Promised to The Don

I wipe down the counter. It’s late, and barely any customers remain. Just a few stragglers, too drunk to leave. James, the bodyguard, will have a field day with them once Jane gives the signal.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes to two. The end of my shift.

I grab a crate of unopened beers and carry them back to storage, my arms aching from the long night.

“I can close up, kid. Go home,” Jane says when I come back out. Her voice is raspy from years of smoking, but there’s warmth beneath it. She owns the bar, built it from nothing, and somehow still remembers to look out for me.

I nod and untie my apron. I change out of my work clothes before leaving. It’s not required, but Matteo hates the smell of cigarettes, and I reek of it by the end of every shift.

Matteo.

The thought of him pulls a small smile to my lips. He’s probably not home. From friends to best friends to boyfriend, that’s been our story. Messy. Comfortable. Familiar.

We grow up together with deadbeat mothers and absent fathers in a rundown apartment in this same town. We go to high school together. We get into the local community college together. I stay. He doesn’t.

Instead, Matteo works at an automobile shop in the next town. He earns well at least, when he isn’t spending it all drinking and partying. I roll my eyes at the memory of his crooked grin and his favourite saying.

We’re young. Live young.

I don’t feel young.

It’s summer, so my student loans haven’t come in yet. Rent is due. My savings are gone. Matteo chips in where he can, buying groceries, covering the electricity bill, but most of it falls on me.

I count my tips. Just over fifty dollars. Not bad. If I can grab an extra shift at the diner tomorrow, I might just scrape together this month’s rent.

To save money, I walk home. It’s not far enough to justify a cab, even though the streets are quiet at this hour.

When I reach our apartment door, it’s unlocked.

Maybe Matteo skipped the party and decided to surprise me. He does that sometimes, usually when he’s feeling guilty.

“Baby?” I call as I push the door open. “Are you in?”

The place is trashed.

My stomach drops.

Magazines are scattered across the floor. A chair is tipped over. One of the drawers in the kitchen is half open. I step inside slowly, my heart pounding.

I bend to pick up a few magazines, my fingers shaking.

That’s when I notice the shadow stretching across the hallway floor behind me.

Black boots stop inches from my hand.

I scream but it’s cut short. A sharp, ringing pain explodes at the back of my head, and my vision blurs as I hit the floor.

“Shut up,” a voice snaps. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

The voice is male. Harsh. Controlled.

I press my hand to my pounding skull, expecting panic to take over. Instead, something strange happens. The fear drains out of me, replaced by anger.

“Really?” I hiss. “Jeez. I feel safer already.”

I turn to face him. He’s masked, dressed in dark clothes. The only thing I can see clearly are his hazel eyes, sharp and observant, glowing faintly in the dim light.

I sit back on the floor. There’s no point pretending I have options.

“Where is Matteo?” he asks.

His voice turns colder, harder. And just like that, every instinct in me goes on the defensive.

I don’t care what happens to me. He can hurt me if he wants. But not Matteo. Not the one person in my life who actually chose me.

“Out at a party somewhere,” I snap. “Why? Who are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He studies me for a moment, like I’m a problem he hasn’t decided how to solve.

Then he speaks.

“Tell him his father is done with his shit,” he says calmly. “He’s to meet him in the afternoon. The location will be sent.”

I freeze.

Father?

What father?

Matteo doesn’t have a father. At least, that’s what he’s always told me. That’s what we both believed.

The man turns and walks out, leaving the door swinging slightly behind him. No rush. No hesitation. Like he owns the place. Like this was never a question.

I stay on the floor long after he’s gone, staring at nothing, my head throbbing, my thoughts spiralling.

Whatever Matteo has been running from has finally caught up to him.

And I am in the fucking middle.

I don’t know what time it is maybe five or six when Matteo stumbles into the house fucking drunk and I know I should let him rest but I can’t.

“Someone was looking for you.” My voice is hoarse and shaky. He looks dazed, like he hadn’t seen me. In the morning light, even when he looks drunk he is beautiful. Dark eyes, curly hair and I can’t help love him. He is comfort, he is home.

“Riley?” He questions squinting his eyes then he kneels in front of me. He cups my cheek and tilts his head in this cute naive manner that I love.

“Matt your dad wants to see you.” I say hoping it isn’t true, that he didn’t lie to me. But he freezes and I know its true.

“When.” His voice is clear, the alcohol glaze sipping away from his eyes.

“Today in the afternoon.”

He nods. Not an explanation not even one. So I decided to ask because clearly he won’t offer any.

“when did you meet him.” I ask.

“High-school.” He answers shortly, so I prod.

“And you didn’t tell me?” I say honestly offended.

He scoffs. But he sees the hurt in my eyes and he softens. He kisses my forehead, an answer I can’t decipher.

“Later.” He whispers and I fall into him taking in the scent of lavender. His scent.