by Bethany-Kris
• • •
Terrance threw back his fourth shot of whiskey since Andino had walked into the man’s quiet club. The place wasn’t open—not until well after dark, anyway—but this was where the Capo did the majority of his business. At least, in the daytime. Like a lot of them.
“And even your crew is getting shit?” Andino asked.
The Capo nodded, and set his glass down to the bar with a loud clink. “Yeah, ‘cause this is where they come to check in, and shit. The Calabrese know who all of them are. Some of them were followed … nothing happened there. Just to scare ‘em, I think.”
“And the others?”
Terrance let out a sigh, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Two Calabrese enforcers beat the hell out of the guy who looks after my guys on the streets. I guess they got in to a verbal thing on the corner, and they followed him home. That was the first real aggressive act. After that, they started showing up here.”
Andino’s brow lifted, and even he needed to take a drink for that one. Damn. It seemed like the Calabrese were really starting to grow a pair of balls. Then again, with their father dead, there was no one to hold the Calabrese brothers in line, so to speak. Kev Calabrese had taken over for his father, as far as Andino knew … he’d always been a fucking shit.
Not that the younger brother, Darren, was much better.
“They just come here, take a seat, and make themselves known,” Terrance said. “Flexing their fucking muscles, you know?”
“But it’s uncomfortable.”
And rude.
“Very uncomfortable,” Terrance agreed. “I can’t afford to be having official attention on my club. You know how much money and product I move through here. I’ve had to cut that down a bit since all this started up just in case an incident does happen, and the police get called in. I don’t need the fucking cops digging through this club, and finding all the stuff I have hidden in the back rooms.”
Yeah, none of them needed that.
The bigger problem was the fact now the Calabrese were starting to cause issues for business. Not just the Marcellos on the street, or in a personal way, but actual business. That meant money was being lost, and no man was going to take that lying down.
Certainly not Dante.
Nor Andino.
It needed to end.
“This will be fixed soon,” Andino assured.
Terrance nodded, and reached for the whiskey bottle again. “Hope so—I’m too old for a fucking street war. Not sure I got it in me, you know, even if it is those goddamn snakes.”
Andino chuckled, and smacked the man on the back as he stood from the barstool. “You’re barely over forty. You’re fine.”
“Says you. This life ages you.” Terrance passed Snaps, who’d been quietly watching them from beneath a table, a look. “Like dog years, or something.”
Wasn’t that the fucking truth?
“I’ll pass all this along to Dante.”
The Capo agreed, and that was that. Andino said his goodbyes, finished the last bit of his one glass of whiskey, and whistled for Snaps to follow him out of the club. Andino was no sooner out into the cold March air and had the club’s front door closed behind him than the bullets started flying.
Andino didn’t even see the color of the car because he didn’t notice it coming.
Snaps was the one who took him to the ground as bullets peppered the red brick of the building behind him, and pinged off the metal door. Andino barely managed to catch himself what with Snaps’ jaw clamped tightly around his fucking wrist.
The smart part of his brain that still seemed to work at a bad time remembered to cover his head, but the pain in his shoulder made the action torture. His arm screamed in pain, but he didn’t dare lift his head.
The bullets kept flying.
His Lexus’ alarm went off.
Glass shattered somewhere.
He didn’t even wonder who had done this, or why they would target him. He bet those bastards knew he was around the second he drove onto their territory just like the Marcellos always knew when someone was in their areas.
Fucking Calabrese.
TWO
Haven Murphy’s hardest lesson had finally been learned. Or, that was her feelings. It wasn’t a lesson she had been willing to learn, or even wanted to, for that matter.
It just happened.
It just was.
She’d always thought that the things that didn’t challenge her in life wouldn’t change her for the better—it was the motto she had tried to live by for years. In a way, she still believed it to be true, but she also knew that those changes from all the challenges she faced weren’t necessarily good, either.
Sometimes, they just hurt. Sometimes, they left tear stains on pillows. Sometimes, it left her empty.
And oh, so alone.
Haven was never more aware of that feeling than when she walked through her empty house. One of the few things she had held so close to heart because of the pride she felt for it. It was hers—she bought it, and kept it up. She lived and loved here. She had grown as a person here. And now, she was getting rid of it.
If only she could find a buyer.
She passed a stack of boxes that needed to be taped up in the hallway. Full of pictures she’d pulled down from the walls, and a few knickknacks that needed to be wrapped in paper before they too could be put in a storage container.
Who knew if she would get back to them?
Or when?
It wasn’t like she really needed all this stuff for her move. So, instead of paying an arm and a leg to have it all sent to where she was going, she opted to put it all in storage for the time being. Or maybe that was just her way of thinking … there’s still a chance you’ll come back here someday.
That’s what her heart kept saying. Her mind screamed, no way. She was ready to go. Ready to leave.
New York could keep its fucking memories, and all the pain. She would be fine and happy to finally get rid of those tear-stained pillows, and restless nights. Maybe if she had a little more distance between her and New York, then her heart and memories would let go of all the things that weren’t ever supposed to be hers in the first place.
Maybe it would let go of him.
Andino Marcello.
Haven sighed, and shook off the heavy feeling. The longer she stood there staring at those boxes, the worse her mood would get. She couldn’t afford for that to happen—not right now, anyway.
She was still responsible.
Still smart.
This was all for the best.
The only things she hadn’t packed up or taken apart when it came to furniture, were the things she still might need to use. Some dishes, her bed, and the kitchen set. Even her television had been taken to storage last week, along with all her books.
She had been hoping for a quick sale, really. The house was priced reasonably on the market, and it was in good shape. Not too old, all things considered. She’d done a hell of a lot of upgrades since she moved in, and brought it up to spec.
It should have sold quickly.
So far, there’d not been an offer.
The realtor came around the corner of the hallway, exiting from the kitchen. In his tailored suit with not a speck of dirt to be seen, and his hair slicked back, Haven thought the man seemed more suited to be sitting behind a desk somewhere.
She didn’t assume it, though.
Not anymore.
Andino had taught her not to assume anything about anyone that she crossed paths with in her lifetime. Nothing good came from underestimating who or what someone was underneath their nice clothes, and charming smile.
All that meant was you wouldn’t even see them coming for your heart, and you’d miss it entirely when they broke it to pieces except when you felt it.
And God knew …
God knew Haven felt it all over now.
Funny how that worked.
That lesson she learned … it’d been simple. One person co
uld change your life, and not necessarily for the better. It only took one single soul to rip away yours, and keep it forever. One moment in time could put you on the same path as someone else, and there you would be, entirely ruined.
You didn’t get to choose.
Love didn’t work that way.
This was not the lesson Haven wanted to learn.
Not yet, anyway.
“You’re still firm on the price?” the man asked.
Haven folded her arms over her chest. “Any less, and I’ll be losing out. I’m not doing that.”
“It’ll sell quicker if you drop it even ten grand.”
No, she needed the money.
She wasn’t telling him that, though.
“The market is tough right now on starter homes, which you know—”
“Is basically what this is, yeah,” Haven said. “I know, but that’s my bottom line. It’s the number I want, give or take a thousand.”
The realtor nodded. “How’s your mom, by the way?”
Haven hid the way the frown threatened to dance over her lips. She was doing pretty good with this whole holding herself together thing, even if the only thing she wanted to do was hide away from the rest of the world.
She was too strong for that shit.
Nothing was taking her down now.
“Good—started her first round of chemo last week,” Haven said.
“Praying for her.”
“Thanks.”
She wished—fuck, she wished so badly—that her parents would have told her the truth about her mother’s health when she had come to visit. Instead, they’d simply chosen to focus on the fact that Haven was there, and the time they spent together. They didn’t think to mention to her at all that her mother had just gotten news only a few days before her arrival that the cancer had come back, and it was more aggressive than ever.
They didn’t want Haven to move to Florida to help. They wanted her to keep living her life, and handling her own business. It’s your life, and your time, they kept telling her. She didn’t care about any of that. She had years yet to go; her mom might only have a few months if the chemo didn’t work.
Nothing here mattered to Haven anymore. All it took was a single man to upend her entire fucking life, and remind her that she wasn’t good enough for him to choose her … and that told her all she needed to know, frankly.
She didn’t need to be here at all.
She didn’t care if she was.
Haven walked the realtor to the front door to say goodbye. The man plucked up a toy from the floor—a doll Haven must have missed in her effort to pick up things that had fallen to the wayside while she packed. It was one of those dolls that Maria loved the most with the big heads, funny colored hair, and huge eyes.
“You have a niece, or something?” the man asked. “I didn’t think you had kids.”
“I don’t,” Haven replied, taking the doll from the man. “It was my roommate’s daughter’s toy. She left it behind.”
Like everything else in her life now, something else was gone, too.
Valeria and Maria.
Haven remembered the night she’d come home vividly, and her friend was gone. No note, no nothing. Valeria had taken only a few things, and left almost everything behind. Haven tried calling her friend’s phone, but got no response.
Valeria had said once she might go, and she wouldn’t say a thing. Haven accepted that was what happened because maybe Val felt it was time to move on, or she was scared that her past was going to catch up to her again.
Who knew?
Haven didn’t.
Nobody thought to tell her.
Nobody thought to worry about her.
This was her fucking life now.
• • •
Jackson pushed off his seat on the bar the moment Haven came into the club for the meeting. She could already see how the girls who danced and served or worked behind the bar glanced her way with a wary stare—unsure of what was happening.
That was her fault, she supposed.
Haven hadn’t really told them anything.
Maybe she hadn’t been ready to.
And then, the realtor showed up at the club a couple of hours before opening a few days earlier, took pictures of the inside and outside, and slapped the FOR SALE sign on the front. There was no hiding what was going to happen. Her employees had questions, and Haven was here to try and answer them as best she could.
Without getting too personal.
Hopefully.
Nothing was ever that simple.
“Sorry I’m late,” Haven said, walking across the floor. “Traffic was horrible.”
Jackson nodded, and took the coat and purse Haven handed over before sitting the items on the bar top. “Everybody is here, and waiting. So, no worries.”
Yeah.
No worries.
That was a fucking joke.
Haven didn’t expect that her girls were going to be happy about the things she had to say, but she was prepared for their anger. That was something. Something was better than nothing at all.
Taking a seat on one of the barstools, Haven turned to face the waiting girls who had scattered themselves in various seats around the club. She didn’t even bother to wait for anyone to ask her questions, she simply started talking.
Better to get it all out, then to try and explain while people asked questions, she supposed.
“As you may have noticed—or heard, if you weren’t working that night—there was a realtor who came in to take pictures of the club, and I am sure many of you have noticed the sign out front. The club was put on the market the day after the realtor came here.”
One of the girls opened her mouth to speak, but Haven lifted a hand to quiet her, saying, “Let me finish, please. Selling Safe Haven is the very last thing I ever wanted to do—this club is where I grew up, even if it did look a little bit different then than how it does now. Point is, I love this place, and it’s as much my home as it is yours in ways. But that’s the thing about life, right. We don’t always get what we want, and sometimes, things are just out of our control.”
Haven glanced down at her hands, but kept speaking. “I am not selling the club because it’s failing. I am not selling it because I’m tired, or because I don’t want it anymore. I am selling it because I have other important responsibilities to take care of, and I won’t be here anymore to handle this business. And I don’t want to manage it from afar—I don’t want to hope that whoever I let manage the club doesn’t run it to the ground with me still attached to it, regardless of how far away I am while it happens.
“My mother is sick,” Haven said, refusing to go into more details in that regard, “and so, I need to be where I am needed. I know you may feel like I am leaving you all hanging, or that I don’t care about what happens to you after I leave, but that’s not the case. The details of the sale will be clear to the buyer—the club is to remain as it is, with the same name, and the same business. You will all still have employment as long as you continue to act like the employees I hired. Jackson will remain here, too, because this is what he loves doing. But beyond that, there is nothing more I can do. And I am sorry. Any questions?”
Haven waited a minute, and then two. The girls were quiet, but she expected that. She figured they were trying to absorb the information she gave them, and how they wanted to deal with it, or respond.
They were all adults.
Sure, this felt like a little family at times. She looked out for the girls, just like the security, and even Jackson. They looked out for her, too. This club was her happy place, in a way. And she hated to give it up … but what choice did she have?
For her mom, she needed to go.
For herself, she needed time.
“I hope your mom gets well soon,” one of the girls finally said.
Haven found the one in question, and smiled. “Yeah, me, too.”
Slowly, the same sort of condolences trickled in. A few of the lad
ies had questions, and Haven tried to answer them all as best she could. The meeting lasted maybe an hour or so, and then once everyone was satisfied, she said her goodbyes.
Today was her day off.
One of the very few.
Every single time she left the club now, she got the strangest feeling in her chest. It was as though a heavy weight came to sit there, and make itself at home. Like her mind and body’s way of reminding her over and over again that she was saying goodbye.
And soon, that goodbye would be permanent.
Unlike her house, she didn’t expect Safe Haven to stay on the market long. Already, with only a few days being listed, she’d gotten three offers. All were lower than her sale price, but she knew what that meant. Someone else might bite at a quick sale, but if she chose to wait for the right one, her sale price was going to be well worth the effort and time.
She’d just stepped out of the club, and felt the cold air bite against her skin, when an ambulance blew down her street. Sirens raging, and lights blazing. Two cop cars followed right after.
Haven tightened her coat, and watched them go.
Her first thought was Andino, even though she had no reason to assume that. Yet, every time she saw one now … she thought of him. She did watch the news in her office, after all, and it seemed that organized crime in New York was getting a hell of a lot of attention.
Apparently, the streets were dangerous.
So yeah, she thought of him.
And right then, she just felt cold.
• • •
Haven dropped her bag to the floor beside the kitchen island, and kicked off her shoes right at the same spot. She didn’t see the point in taking them off at the door anymore—even the fucking welcome mat was gone, now. Her gaze drifted between the bottle of whiskey she’d left on the counter from the night before, or the instant coffee jar tucked into the corner beside the electric kettle and the fridge.
A good shot of whiskey was needed after an evening like the one she just had. Not that the employees at her club had been bad, or even awful about the sale. They hadn’t. Far from it, really. Although sad with the fact she would no longer be their boss, they were understanding of her position and why she chose to do what she did.