Page 16 of The Mafia Bachelor

“Hi!” she chirps, obviously nervous.

I stand behind her, arms crossed. And I like that although I’m technically being present and engaged and perhaps even supportive, this girl can feel my presence in exactly the way I intend it.

As a hulking, malevolent darkness. Her breath is shaky.

“Deep breaths,” I say insincerely. “I can’t help you. Hit the target, and you’ll have your team celebrating. I’ll give you dinner at the most exclusive, delicious venue in London. But if you miss…” I leave it dangling.

The twitch of her lips isn’t quite a smile. Fearful.

I wait.

I’m a menacing presence, so I’m told.

The shot rings out.

I tilt my head. “Bad luck. Well done team Key.”

“That’s not fair! You had him on your team!” protests a blonde in an impeccable dress and hair so perfect it must be made of plastic.

I’m millimetres from this little madam in two sharp strides. “You want to know about fair?” I growl. “This is my kingdom. I say what’s fair. My word is the law, and if you don’t like that, you can leave.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right! I just meant that I wanted to be on the winning team!” she babbles, a bit pathetically.

I step back, out of her space. No need to scare her too much. She’s probably under orders from her father to ensure she marries me. It would be a status improvement for his mafia.

My gaze meets Avery’s. Her eyes are wild.

“Time for dinner.” And Avery is the meal I want to eat.

6

AVERY

My heart is still thudding and my ears are ringing as we’re guided upstairs to a dining room. It’s gorgeously set, but formal, with white tablecloths and rows of silverware.

Kill is utterly relaxed as he takes a seat at the circular table set out for a dozen people. Violet—a woman with honey-coloured hair and a superior air—immediately pounces on the chair next to him, and I realise in horror this might need more skills I don’t have. Not just firing a gun, I have to try to figure out what fork I should use—each place has about five lined up—I also need to fight for my place so I can do the job I’m being paid for.

The other women catch on just as I do, though, and presumably have smarter brains than me after that shooting range thing, as they push past me ruthlessly, taking the other seats with coos and smiles at how kind Killian is for providing dinner. Even gorgeous, blonde Katy manages to get a better place than me.

The dynamic has already shifted amongst the girls. When I first joined them last week, I wasn’t a threat. I was too irrelevant to be anything other than amusing, arriving with no fancy clothes or people with me, just Brandon, who turned out to be Kill’s second-in-command. Katy and Jemma took me under their wings, and did my makeup and loaned me a dress.

But after that kiss, they’re significantly less friendly.

I’m competition.

There are no phones allowed, Kill’s men collected them all up beforehand, as he did when we had the first welcome meeting, and I itch a bit, wishing I could check social media. Maybe watch a video on surviving intense work dinners.

If that’s what this is?

I end up on the opposite side of the circular table. Miles away from Kill, but straight in his line of sight.

There’s wine offered, but I need to keep my head, so I just accept sparkling water. Some of the other girls do the same, but a few have champagne. Kill has a glass of red wine, and Violet has one too. That’s a connection, and she starts to chatter using French words that sound sophisticated.

Small slices of crusty white bread are brought out for us by waitstaff in white shirts and crisp, square white aprons at their waists. They’re so together it must be choreographed, and I’m totally in awe. I accept both, and there’s a slab of butter with flakes of salt on top.

The bread has a slight tang that I can’t identify. The butter is smooth, perfect. I didn’t know there were expensive butters, but this tastes amazing. From cows that ate really green grass or something.

“I love soda bread!” says Violet, tucking in. She’s one of the daughters of a smaller London mafia.