At least this time, the guy had the decency to give Lev a second look. Which meant he had to tip his head all the way back to stare up at the man towering over him wearing dark-wash, ripped jeans and a black leather jacket that had seen better days but a hell of a lot of nights just like these. Stupid also had the nerve to swallow—a good sign of the fear he really didn’t want to be showing in a place like Nickie’s.
Fed by the underground, corrupted by a variance of organized crime figures that regularly made their way through the door for meetings, entertainment, or whatever else Lev’s boss could offer, and controlled by a code this young man couldn’t possibly understand ... shit, he was doing this boy a favor.
Bending down, Lev came eye to eye with the kid and uttered, “They’ll put you in there with a guy like me just to teach your stupid ass a lesson. Need money? Here’s not the place you want to find it. Move.”
Who knew what did it?
Maybe Lev’s words.
Maybe the gleam in his eye.
Either way, the kid’s gaze darted between Lev and the line of waiting men that had backed up all the way out to the floor where the ring was being set up for the fights that should have already started. Stupid didn’t need to be told again before he grabbed the backpack from the ground and scooted around Lev without a look over his shoulder.
Letting out an annoyed breath, he straightened up, fixing his jacket as he did so and headed for the opened office door where he knew Nickie was probably playing the little king behind his desk. As he did on every fight night. He enjoyed this chaos.
This shitshow.
Not even bothering to enter the office, Lev remained in the doorway where his large presence was more than enough to catch the attention of the man chatting on the phone behind the desk. Nickie didn’t bother to pull his legs down where he had them hooked at the ankles on the corner of the desk, nor did he hang up the phone when he looked Lev’s way.
“You’re late,” the guy barked.
Lev lifted one shoulder. “Shit came up.”
Like a teenager with a cutting problem.
He didn’t mention that.
“Told you tonight was a big one, didn’t I?”
“Looks to me like the place isn’t even open yet. Technically still on time.”
Nickie sighed, muttering something to whoever was on the other end of the phone before he slammed down the receiver hard enough to make the lamp next to it jump. He pointed a finger at Lev as he pulled his feet down from the desk to straighten up in his chair. “I shouldn’t let you fight tonight—lately, you’ve been fucking off.”
No, just ... distracted.
Nickie didn’t care, though.
“I could use the extra cash,” Lev said.
Not that he wanted to admit it.
Nickie arched a brow at the doorway Lev filled up and waved a hand as if gesturing to the line of people in the hallway that he couldn’t even see. “So could they.”
“They don’t guarantee you wins, though.”
That had his boss pausing.
“I need you serving directly from the bar to the front tables—”
“Who’s gonna be sitting in them?”
Nickie grinned. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”
Yeah, that was the thing about this place. One who was lucky enough to work here on a nightly basis—like Lev—and not just pick up extra work on fight nights learned quickly that everything was done with a purpose. And if he was serving the front tables, it was for a good damn reason.
“Marcello will be in tonight.”
Shit.
There was only one Marcello that regularly used Nickie’s as a place of business. Andino Marcello. Infamous mafia Capo. Raging asshole on his good days. Particular and demanding and difficult in every possible fucking way.
He also liked Lev. Or the way he made his drinks.
Why?
Lev didn’t have the first damn clue.
Nickie laughed huskily, reaching for the two fingers of whiskey and ice sitting on the edge of the desk with condensation dribbling down the glass. “Now you get it—the big boy will be in the house tonight, Lev. He’s bringing in an associate to do some ... business. You know, while they enjoy the fights and all. You’re the only bartender I have on hand that he’ll even consider allowing to mix his drinks, so you’re gonna be handling him and his guys until told otherwise. Got it?”
“Can I fight later?” he asked.
He could really use that extra cash. A grand for stepping into the ring whether he won or lost—up to five-k if he pulled a win with enough bets on him. With only a handful of fights throughout the night, he really wanted to be on the docket. What little savings he had was already basically gone, and this place certainly didn’t pay enough to make his ends meet. The fights helped to make it through the drier spells, so to speak.
“Depends,” his boss eventually replied.
“On what?”
Nickie shook his glass with a smirk. “On if your name gets pulled, Lev, like everybody else.”
Fuck.
Usually, he had a little pull given he worked behind the bar. Not tonight, apparently. He couldn’t say he was surprised considering the situation Nickie had with a guy like Andino Marcello promising to show his face at the fights.
With an associate.
It was good for Nickie’s in the world of the underground. Bad for Lev when his chances of getting his name pulled to fight were about as good as the rest of the fucks lined up waiting outside Nickie’s office.
“But hey,” his boss called when Lev turned to leave.
He didn’t bother to turn around. “What?”
“Pay is triple tonight. You earned it, kid.”
Kid.
Maybe he was just a kid compared to Nickie’s middle-age crisis that he was trying to hide with the gold rings on his fingers and the new Porsche parked in the back. Lev held back from scoffing—he felt so far from a kid at twenty-four. That was a lifetime ago, and though life hadn’t been easy then ... it was different. Sometimes, that was the part he missed the most.
Nickie didn’t give him the chance to think on it for long before he added, “Says something when Marcello calls ahead and the first thing he asks about is you, doesn’t it?”
Did it?
Lev couldn’t really say.
Or he didn’t want to.
“I just mix his drinks when he’s here, boss.”
He could feel Nickie’s eyes burning into his broad back. To be honest, his boss wasn’t all that different than Andino Marcello in the grand scheme, really. A different breed of bad; with less money and influence, sure, but still dangerous.
Or rather, he could be.
When it counted.
“Keep it to serving drinks, huh?”
Nickie’s murmur felt loaded.
Lev only nodded. Only one of those two men were currently signing his paychecks, after all. That’s really what mattered to him at the end of the day.
What else needed said?
Apparently, Nickie thought more.
“Careful making friends with the likes of him,” his boss warned at his back before Lev could stroll back into the hallway, “because men like Andino Marcello only keep people around for as long as they benefit him. You won’t like what happens when you no longer do.”
He would remember it if only because he thought that was a pretty straightforward way of doing business regardless if he was just serving a man’s drinks or not. So long as he did his job well, he still had one to do.