Any time he starts to show any concern or regret about me and my situation, he quickly masks it, hardening himself with threats and sharp words. Once, he even threatened to throw me down a set of stairs.
A chill runs through my body at the thought.
The constant change between being a semi-okay person and a horrible one is what makes him not only unpredictable, but dangerous. I’d much rather he be awful all the time than so damn wishy washy. At least then I’d know how to approach him.
I stiffen my shoulders, standing up straight as I meet his emotionless eyes. "It's fine," I tell him sharply. "I'll make sure to keep my head thoughtless for the next couple of hours," I bite out before snatching my order pad off the bar and turning on my heels to head to my section.
I take little satisfaction in bumping into Enzo as I pass him, the pain in my shoulder quickly putting a dent in the positive feeling.
I make my way to my section, keeping my steps quick and even. Fortunately, the outfit that was picked out for me today is accompanied with a pair of flats instead of the ankle-breaking heels the family likes to dress me up in. My dress drapes over my body, accentuating all my curves, both the ones I love and the ones I hate. The self-consciousness I feel is nothing compared to how I felt when I first got here. And when the men sitting at the table in my section let their eyes roam over my bare skin, the disgust I feel isn't the same either.
It feels more resigned now.
"What can I get for you gentlemen tonight?" I paint on a smile that hurts.
I quickly take their orders and make my way back to the bar. Enzo is no longer standing by it. I'm sure he's just retreated to one of the corners of the club that he sulks in every night while he watches me. Unless I resume my daydreaming, he’s likely to leave me alone until closing time.
I pass my order off to Dave, one of the bartenders, letting my fake smile drop momentarily. I wait patiently, tapping my foot as I tamper down the urge to let my thoughts take over again. The last thing I need is for Enzo to come over and start bitching again.
"Hey girl." The familiar voice has me turning to find Amarie, another waitress, walking up to me.
She's as stunning as ever, with tonight’s outfit featuring a dark leather bodice pulled tight and pushing up her chest. Her leather skirt flaunts her hips and shapely legs. Her lips are painted a dark red and as she gets closer, I can see that her long, pointy nails are a deep chocolate shade this week. Her curls bounce around her shoulders as she comes to a stop and her eyes twinkle as she looks me over.
The joyful expression on her face is only a little shocking, since our last conversation started with me accusing her of being the rat selling drugs under the Costa family's nose. She hadn't exactly taken the accusation to heart, but there'd been an edge to the conversation and a threatening vibe that had my hackles rising.
Amarie is... an enigma.
But what I do know is that she's more dangerous than her designer clothes and manicured hands may lead you to believe.
"Hey," I reply, watching her as she continues to rake her eyes up and down my body.
When her eyes finally lock onto mine, a grin twists her lips. "I thought you were dead." Even with the smile, or maybe because of it, her words sound morbidly final.
I open my mouth before closing it. I don't know what to tell her. Giovanni made it clear that I'm not to tell anyone about what happened. As if I was going to go running my mouth off to the blogs. I have to refrain from laughing at the thought.
"Well?" Amarie prompts, propping her elbow against the bar as she watches me. Her bright eyes sparkle in amusement.
"I'm alive, as you can see," I finally say, gesturing to myself curtly.
Alive, but dead on the inside.
Amarie laughs, showing off sparkling white teeth. "Yeah, I can see that. You don't sound happy about it, though."
She isn't wrong.
I shrug my shoulders, feeling relieved when I see Dave approaching with my order. I try to dismiss Amarie. "Yeah, well, it is what it is."
She leans a little closer, the sweet cotton candy smell of her perfume flooding my nostrils. "You'd think Giovanni Costa's mistress would be a bit happier," she drawls, and I don’t miss the sarcasm as her tone switches up and the smile falls from her face.
And this is one of the things that makes her so damn scary. The way she can switch from smiling to reminding me that she isn’t scared of the Costa family in the blink of an eye.
It’s uncanny.
“You’re just falling deeper and deeper into the web aren’t you, Winter?” she asks. The words send me back to our last conversation, when she'd accused me of being caught up in the Costa family's web.
Maybe you’re the spider after all and not a measly fly.
I swallow. I try to figure out a reply, but she beats me to it, laying a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay." The edge has disappeared again and this time I find nothing but pity in her eyes as she looks at me. "We all get pushed into corners we don't want to be in." Her lips purse. "All that matters is how we decide to get out of them."