Indebted to the Mafia King

*Cal*

It's been almost a week since the fire, and every day I've been coming and going to the bar, sitting in the same chair in the corner, just across from the window where I can watch the bookstore that is now just a pile of ashes and burned wood on the other side of the street.

The police surrounded the place with yellow tape, which in my opinion serves no purpose; it only attracts more attention than the burnt out building already did by itself.

New Year's is around the corner, and ever since I saved that woman on Christmas Eve, I can't make myself relax or move past the explosion. To say I'm pissed would be an understatement.

My men still haven't figured out who attacked us, and even though I have my own suspicions, I can't act on instinct. I need proof to make a move. I can't afford to make more enemies by blindly attacking in the name of revenge. Ever since that day, I haven't heard from "Book girl". Hell, I don't even know if she survived. She hasn't come to check on the shop yet.

The day after Christmas, two women who looked like assessors from an insurance company stopped by the bookstore, but I didn't feel like they would know or want to tell me anything about their client's health if I asked.

I'm going crazy not knowing about her. I need some information-anything at all-about her well-being. I'm also worried that someone will come and mess with her shop, especially during this time of the year, so that's why I'm using my free time to keep an eye on things.

Or, at least, that's the excuse I've been telling myself so I don't feel more pathetic than I already do.

On that same day, two older people also showed up, but they barely spent two minutes on the sidewalk before leaving. I recognized them, but I never got to learn what connection they all have. If I could make a guess, I'd say they are the girl's grandparents and the owners of the bookshop.

That thought alone makes me feel even more guilt. Even though I've been trying to convince myself that none of this is my fault, I know better. I might not be directly responsible; I might not have been the one who caused their store to explode, but the fact that anything happened at all is because of my businesses.

Or the people who come after me because of it.

I have enemies, of course, like every businessman. However, my line of work makes the list longer and more dangerous than a regular bar owner would have.

And that's what makes me hate this situation even more.novelbin

"No signs of her yet, Boss?" my barkeep, Ian, asks from behind the counter where he wipes a glass with a white towel.

He, like all my other men, already knows I'm eager to see the woman I rescued. It's not really a secret that she interests me, but they also know I'm riddled with guilt about what happened.

She was the only victim of the attack on our side of the deal. Thankfully, no one else was injured, and that is a big relief. But the fact that someone innocent got hurt makes my skin crawl with anger.

I shake my head and clench my fist, not bothering to voice my answer.

"You think she survived? Maybe the lads could go to the closest hospitals and ask around?" Ian suggests.

We've all been keeping an eye on the store ever since the incident, taking shifts to make sure she doesn't come by the shop, and we miss her. I need to see her and talk to her. That will be the only way I'll be able to sleep better at night. I've thought about searching for her at the hospitals, but I don't want to draw any more attention to myself or the situation. My men went to a lot of trouble to cover up the scandal online and on the news. I don't need people knowing my men went to the hospital looking for a victim.

Before I answer Ian, a yellow cab stops on the other side of the street, and a woman steps out. Her long, light brown hair whooshes behind her as she pauses by what used to be the front window, taking in the inside of the establishment. She has her back turned to me, but I'd recognize her anywhere.

My heart skips a beat when I realize she's in one piece. She has a long black coat on, black boots, and a green scarf. When she turns to face the bar, I realize her soft cheeks are pink from the cold weather outside.

She also looks slightly different without her glasses on, and I have to admit, hotter than ever.

"Oh, there she is. And, well... if I had to guess, I'd say she's ready to kill someone," Ian points out from his spot behind the corner, and only then do I realize what he is talking about.

Bookgirl darts toward the bar with a deadly look on her face. Before I say anything, or even move out of my chair, she throws the front door open, letting it slam against the wall, and heads for the counter, her eyes focused on Ian. "I want to talk to your boss right now," she snarls, pointing a finger at his chest.

He looks slightly amused at her approach, and I can't blame him. I've never seen so much emotion in her.

I can't deny that I like her feistiness.

I find myself stunned and positively surprised as I watch their interaction, and I wait to see if she notices my presence.

However, she seems too angry at the situation to even realize there's anyone else in the room, other than herself and the bartender.

"I'm sorry, lass. May I ask who's looking for him?" Ian replies, the corner of his lip ticking up as he watches her getting even more wound up by his answer.

"Just tell him he owes me a fucking new store. I don't care what he says, I'm not leaving this place until I see him," she retorts, folding her arms across her chest in a defying pose.

Ian's shoulders move slightly as he chuckles, and then his eyes dart to me.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, chugging down the rest of the whiskey that's been in my glass untouched for more than an hour. Then, I finally stand, sauntering over to the counter to face the feisty woman for the first time in my life. I've imagined this moment in my head before, more times than I'd like to admit, but nothing has prepared me for the way her intense eyes take me in as I approach her.

I've always known she had ocean blue eyes, even though I've always seen them through her glasses before now. But seeing them widen slightly as she notices I've been here the entire time does something to me that I can't explain. My entire being stiffens as I get close to her. I'm so close that I notice the little freckles across her cheeks and nose for the first time.

Dark circles under her eyes make it evident that she's tired, but I can't blame her. She hasn't had it easy for the past few days.

It took me a couple of days to get my breathing back to normal, and I only stayed inside the shop for a couple of minutes while I rescued her.

The scar on her right cheek is a bit more evident from where I'm standing, and I have to force myself to look into her eyes instead. I'm so desperate to know how she got that scar, and I'm so angry with whoever or whatever caused it that I barely recognize myself.

"Anything I can help you with, sweetheart?" I ask by way of greeting.

This last word seems to spark something within her, and she creases her brow at me as if she recognizes me or something. I don't think she knows I'm the person who rescued her from the fire, and I'm not willing to provide that information to her either.

"Are you the owner?" she asks instead, her tone bitter and cold.

"I can be," I reply with a shrug. "If you calm down and explain to me what you need, I might be the person you're looking for."

"I'm not in the mood for riddles. Are you the owner of this place or not?" she insists, her jaw clenching as she struggles with her impatience.

It makes me want to laugh at how cute she is, but I fight against it. That would only work her up even more. As much as I enjoy the sight of her like this, I don't want her to storm out of the bar. Not yet.

"Yes, I am. Cal Duncan," I introduce myself. "Now, tell me your name and what I can do for you, lass."