While she scribbles the table’s order on a grimy sheet of yellow paper, her big, puppy dog eyes, so blue I could go for a swim in them, lock with mine. She’s been leering over at me all night, catching cheeky glances she didn’t think I’d notice. I crack a smile, Brianna’s cheeks go a dark shade of pink.
What are you after, pretty little thing?
“I’ve been running the numbers, Butch. Money’s coming in good and steady from the Irish. Do we really need to start trouble with the Italians?” Victor leans forward in his seat, rubbing the palms of his hands together nervously.
“Not my decision to cause a ruckus, but the big boss is asking for lasagna, and we’re gonna give it to him.” This day was bound to come eventually. I’m meant to take time, generate capital, and start turning heads.
What better way to show New York the Irish are back, if not by starting a war?
“Then what are you suggesting we do about Alfonso Ricci?” Johnny asks. He takes a swig of his beer before offering a box of cigarettes around the table.
I take one and light up.
“Alfonso is bald, mean, and full of beans. We’re not walking into Little Italy and putting a bullet in his head,” Victor says.
“No one said nothing about a bullet, did they?” Nah, we don’t play by those rules. Looking a man in the eye before you kill him is the quickest way to lose your own life. “We take a page from the playbook of old. Rig his car with explosives, when he starts the engine—”
“Boom,” Johnny finishes my sentence.
A bell tolls from the bar and a burly bloke with mutton chops screams out. “Last round, ladies and gents. What can we get you?”
Last call already? Thank fuck for that. As much fun as it is to chat shit with the boys about how we’re going to conquer this country, I’d rather be doing what I came here to do.
“We best be shoving off then,” I say.
“Need a ride home, boss?” Johnny asks.
I shake my head. No, I have different plans for my evening. “You run along. I’ve got some unfinished business before I go.”
The Moonshine Saloon comes alive once the last rounds have been ordered. The piss head inhabitants find the courage to approach every woman in the bar. After wooing and courting the night away, this is their last-ditch effort to find a partner for the evening. A night of awkwardness, floundering, and failing, is better than one of loneliness. But it also brings out the worst in people. Rejection stings, and when these poor fuckers don’t get their way, they turn violent.
What good would I be to Brianna if I didn’t stick around and make sure she got home safe?
Not that a man like me is any good for a woman like her. She’s a delicate flower, too pure for a place like this. I’d get her far away from here if I had my way. I’d throw her over my shoulder and carry her straight to the safety of my bed.
An image of Brianna dressed in nothing but my Egyptian cotton sheets gallops across my mind. My cock bounces against the leg of my pants, and if I’m not careful, it will knock on the underside of the table.
My gaze is glued to her in a hapless inspection of every stunning inch she has on display. From behind, her full-figured form squeezes into the short skirt. Whenever she bends over, I get a glimpse of those white panties and the perfect curve of her ass cheeks that lead straight down to her core. From the front, her plump tits strain the fucking seams of her tank top, and her perky nipples strain against the thin fabric.
But her blue eyes and lightly freckled cheeks keep me staring longer than I should. The way she turns rosy-cheeked and her teeth sink into her lower lip when she looks over at my table, drinking me in.
Thank Christ, no one’s here to see me drooling over her.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, watching Brianna. Part of me wished when I stepped through the bar’s door, it was a fleeting fancy and would dissipate if I stuck around. That isn’t the case. The more I stared, the more I wanted her. Needed her.
“We’re closing down for the night, sir,” a waitress says at my side. Her sudden interruption pulls me away from Brianna, approaching a rather rowdy group of men.
“I know.”
“Can I ring you up?” She asks.
I look straight through her at Brianna. She’s handling the drunks well, delivering the same message my waitress brought to me.
“Sure.”
I pay my dues and dip outside with the rest of the crowd making their way into the street. My car isn’t far away, but I’m not heading for it. I still need to finish what I set out to do. I cross the street and dip into an alleyway, and once more, my inspection resumes. This time, it’s watching the no-good bastards hovering outside who could cause trouble for my woman.
It’s a good thing that I did, too. As Brianna emerges from the Moonshine Saloon’s front door, two men start howling and catcalling in her direction. The barman who called last round tells them to fuck off while Briana makes her escape down the street. Good on you, lad. But the barman’s chivalrous act yield’s no weight. She barely reaches the corner when he gets into his car and drives off.