Chapter 18

CESARE

Contrary to popular belief, nightclubs aren't closed during the day. While we wait for patrons to arrive, employees busy themselves cleaning, stocking the bar, and supplying local dealers with meth. There's even an outlet at the back where we supply overpriced booze to people who order online.

I guide Miranda through the Phoenix's front doors and give her a moment to soak in her surroundings. She steps into the foyer, admiring the mirrored walls and velvet curtains with wide-eyed fascination. She tilts her head to gaze up at the crystal chandeliers used to illuminate the space and can't help but release a tiny gasp.

"You own the whole building?" she asks, her voice breathy.

"Yeah, along with a few others," I reply with a chuckle.

She pauses to place her palms on the unoccupied coat check desk, her head swiveling in all directions. "This is so cool."

"You haven't even seen the club yet." I wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her toward the double doors. "You've never been to a nightclub?"

She shakes her head.

"Come on, let me show you around."

I take her on a brief tour, showing her the DJ booth, the private function rooms, and my office, where she marvels at the wall of surveillance screens. I even play one of her favorite songs she can prance about on the dance floor. As we walk around, people acknowledge me and are careful not to glance at my underage companion.

As we take a seat in the VIP section, she glances at the bar and asks, "Can I have a cocktail?"

"Anything you want, love."

I wave over Tania, the pink-haired bartender who walked in on me giving Ricky CPR.

She flounces over, her lips downturned, her eyes burning with resentment. "What can I get you?"

"Two Shirley Temples," I say.

Her gaze slides to Miranda in her school uniform before she turns back to me. "Is this a joke?"

I flash my teeth. "Just get us the drinks."

Rolling her eyes, she returns to the bar, most likely muttering curses. I turn to glare at her back. Stupid bitch is making me look bad in front of my guest. If she's still sore about being choked, then she should have quit.

"What's wrong with her?" Miranda asks, her gaze following Tania's retreating figure.

"Bad day?" I reply with a shrug. "So, what kind of jewelry does your sister like?"

Her mouth forms a perfect O. "Are you going to buy her a ring?"

"Something like that." I smirk, picturing Rosalind squirming on my dungeon floor, with nipple rings adorning those glorious tits. "What do you think of diamonds?"

Miranda launches into a monologue about her own likes and dislikes, without once mentioning her sister. Concealing a frown, I question if they're as close as Leroi implied.

Tania returns with two vibrant mocktails and slams mine on the table with a vicious smirk. Liquid splashes across the surface, barely missing my pants leg. "I spat in that."

Miranda recoils, her features contorting with disgust. Blood rushes through my ears, and my pulse pounds in sync with my mounting rage. Tania is no idiot. She's acting up to provoke a violent reaction, hoping Miranda will see my darker side and run for her life.

"You're fired," I snarl, my hands balling into fists.

Tania's jaw drops. "What?"

"Get out."

"B-But Cesare?—"

"Now," I say through clenched teeth.

Tania's face pales, her chest rising and falling. She reaches for one of the Shirley Temple glasses, but I snatch her wrist and pull her down so she can hear my warning.

"Don't even think about throwing a drink in my face," I growl, making her whimper. "Now, apologize to my guest, pack your things, and leave."

I glance at Miranda, who sits frozen, her eyes wide. Fuck knows what's racing through the little girl's mind, but if this run-in with Tania makes Miranda think less of me, the pink-haired bitch will have more things to worry about than being fired.

"Cesare, you can't do this," Tania cries.

Bruno lumbers over. "Problems, boss?"

"This bartender needs to be shown the door." I release Tania's wrist.

Bruno grabs her arm and drags her away, leaving Miranda gaping.

My heart sinks, and my chest tightens at the thought of her reaction. I was having so much fun with the girl, letting her think I was safe to be around. I turn to her, my brows pinching and stare at her shocked profile.

"Are you alright, love?" I ask.

She whirls on me, her eyes sparkling. "That was so cool. You were like..." Her features turn serious, and she lowers her voice. "You're fired."

A weight lifts off my chest, and the muscles squeezing my heart loosen so quickly that I chuckle. "Glad you approve."

"She deserved it." Miranda glances at her drink and grimaces.

"We can forget about those. Are you hungry?" I ask.

"Why?"

"Because my karaoke bar makes the best wagyu burgers."

Miranda grins. "I'm starving. Let's go!"

If Miranda wasn't the spitting image of Rosalind, I would swear they weren't related. The girl has told me all about her love of K-pop, J-pop, K-dramas, and anime, but she hasn't once asked about her sister. It's almost as though she's trying to avoid the topic.

My manager, Allegra, takes us to a private room, and I let Miranda order anything from the menu. For every alcoholic drink she selects, I substitute it for something without the liquor. Miranda sings a few songs as we wait for our orders, and I can't help but grin at the way she dances with her hands.

She makes me wish I had carefree younger siblings to spoil and protect instead of two older brothers and Gil who treat me like I'm a screwup.

Our burgers arrive, along with a fuckload of sides Miranda wanted to try. I can't help but chuckle as she chatters nonstop about the amount of fun she's having. Her excitement is contagious.

"So, you have a nightclub, a karaoke bar. What else?"

I rub my chin. "Our family owns all the stores on this block."

She leans into me and whispers, "Including Wonderland?"

"What do you know about Wonderland?" I ask with a scowl.

"Only that it sells adult stuff."

"Adult stuff." I raise a brow.

"You know, handcuffs, masks, whips. Will you take me for a tour?" she asks, her eyes twinkling.

I shake my head. "No way. Rosalind would have my balls."

She giggles. "She would."

"So, what's she like as a big sister?" I ask.

Miranda's smile fades, taking all traces of exuberance with it, leaving her empty and distant.

"What's wrong, love?" I ask.

She hesitates, her tiny jaw flexing as though she's trying to compose a difficult essay. "Rosa never has time for me," she replies, her words measured. "And she would never let me eat food like this."

"Like what?" I glance at the banquet of burgers, fries, sides, and milkshakes.

"Junk food. If she isn't disappearing for weeks or months, then she's eating vegan health food. All she cares about is homework, exercise, and routines."

"I'm sure Rosalind means well."

Miranda scowls. "Maybe."

"Do you live with your parents?" I ask.

"They're dead."

"Oh." My brows rise. "Were you close?"

"We were until they died," she mutters.

"Car accident?"

"My mom got shot in the head, and my dad died in an explosion."

Frowning, I study her blank features. She talks about their deaths in a monotone, making me wonder if she's still dealing with the trauma. If Rosalind also witnessed their deaths, maybe that's the reason she became an assassin.

"I'm sorry. How old were you at the time?" I ask.

"Four."

"And it's been you and your sister ever since?"

Miranda takes a large bite from her burger, seeming reluctant to answer. The poor kid. I was eighteen when Dad died and twenty-two when I heard about Mom's death. Old resentment rises to the surface, and my stomach twists into painful knots. She would still be alive if she hadn't left. The food lingering on my tongue sours, and I toss my burger back onto its plate.

I pick up the remote. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Only if it's horror. I'm not allowed to watch anything violent."

A smirk tugs at my lips. "Have you seen Saw?"

"Do you have it?" She bounces on her seat.

"It's my fucking favorite."

After switching channels, I order us more drinks and start the movie. Miranda scoots closer, already trembling.

My gaze drops to where she's tucked beneath my arm. "I thought you liked horror."

"But I also like being scared," she replies with a smirk.

A laugh escapes my lips, and I squeeze her shoulder. "If it gets too much, we'll turn it off."

"It won't."

"Let's see how brave you are, then."

We spend the rest of the evening watching the movie and laughing when Miranda flinches at the jump scares. It's the most fun I've had since that hellish week when Dad died, Roman got arrested, and Mom left us for Tommy Galliano.

I clench my fists, my mood souring at the mere thought of the Galliano brothers. The door opens, pushing me out of my thoughts. Allegra arrives to clear our plates and gives me the side-eye.

We used to fuck until I realized she was faking her interest in bondage and tried to downgrade us to vanilla. Ignoring her attempts to capture my attention, I order us chocolate brownies and ice cream for dessert.

I don't react when Allegra returns with the dessert and brushes the back of my hand with her fingers. She will never compare to my Rosalind. Rosalind is my pet, my plaything, my pretty new pastime. I don't need movies or music when I can break her apart, piece by beautiful piece.

Miranda sets upon her sweet treats like she hasn't just eaten burgers and every side on the menu. "This is awesome," she says through her mouthful. "I've never had brownies with white chocolate."

"Hey, do you like pranks?" I ask during a lull.

"What sort of prank?"

"Something that will get her attention."

Her eyes widen. "Sure."

"I have a replica of the reverse bear trap in my office. Do you want to play a little trick on your sister?"