon after a breakup.
I tip the bartender and take my drink, heading straight to the dance floor to let loose. Earlier, I messaged my best friend Emily to join me, but she hasn’t replied. I check my phone again and shoot her another text.
Then I pocket my phone and dance, hanging onto my drink as the crowd dances around me, sometimes bumping into me. It’s a rock night, so they’re playing quite an interesting collection of music. Some heavy, some punk, but I don’t care as long as I can dance to it. In fact, it suits the rage I feel within me, so I bop and bounce along, joining the crowd in their frenzy until my drink is finished and I’m tired.
Maybe a Jagerbomb will go down well, something that will give me energy. I head back toward the bar, weaving through groups of people shouting at each other over the music.
I never saw the point in trying to talk at a nightclub. The point is to dance and have fun. Go outside and have a smoke if you want to talk, or go out for dinner where you can have a quiet conversation without cracking your voice box trying to be heard.
A man blocked my path to the bar, and I waited a moment before I started getting annoyed. I never was a patient person. To begin with, my father liked to remind me, but I’m also not a scared little girl. I tap him on the shoulder and call, “Excuse me, can you move?”
He turns and looks at me, and I freeze in place. I know those grayish-blue Sorvino eyes anywhere. Francesco Sorvino, or Frankie, as everyone calls him, looks deep into my eyes and then up and down my body, causing a shiver to run over me.
“Hey, Frankie,” I call, trying to be polite. “You look good.”
I mean it. He does look good. Fuck, why am I being nice to him anyway? The dickhead broke my heart the most out of all my exes.
I wait for his response, but he sidesteps me and heads to the office. That’s when it dawns on me. The reason I didn’t come to La Club was that the Sorvino mafia family owns it, and Frankie handles the business. I consider leaving. The sting of his ignoring me like I was nothing burns deep, but there’s also defiance in me that wants him to see me having a good time. To show him I’ve moved on to bigger, brighter, and more fun times.
I go to the bar, my shoulders squared away and ready to take on whatever this shitty day decides to throw at me next.
“Another?” the bartender asks as he recognizes me.
“And a Jagerbomb,” I add.
“Coming up,” he calls over the music and grabs what he needs. I watch him. Maybe I should grab a rebound guy. Specifically in front of Frankie to remind him of what he’s missing out on. I mean, his office is right there. I could wait until he comes out and just make out with someone. That’ll rile him up. ARGH! Why do I care so much that he ignored me?
This really should be a non-issue. I take my phone out and see six messages from Dave. Ah, Dave, I’m not responding to you, honey, you’re fifty shades of fucked up, and I’m already over dealing with your brand of crazy.
I text Emily again to ask if she is coming out or not. She’s probably asleep. Bitch is getting tired in her old age. I chuckle to myself at the joke. I do love my best friend. She’s been working hard, though, so I have to make do with what I’ve got. I put my back to the bar and glance around. Lots of guys in suits, pretentious fucks who want to look important but really, they’re not. The suits are cheap, and any person with actual money can tell from a mile away.
One looks directly at me, but he’s so far from my type that I almost gag. He steps toward me, so I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning back to the bar. He better just stay in his lane if he knows what’s good for him,
“Here you go,” the bartender says, setting my drinks in front of me. I knock back the shot and smack my lips, grinning. “Thanks. I’ll be back for another soon.”
I grab my drink and turn to head back to the dance floor, but the sleaze ball is there. “Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you looking at me.”
“It wasn’t by choice. You have something gross on your face,” I say.
His eyes widen, and he moves away quickly, heading for the bathroom. I grin and make my way past Frankie’s office, but I’m stopped dead in my tracks when an arm grabs me and spins me around, causing me to spill my drink.
Dave.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demand to know, glaring at him and shaking my hand, trying to dry it.
“You weren’t answering me, so I tracked your phone,” he growls, “We’re not fucking done talking.”