Chapter 1
*Sephie*
I hear my white noise app cut off and my alarm slowly getting louder. I wait for the chiming bells to stop before rolling over and hitting the screen. With a deep breath, I muster the energy to get out of bed and drag myself to the shower.
Another glorious day in the life of waiting tables. I barely contain my excitement at the prospect of being yelled at by angry customers again today. People have been extra cranky lately.
After my shower, I make myself a quick breakfast, even though it''s late afternoon. Working the late shift means I miss normal breakfast time, but let''s be real—bacon can be enjoyed any time of day.
Once the dishes are done, I grab my keys and bag, locking the door behind me. I live alone. It''s maybe not the best neighborhood, but all my neighbors are really nice, and we look out for each other. When I turn around after locking up, I see Mr. Turner walking up the steps to his apartment across the hall.
"Hello, Miss Sephie. Going anywhere exciting?" He''s slowly climbing the stairs with groceries in hand. It''s Thursday, after all. Mr. Turner always hits the grocery store on his way home on Thursdays.
"Hi, Mr. Turner. Off to work. How was your day? Any excitement at the hotel today?"
"No, not today, but I''m thankful for boring days, if I''m being honest."
Mr. Turner works the door at the most expensive hotel downtown. He''s been doorman for thirty-two years and knows every single influential person in the city.
"Boring days give you more time to find my Mr. Perfect, right? I like boring days too," I chuckle.
Mr. Turner laughs as he reaches his door and sets his groceries down to unlock it. "Don''t you worry, Miss Sephie, I''ll find you the perfect man one day. You deserve it."
"I don''t know about that, but I''ll take all the help I can get. Have a great night, Mr. Turner. I''ll see you in the morning, and as always, if you need anything, just call me." I wave goodnight as he disappears into his apartment.
My smile lingers as I jog down the steps to the parking lot. Having great neighbors really can make a huge difference.
Once I pull into the restaurant''s parking lot, I find my usual spot taken. I grumble to myself as I''m forced to park farther from the building. I''m nothing if not a creature of habit. Not getting my normal parking space means this is going to be a rough night. *Hooray for Thursdays.*
When I step out of my car, I notice storm clouds slowly rolling in. I inhale deeply, breathing in the sweet scent of incoming rain and savoring this last moment of sanity before my shift starts. *I can do this.*
It''s not just any Thursday. It''s the last Thursday of the month, which means all the crime bosses in the city meet at this restaurant to discuss "business." They reserve the back room and request me as their server every time. I don''t know if it''s because I''m quiet, keep my head down, or because I remember what each boss likes and doesn''t like, but they always ask for me. They tip incredibly well, so waiting on known criminals becomes somewhat manageable. Their tips are single-handedly funding my savings account, which means I''ll be able to move out of this questionable neighborhood sooner rather than later.
"Hey Sephie. You coming inside, or are you just going to stand by your car with your eyes closed like a psycho all night?"
"Shut up, Max. I''m coming, I''m coming," I say, running to catch up with him. Max is the bartender and has his own fan club of women who come to the restaurant solely to be served drinks by him. His drinks aren''t even special—he''s admitted to watering them down most days. They just want to stare at him while he smiles and serves them their Cosmos.
Max is tall and muscular, but lean muscular. He looks like he could play basketball, not football. His dirty blonde hair is shorter on the sides but longer on top. He says women love slightly longer hair these days, so he''s conducting "market research" to see if longer hair gets him better tips. Max has this boyish charm, but he knows exactly how to use those emerald green eyes on the ladies. One look from him and most women swoon. I''m apparently immune to that look. He tries it on me often, but I laugh every time. He says I''m good for his humility, if nothing else.
"Were you meditating just now? Do you need to find inner peace before the meeting tonight?" he teases, opening the back door for me.
"I was trying to find the strength not to smack you, asshole," I laugh as I walk into the kitchen.
"Oh. You wound me."
"I''m positive you''ll find a woman to nurse your wounds in... approximately thirty minutes," I say, checking my watch to see how long we have before the bar opens. Thursday through Sunday, women flock here just to see Max.
"But none of them will ever have my heart the way you do, my little gingersnap," he says, stepping in front of me. He leans in and gently tucks a loose curl behind my ear, adjusts my thick braid over my shoulder, and pretends to fix my shirt collar.
I stare deeply into his big green eyes as his fingers linger on my neck. Then I immediately break character and burst into laughter as he does the same.
"Go to work, Max."
The black SUVs start arriving around eight. Max is completely swamped with single women vying for his attention at the bar but still takes time to run back to the kitchen like a five-year-old and yells, "THEY''RE HERE!" before running back to the bar. I shake my head, laughing at his antics, take a deep breath, and steel myself for the night ahead.
The six bosses each come with at least two to four additional people. Some are bodyguards, some are their kids, and some are underbosses. The bosses are all very respectful, as are the bodyguards and underbosses. It''s the children I loathe. Sons of mafia bosses have the biggest egos I''ve ever encountered, and worse, they feel entitled to act however they please. They''re handsy, they''re rude, and they all think I should be throwing myself at them simply because of who their fathers are.
Luckily, they don''t come to every meeting, but they''ll definitely be here tonight. Apparently this meeting is extra important because the main boss—*the overlord? I don''t know what to call him. Lord King Boss? Feels right*—the Lord King Boss will be here tonight. He rarely makes public appearances, so I''m at a loss as to what''s so important that he''d show up, but I''m sure I''ll catch snippets throughout the night. Since I always handle this meeting, I know more about the city''s dealings than I probably should. I keep that information to myself, of course. I''m not an idiot.
