Chapter 6

A cold shiverruns up my spine.

I check over my shoulder, but no one’s there.

It doesn’t stop the creepy sensation that someone’s watching me as I make my way up the steps of the brownstone for the pre-teen girls’ party I’ve been hired to do hair and makeup for.

This mess with Jimmy is making me paranoid. No one is watching me. No one knows I’m here.

But just in case, I glance once more before ringing the bell. I’m twenty minutes early, but it’s too cold out here to wait on the street.

“You must be Marlena!” A woman dressed in a navy-blue button-down dress with a white belt and a strand of pearls around her neck greets me at the door. The ruby red of her lipstick complements the deep blue of her eyes, without making her pale complexion seem out of place.

She’s older than I’d thought she would be. Her graying hair is swept away from her face with thick curls framing it. She looks like something out of a vintage pinup magazine.

“I’m so glad you’re here. These girls are driving me up the wall.” She gestures wildly with both hands then waves me inside.

It’s all luxury on the inside. Wood-paneled walls, crystal chandelier in the foyer, and marble tiling as far as I can see down the main hall leading toward the back of the house.

“Margaret, can you get her coat and show her to the salon we’ve set up for the girls?” Sandra Randall instructs a member of her house staff who pops up out of nowhere in her uniform of black tunic with large dark gray lapels and a pair of black slacks.

Margaret nods and reaches for my coat.

“Of course, Mrs. Randall.” She aims her professional smile at me. “Right this way, miss.”

“Oh. You can call me Marlena,” I say to her as I follow her down the hallway then down another, to a set of stairs that takes us down to another floor.

“You can set up here. The girls will be down after they’ve finished their dinner.” Margaret opens the door to a room that has been changed into a full salon. There are two stations set up that rival what I have at Luxe Strands.

“Is someone else coming too?” I ask, gesturing to the second station.

“No. Mrs. Randall thought it would be more authentic to have more than one chair. There are five girls; you’ll have no problem, right?” Worry crosses her face, like if I say no, she’s the one who’s going to hear about it.

“Yeah. No problem.” I swipe a hand through the air.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more wrong.

The girls file in only a minute after I set up my supplies. Two of them want nothing to do with having their hair touched, which works fine with me. The other three are extremely specific about what they want done, and it takes me a full twenty minutes to convince one of them that dying her hair isn’t a good choice.

It’s two hours before the birthday girl decides she’s done with all the makeover nonsense and takes everyone to the media room for popcorn and a movie.

Relief fills me as they run out of the room, and I sink into the chair for a quick breath before packing my stuff.

If I hurry, I might make it back to my apartment while the coffee house is still open. Maybe I’ll even splurge and get an extra shot of espresso in my latte.

“The girls loved it!” Mrs. Randall boasts when she finds me in the front hallway, getting my coat on. “I know I already paid your fee, but here’s a little extra. Bianca is rare to compliment, but she came up with the other girls and told me how much fun she had.” She hands me a white envelope.

“Oh. Thank you, that’s so good to hear.” Bianca had spent the first twenty minutes complaining about the colors of eyeshadow she had to pick from, so this is unexpected. The tip is greatly appreciated. I guess I will splurge on that extra espresso now.

“Sandra, I have a breakfast meeting in the morning. I’ll come by and pick Marissa up after.”

I jerk my gaze to the intruder, and my stomach clenches almost as tightly as my jaw.

Michael Agosti stands in the doorway just behind Mrs. Randall, wiggling his hand into a pair of leather gloves. When our eyes meet, his jaw tics.

“Marlena. What are you doing here?” His eyebrows lower as he waves a finger at me. He’s aged since the last time I saw him. In the last three years, he’s gone from charcoal black hair to a soft salt and pepper. More salt around the temples. There’re deep bags beneath his eyes.

I guess running one of the largest car theft rings in the city doesn’t give him much time for sleep.

“She’s the makeover girl.” Sandra looks at me with surprise. A moment passes and her shoulders drop, and something like disappointment crosses her features.

“Not here, Michael.” She shakes her head with a whisper. “I won’t lie for you.”

“It’s not that,” Michael assures her. “I promise, it’s not that. Let me have a minute with Marlena.”

She pinches her lips together, sweeps her gaze over me, and disappointment turns into pity.

“It’s not what you think, Mrs. Randall. I swear,” I try to assure her, but her heels are already clicking away on the marble flooring as she heads down the hall.

“I didn’t realize you were still in Chicago.” Michael levels me with a cold stare.

I swallow. I should have asked Mrs. Randall to stay.

“I never left the city. Just the job.” I finish closing up my coat, shoving the envelope into my pocket.

“You sure?” His voice dips as he takes a step toward me. Like a creepy asshole holding out a bag of candy to an ignorant kid who doesn’t know better.

Michael was an option when there were none open to me; that’s not the case now. I’m not sixteen looking for a way to avoid entering the foster system. I have a foundation now. I’m steady on my feet.

If I could just get rid of the shadows chasing me.

“Jimmy’s back to work. I’m sure he’d like you on his crew again.” He eyes me.

“I promised you I was out, and I’m out.” The vow was my best option at walking away from that last meeting with Michael alive.

I know Jimmy told Michael it was my fault he got pinched, and getting the boss’s nephew caught up with the cops isn’t a safe position to be in. Michael agreed to let me walk away, so long as I stayed out of the game. I couldn’t have asked for a better option.

“So, you’re not working for anyone right now? Just being the makeover girl?” He cocks an eyebrow. He’s testing me.

“I’m out,” I say again, more firm this time. “I’m good now. I have a solid job. A good place to live. I’m on my feet. I swear. I want nothing to do with Jimmy.” Or Michael, but I’m smart enough not to insult him.

He gives a firm nod. “I’m glad to hear it. Keep it that way, Marlena.” If I didn’t know what a monster the man actually was, I’d say his tone was something close to fatherly.

“That’s my plan.” I pick up my case. “If I’d known you were related here, I wouldn’t have taken the job.”

“My youngest sister; her second marriage.” He shakes his head, as though he has any room to judge considering he’s had his own troubles in the marriage department. “This your new gig?” He gestures to my box.

“Parties? No, it’s a side job. I have a full-time job. It’s solid work. Legal work.” I add the last part, so he understands. I leave out the part that I’m working at a salon owned by a member of a family he’s not too friendly with. For the most part, they leave their extended families out of their business dealings.

No hard feelings for a cousin or a niece to do business with a member of the other family, just so long as it doesn’t touch family business. It’s fine that Michael’s sister gets her hair done at Luxe Strands, but me working there might sit less well with him.

“If your old man could see you now, huh?” His grin cocks to the side as he chuckles. The dried ramen I had for dinner rolls over in my stomach. I grip my case tighter.

“Some girls would have cracked beneath the weight of all that shit. Your dad overdosing right there in front of you like that, then almost getting tossed into the foster system. Yeah.” He rubs his chin. “Some would have cracked, but not you. You did what you could, what you had to. You’re a survivor.”

I raise my chin. None of this is really praise. This is a preamble.

“You remember, if you come back to the job, you still work for me.” It’s not a simple reminder.

The terms of letting me walk away were that I stay clear of anything remotely touching his business. Even being blackmailed by Jimmy could be seen as me going behind Michael’s back. Which is probably the only reason he doesn’t know. Jimmy would be putting his neck on the line, too, by telling his uncle that he’s extorting me.

“I want nothing to do with you, or Jimmy, or anyone else from back then.” I keep my teeth pressed together to keep my voice from trembling. Michael is handsome, but I know what’s beneath that five-thousand-dollar suit.

“Good.” He smiles and takes a step back; his whole attitude lightens. “Then I won’t keep you.” He opens the front door for me, letting in a gust of cold.

I look down the hall to see if Mrs. Randall is coming back.

“I’ll let my sister know you said your goodbyes.” He gestures toward the door.

I readjust my grip on my case and take my time leaving the brownstone. I won’t be run out of my own job by that prick. He just cost me any further work with Mrs. Randall and any of her friends.

The woman thinks I’m one of her brother’s side pieces. She’ll never recommend me to anyone else.

I hurry down the street and get on the bus when it pulls up.

Once I’m inside and we pull away, I check my phone for the time.

Of course.

Thanks to Michael, I’ve missed my chance.

No latte for me.

As I’m about to put the phone away, a message comes through.

Don’t forget. Breakfast.

Viktor.

My thumb hovers over the screen as I contemplate deleting the message. I should just block him. Nothing good will come out of being around him. He’s just another Michael. He may work for a different family, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s an arm on the same body.

Even if he wasn’t, he’s still a man.

A stupidly handsome man who can have any woman he wants.

He’ll get tired of me.

He’ll hurt me.

Can’t tomorrow. Don’t come over.

Three dots dance on the screen.

I turn off my phone and throw it in my bag.

Whatever he says won’t matter.

He’s a risk I can’t take.