Chapter Two

Moriah

The door to Phil's bar bangs open before we are officially ready for business and three of the gang members stand there, grinning.

"You were informed we'd be arriving again this week," one reminds us.

Phil nods, not blinking and also not seeming as intimidated as I knew he actually was. "We know."

Before anyone could say anything else, a harried-looking man in an expensive suit walks in.

"Hello, is one of you Moriah Romano?" he asks. I'm the only woman here, but he seems unsure now that he's walked into a tension-filled room. He's probably hoping I will say no so he can leave.

"Sir, we're not open yet," Phil says, eyes darting to the gang members.

"I'm not here to drink. I need Miss Romano," he insists, opening his briefcase and pulling out a manila envelope. "Would that be you?"

"Yes, but we are in the middle of—"

"My name is Greg Jones, I'm the lawyer for the Sorrento family," he barrels on. "Your mother's side of the family."

Okay, now I'm interested. My mom's parents disowned that side of the family when Mom was a baby.

"Perhaps we should speak privately?" I suggest. I glance at the men. "Let me take care of this."

I'm not surprised when they all nod. Clearly they don't want a lawyer hanging around while they extort us.

I lead Mr. Jones into the backroom, which is just a store room for extra alcohol, along with the table and chairs where I'm usually violated. "Sit, please. If you don't mind, I prefer to stand."

Sitting in this room is the last thing I want to do.

Instead of sitting, he places the file on the table and says, "Your uncle, your late mother's brother, passed away. He left her a small inheritance in his will. Not much, just two million, but since records show she passed away, his executor stated next of kin should receive it."

I think I'm hallucinating. Clearly the medicinal weed gummy I took was way too strong this morning.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard you. Was that two million …"

"Dollars. US dollars. It would be a bit under that in euros, which is the currency your uncle used," Jones explains.

"You called it a small inheritance," I comment, my voice wooden.

"Well, compared with what your cousin received, two million may as well be two pennies," Jones admits. "Inside there is all the paperwork. If you want a lawyer to ensure this is legitimate, I and the executor in Europe understand. Especially before you fill out the paperwork with your banking information."

I can't hold back a bark of laughter. "If you wanted to steal from me, you'd be better off playing the lottery. You have a higher chance of a payout then."

I take the envelope and pull out the contents, reading them twice.

Two. Million. Dollars.

"Miss Romano?"

"How fast can I receive this?" I ask.

"Fill that out and it will be to you by three pm today."

I thank him and escort him out.

Poor Phil looks like he's a stray cat cornered by hungry coyotes as I walk by.

Once I shut the door behind Jones, I turn to the kkangpae.

In Korean, to be better understood and have no margin of error, I say, "I want to make a deal with you gentlemen."

The leader arches an eyebrow. "Are you insane?"

"Come back after three. I know that's four hours, but if I don't have something that's entirely worth your while … you can have me for the whole day. Your whole gang. Whatever."

Phil makes a noise between a gasp and a cough. He probably thinks I'm nuts.

If I didn't know what I know, I'd think the same thing.

They all glance at each other, speaking without words. Then the leader nods. "After three. Oh, tonight is going to be fun as Hell."

When they leave, Phil grabs me by the shirt and says, "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Calm down!" I scold, moving away from him. "I need you to get proof of what you owe them, then I can explain everything."

A few minutes later, Phil has the shady paperwork for the loan in front of me, as well as what interest is owed. And he sits, downing a few shots of whiskey, as I explain to him what Mr. Jones wanted.

"What if you're wrong?" he asks, eyes watery.

I shrug. "Then I go through more Hell. But the paperwork looked real. I have to believe I finally got a lucky break."

He scoffs. "Luck isn't for people like us."

* * *

"You're related to the Sorrentos?"

Never in a million years would I have guessed the kkangpae's local leader would look like he was ready to soil his jeans at the mention of my dead uncle.

"I am."

He seems more interested in that than he does the money I'm willing to wire him to pay off Phil's debt. Interesting.

"How did this not make its way to us?" he asks Phil, eyes hard.

"Don't blame him," I defend. "My mom's side of the family was estranged from the Sorrentos. I had no idea who anyone was beyond seeing the name on old documents I went through when Mom passed. I didn't feel the need to ever mention it.

"Why? Who was this Mr. Sorrento?" My mom's older half-brother, apparently.

"The Sorrentos are the biggest mafia family in the world. Not just Sicily, or here in Chicago. Everywhere. They even have their hands in Seoul and Busan," the leader explains. Suddenly, he's treating me with respect. As if he didn't assault me a few days ago.

Oh. Well.

That's news to me.

"Clearly, I had no idea."

The leader nods. "That's obvious. The question now is, what are you going to do?"

"I want to pay off Phil's debt. I want to leave this city and move back to Seoul, where I went to university. And last, I want to open my own bar. I always dreamed of owning a bar in Gangnam," I admit.

The leader pauses, appearing to think. "Nearly a million dollars to us, the rest to start the business. You're sure?"

I nod. "I want my friend out of debt and protected. And I want to live my dream. I don't need anything else."

The leader glances at Phil as I speak.

"All right. On one condition. You allow the kkangpae there in Seoul to use the bar for trades and occasional gambling events. It's illegal there, and we always appreciate the places that protect us," the leader says.

I bristle at "trades". "Not people."

"What?"

"Trades. I won't be part of human trafficking."

The leader laughs as if I'm a sideshow act. "No, sweetheart. Trades as in inanimate products. Not humans. Now, do we have a deal?"

He holds his hand out and I tentatively take it.

"Deal."

* * *

Phil was put out by my leaving, but I couldn't stay in Chicago anymore. Not only did I always intend on moving back to Seoul, I had more reasons to now: to get away from the awful memories at his bar.

Despite being a chain, all Sweet Cock-Tails bars are independently operated, we just have to pay a licensing fee to use the name. Since that's what Phil's was, it seems right to make mine a Sweet Cock-Tails, too. The first and only in Seoul.

Smoothing over the volatile rift between the Sicilians and the kkangpae won't happen overnight, but my distant family has no qualms with me bridging a gap and working with the kkangpae, but I was given a warning.

"Whatever you do," my cousin Isabella Sorrento tells me over the phone, "if it backfires, it backfires on you and you only. We won't be getting in the middle of it."

"You won't have to," I promise.

She scoffs. "You better hope so. It's your funeral … literally."