APRIL

I slip behind the bar, back into the familiar rhythm of work. For the next hour, it's non-stop - orders flying, glasses clinking, the crowd's noise growing thicker by the minute. As kickoff time nears, the line starts to shrink. Most people settle into their seats, their eyes glued to the massive screen on the back wall.

Finally, I catch a breath. Jammie squeezes my shoulder and grins at me. "You doing all right, little kitten?"

"Fine and dandy, momma cat," I reply, forcing a smile.

She raises an eyebrow. "You wondering what happened to the jerk who decided to baptize you with beer?"

"I'm guessing nothing. Joe never kicks out a paying customer."

Jammie laughs and shakes her head. "Well, guess what? The tall drink of danger who's been giving you those dark, smoldering eyes all night came over, picked that guy up like a bag of sand, and tossed him into the street. Didn't say a single word."

I blink at her. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Saw the whole thing. His date tried to flirt with him, but he just ignored her, walked straight out, and hasn't come back."

"What did Joe do?"

"That's the weird part," she says. "He looked terrified. Didn't lift a finger. Just stood there watching." Jammie sighs dreamily. "Shame that gorgeous man didn't come back. I was hoping to climb him and ride into next week."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Aren't you spoken for?"

She shrugs. "Mama needs more than one hound dog to play with."

That's Jammie for you - relationships to her are just games. She's juggling enough lovers for a football team, and I can't imagine keeping up with that kind of drama. That life's not for me.

She leans on the counter, still talking. "He was staring at you the whole time he was in here. Guess he's more into the bookish type than the... well, me type." She laughs, lifting her chest. "You should've gotten his number when you had the chance."

"Yeah, right," I mutter. But my heart's already racing again, pounding like I'm sprinting through traffic.

"What's the problem?" Jammie asks, handing a drink to someone before turning back. "You can't stay single forever."

"I can try," I say, half-smiling.

"Look on the bright side," she teases. "At least he got a full view of what your momma gave you."

"Don't remind me."

She grins. "Don't worry, you've got a better rack than mine."

She glances over my shoulder - then her face lights up. "Well, look who it is."

I turn, and my breath catches.

He's here.

Diablo Romano.

He doesn't just walk in - he owns the space the moment he steps through the door. Shoulders back, head high, the kind of confidence that makes everyone move out of his way like he's a storm rolling through. The crowd parts without him saying a word.

"Here's your chance," Jammie whispers. "Ask for his number."

"You serve him," I hiss back. "I can't do it."

But when I glance at her, she's already gone - vanished down the hatch to the basement.

My throat turns dry. My hands tremble. I can't move. He's still coming closer, that same steady stride, eyes locked on me. Cold, dark, unreadable.

When he reaches the bar, he places both hands on the counter, and the air between us shifts.

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a nervous cough.

He's even more striking up close - tall enough that I have to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. His presence is magnetic, commanding.

"Sorry," I manage, my voice barely a whisper. "What can I get you?"

"Scotch. Double." His voice is deep, gravelly, with a faint Italian edge. The sound rumbles through me, low and dangerous, like distant thunder.

"Ice?" I ask.

He just stares at me, silent.

"Okay then," I mutter under my breath as I turn to pour the drink. "No ice, got it."

I try to calm myself, breathing in slow, but my stomach is twisting. When I turn back, his eyes are still on me - piercing, burning right through me.

"Here you go, quiet guy," I say, sliding the glass toward him.

He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a sleek black wallet with a gold-embossed D.R.

"Thanks, by the way," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "For tossing that guy earlier. I appreciate it."

"He disrespected you. I despise disrespect."

He pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and holds it out. "Keep the change."

"I can't. That's too much." I try to hand it back, but he closes my hand around the bill, his skin brushing mine.

The contact sends an electric spark through me. My knees weaken, my chest tightens, and something deep inside me ignites.

"I insist," he says, then lifts the glass and drains it in one smooth motion. "What's your name?"

"April," I whisper.

"Last name?"

"Morgan."

His gaze drops to the buttons on my shirt - a small Italian flag. He rolls up his cuff, revealing a tattoo of the same flag on his wrist.

"Looks like mine," I say with a nervous smile.

"You ever been there?"

I shake my head. "Not yet. Can't exactly afford it on a bartender's pay. But I've always dreamed of going. Wandering through Rome at sunset, eating pizza and gelato. Maybe even living there one day." I laugh awkwardly. "Why am I even telling you this? Like you care, right?"

He looks at me, really looks - like he can see past the words, past the nerves. "When you want something badly enough," he says softly, "nothing can stop you."

I can't speak. I just smile, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

"Parli Italiano?" he asks.

The way he says it feels like a caress.

"Un po," I answer, holding up two fingers an inch apart. "I'm taking classes."

"Bowling classes too?"

I frown, then notice his eyes flicking to the bowling pin button next to the flag.

"Just a fan," I explain. "I knock down a few pins when I can."

"I used to bowl," he says, almost to himself. There's a shadow in his voice - gone as quickly as it came. "Long time ago."

Then he looks back at me. "Take care, April Morgan."

"And you, uh... what's your name?"

He starts to walk away, stops, hesitates - like he's fighting an inner war. Then he turns sharply and strides back.

He leans in across the bar, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath. My pulse is wild. He smells like musk, sandalwood, and something darker - danger and allure wrapped together.

"You'll get to Rome one day," he murmurs.

I can barely breathe.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my skin. "Take tomorrow night off," he whispers. "Don't come in. Got it?"

"What? Why?"

Before I can blink, the whistle for halftime blows, and the bar explodes into noise. I look up - and he's gone. Vanished.

I stand there frozen, feeling like something vital has just been ripped away.

Jammie reappears, yelling over the noise. "Did you get his number? Tell me you did!"

"Nope," I say quietly.

"You can't stay the quiet kitten forever, April! You've got to be a big momma cat like me - go on the prowl, take no prisoners!"

But I barely hear her.

Because when I glance over the crowd, my breath catches.

He's there.

Back in his booth. Watching me.

Not moving, not smiling - just staring.

And in that moment, I realize something.

No matter how much Jammie tells me to be the predator, I'm not.

Not tonight.

Because with the way Diablo Romano is looking at me right now, I don't feel like a huntress. I feel like prey - trembling in the dark waters, while he circles with quiet, deadly patience.

I turn away, the weight of his gaze burning into my back. My chest tightens, and I can't breathe.

"Where are you going?" Jammie calls as I rush past her.

"Bathroom. Be right back!"

"You kidding?" she shouts. "We're slammed!"

"Two seconds, I promise!" I yell, already pushing through the crowd.

But inside, I know the truth.

I'm not running from the crowd.

I'm running from him - and from the way his eyes make me feel like I'll never be the same again.

DIABLO

This is not how tonight was supposed to go. I only came here to check out the place before tomorrow night's drop. The plan was simple, come in, look around, and see what kind of trouble might come up. That's it.

The first thing I notice is that this bar is a dump. The lights are dim and yellow, the kind that make everything look tired and old. The table in front of me is cracked and sticky, the seat lumpy and worn down. It's the kind of place that smells like spilled beer and old smoke. Not where I usually spend my nights.

All I have to do is finish my drink and get out without anyone remembering my face. That's the plan. But then I go and break every rule I've ever set for myself.

And for what? Because some woman happened to catch my eye? There are thousands of women in this city, I could have chosen any one of them. But no, fate decided to throw her in my path tonight.

Why her? Why now? Maybe fate just enjoys watching me lose control.

She's working behind the bar, moving fast, keeping her head down. She doesn't know it yet, but she's standing right in the middle of something dangerous. The Rossi Cartel picked this place for tomorrow night's drop, the one job that could fix everything for me. Maybe it's a test, maybe it's a trap, or maybe it's fate trying to screw with me.

I tell myself to stay focused. I need to keep my mind on the job. Brian's outside checking the exits, cameras, and alarms. I just need to sit here, drink my beer, and watch the owner. No talking. No distractions.

But then I did what I swore I wouldn't. I talked to her. I even stopped a guy from drenching her in beer. Then I told her to take tomorrow night off.

What the hell was I thinking?

Every move I made tonight could have given me away. Might as well have hung a neon sign outside saying something big is going down and the Romano family knows about it.

She doesn't know how beautiful she is. April Morgan. That's her name. She hides behind her hair, keeps her eyes low like she doesn't want to be seen. She flinched when I brushed a loose strand off her face. There's something fragile about her, something that makes me want to protect her even when I know I shouldn't.

Her eyes are what get me. Bright blue, deep enough to drown in. They shine even in this filthy light, like the sea near the Amalfi coast. But she doesn't use them much, barely makes eye contact with the customers. I wonder what she's scared of.

Maybe it's her boss. Every time he shouts, she shrinks a little, like she's been through this before. It makes my stomach twist with anger. I want to pull her out of this place, show her something better, something clean.

I imagine what her life must be like. Shy girl from out of town, came here chasing a dream, ended up stuck in this rundown bar. But she's got fire in her. I can see it when she talks about Rome. Her face lights up when she says it. She wants to go there someday.

I told her she should. I even said she'd love it. For a second, she smiled like she believed it was possible.

Her boss keeps peeking out of his office, eyes darting around. He knows something's off. He sees me and ducks back in, probably worried the Rossi Cartel will pull the deal if anything feels wrong. He's nervous, that much is clear. I can tell this job is bigger than anything he's handled before. He yells at the bartenders, but mostly at her.

When he shouted at April, I almost broke his neck right there. But I can't do that. Not tonight. Not when I'm this close to getting my clean slate.

This job is everything. If it goes right, I can finally disappear. Start over. If it goes wrong, I won't be alive long enough to regret it.

I've checked the layout. The back door opens into a small courtyard where the smokers hang out. It's perfect for a fast exit. Everything's set. I should get up, meet Brian, and get out of here.

So why did I order another drink? Why did I stay? Why did I tell her to take tomorrow night off?

I don't know. Maybe part of me wanted to warn her, to keep her safe. But that's not my job. She's not part of this world. She doesn't belong in it.

Still, I can't stop watching her.

April Morgan. I know her name now, and tomorrow I'll know everything about her.

She's perfect in ways she doesn't even realize. Mid-length dark hair that curls slightly at the ends, soft waves that catch the light. She's got that natural beauty that doesn't need any effort. She's probably in her early twenties, far too young for me. Hell, I'm at least fifteen years older, and I've got too much blood on my hands to ever deserve someone like her.

But I can't look away. It's not just her looks. It's the way she moves, the quiet rhythm she taps on the bar when she's bored, the way her fingers dance as if she's hearing music no one else can. Every detail sticks in my head, one after another, pulling me in deeper.

When she talks about Rome, her whole face lights up. For a moment, she forgets where she is, and I can see the dream in her eyes. She loves Italy, takes language classes, even wears a little pin shaped like the Colosseum.

Maybe I could take her there.

The thought is stupid, and I know it. I'll be gone soon, erased like I never existed. My name will vanish, and I'll be a ghost in another country. She deserves more than that.

Abel always said no relationships. They're a weakness, a distraction. You can't run clean if someone's holding you back. And he's right.

So I'll stare, but I won't act. That's what I keep telling myself.

But then she glances back at me, just for a second, and I see something in her eyes. Curiosity. Maybe even hunger. And that's when I know I need to leave.

If her boss sees her looking at me, he'll start asking questions, and I can't afford that. Not now. Not when tomorrow night decides everything.

It's time to go. But even as I stand, I can still feel her eyes on me.

And I already know I'll see her again.

DIABLO

I take one last look at her, committing the image to memory. If she's still here when I come back tomorrow, we'll both be in deep trouble. Big trouble.

I drink her in, trying to fix every detail in my head, the tilt of her neck, the little way she cocks her head when she listens, that shy smile that hints at something more.

Desire hides behind it, barely contained. I could stand here for hours watching her, but I won't.

Maybe fate put her in my path to test me. She loves Rome, she's learning Italian, she likes bowling, her voice is like soft liquid silk that slips into my ears, her pink lips look made for kissing, her body is shaped so my hands would want to trace her curves.

Stop it. Just because she shares my tastes doesn't mean she wants to throw away her life and start anew in a foreign country for my sake.

She has a life here, people who care about her. I can't ask her to drop all of that for me. Besides, getting two sets of escape papers would be much harder than getting one.

I leave the bar and find Brian crouched low behind the wheel of the hire car. I can't park my own anywhere near here, it would be noticed straight away. I move around and climb into the passenger seat.

He pulls away. "How'd it go?" he asks.

"Boss is a real piece of work, Joe Harris," I say, keeping my voice even, "out of his depth, all nerves. Weak though, easy to crack. Snap a couple of fingers and he'll sing like a canary."

"Why do you think they picked this place?" Brian asks.

"Because it's a dive no one cares about," I answer.

"You're telling me, I'll need flea powder when we get back, the alley was full of rats."

"Any way into the courtyard from outside?" I ask.

"Knew you'd ask, I cut a gap in the razor wire, just big enough."

"Good."

"You sure you want to do this, boss? The Rossi Cartel don't mess around, when it comes to this sort of thing. They took the eyes out of the last guy who tried to steal from them."

"Above your pay grade, Brian."

"At least tell me why we're getting mixed up with the Rossi Cartel, they don't bother our family, we stay away. Why rock the boat over one drop? How much could it be worth?"

I think for a moment. I could keep him in the dark, but if this goes south, I'll need him sharp. The only way to make sure of that is to tell him part of the plan, not everything. Abel already made it clear, if anyone learns what's in the drop, the deal is off.

"The case holds something someone needs," I say, keeping my tone casual, "and since when were you scared of anything?"

"I just like keeping my hands attached to my arms," he replies.

"Do your job and nothing will go wrong."

"I hope it's worth it, Diablo, that's all I'm saying."

There's a lot I can't tell him, like how the case contains a tiny vial of nerve toxin, concentrated enough that one drop will kill in seconds. A single sniff and your face melts away. It's been strengthened to a concentration that could wipe out an entire conference hall full of people, if left unchecked. Which it will do, if I don't get hold of it.

Or how the Rossi Cartel are using Goody's Bar to hide the vial until the summit. Or that the man who intends to use it is the same one who killed my parents. That makes this personal, not business. Or that Abel has offered me a deal I can't refuse, a way out. I go where he cannot. I take the vial and get it to him before his lab notices it's missing.

Do that and he clears my record, he makes me vanish. I'll be able to live in the light instead of always moving in shadows, free to go home at last, after all these years. No one watching me, no one out to kill me. I'll be a new man in Rome, a nobody with no past, no family, no criminal file.

"Not going to be easy," Brian says, pulling me out of my thoughts, "the Rossi Cartel can be nasty when you cross them."

"Which is why we're doing this quiet, just you and me, no one else hears a word about the drop, got it?"

"Got it. You got a plan yet?"

"Tell me what you scoped out," I say.

He runs through the layout, the streets outside the bar, the razor wire around the courtyard and the gap he cut, the positions of cameras on nearby buildings. I half listen, half replaying moments from inside the bar, images of April burning behind my eyes. I hope she takes tomorrow night off. If things go wrong it could turn into a bloodbath, like he said. She could get killed in the crossfire.

Better she stays home and stays safe, that way I can get this done, grab the vial, hand it to Abel, and walk away. That's the plan. Get in, get out, be gone. Simple, if everything goes right.

I picture a new life, anonymous and clean. In Rome, a man who does not exist will appear, a nobody who can breathe in the daylight without looking over his shoulder. I let the thought linger for a heartbeat, the promise of it warming me.

"You getting distracted?" Brian waves his hand in front of my face.

"Since when have I ever been nervous?" I reply, forcing a laugh.

He snorts. "Just messing with you, boss. You're not yourself tonight. Something happen in there?"

I think of April's hand when I pressed mine into it to give her the hundred, the way she drew a sharp breath, her pupils widening. In that moment, I'm sure she'd have been wet between her legs, I tell myself. She needed the money, I heard them talking about late paychecks. If it wasn't for the job, I'd have taken Joe into his office, cracked his skull, maybe emptied his safe and handed her the lot. I know Joe wouldn't go to the police, who rats on a mob boss and lives to tell about it?

I can't risk acting on that now. Cracking his nose would be satisfying, but it would ruin the whole cover story that's so important. I need him unsettled because nerves make men make mistakes, mistakes I can use.

The drop is tomorrow night, the plan set. I make sure Joe sees me watching, make sure he knows my face. Once the Rossi Cartel leave, I'll get him to hand over the suitcase, then I go. It's that simple.

As long as April isn't there, nothing should go wrong. If she is, I'll lose focus and she's likely to get hurt.

All I can do is hope she does as I asked and takes the night off. The rest I leave to fate.