"No. Don't answer now. I haven't asked you yet." He winked at her and scooped up his order from the counter. Tossing a cocky grin towards the bastard in line that had been ogling her, he headed for the door.
"Have a good day, gorgeous!" He left whistling, his mood considerably improved.
Shea stared after him, completely shocked. He'd been the star of her fantasies for so long, and now he'd expressed his interest in her. But really, a date? Was that even wise considering everything that was going on in the world? Henry, her co-worker and roommate elbowed her in the ribs to move aside so he could take the next customer since she was standing there dumb as a doorknob. Smiling gratefully at him, she pretended to wipe down the counter.
"Mommy, what's a date?" Penny, her five-year-old daughter asked. Her mop of curly reddish brown hair was starting to come loose from its ponytail, her big blue eyes curious. Shea's heart leapt into her throat seeing her at the storefront, but settled when she realized her mask was still safely in place.
"Penny! You know you aren't allowed out front. Come here," she chastised. Taking her daughter by the hand, Shea led her back to the lunch room where she was supposed to be colouring and watching cartoons. Life as a single mother was tough on a regular basis—but add in a pandemic with no childcare and even less people willing to babysit, it made working for a living literally impossible. The only choice she had was to bring her daughter with her and take every precaution possible to make sure she was safe.
"But what's a date?" she asked again, taking her seat at the long white table.
"It's an opportunity for two adult friends to spend time together."
"But, Mommy, you don't have any friends."
"Ouch, kid. Don't hold any punches," Shea laughed. "Now, I'll be back to have lunch with you before you know it. Remember, just play in here and only leave to use the bathroom, okay?”
"Okay, Mommy." Closing the door behind her, Shea pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. A quick glance around let her know she was alone, allowing her a moment to check her messages in private. Her features hardened as she slipped into the darker side of herself. The side that did what she had to do; no matter the consequences.
Boss, shipment on East 12th is secure. Orders?
Hold for now. Will contact distributors for inventory allocation. ~ S
With a sigh, Shea put her phone away. Life had not been easy for her for quite some time. Being the leader of a gang of ruthless criminals wasn’t how her life was supposed to turn out, but sometimes you had to play the cards you were dealt. Joe Benza might not have been much of a father, but he’d been one hell of a thug. His legacy was world renowned, his men loyal to a fault. When he’d been gunned down in a horrific gun fight; she’d been heartbroken. As much as she grieved, she raged even harder. Fuelled by that emotion, she’d done the one thing she’d avoided her entire life.
She became her father.
At first, the men were resistant. It took months to get them on board; and several examples of how far she was willing to go to ensure her father’s empire didn’t fall into the wrong hands. Now, as important as it was to maintain what he’d built, it was even more so to keep her anonymity in place. Her job at the coffee house was no longer a monetary necessity, but still required all the same.
Dating the mayor that was single-handedly trying to make sure her crew was disabled permanently wasn’t the best choice for her. No matter how attracted she was to him.
Henry was grinning at her stupidly when she returned to the storefront, all but bursting at the seams with excitement.
"What?" she asked, moving past him to take the next customer.
"You like him. Don't try to hide it from me, I could practically see your pussy begging for him to be your leader. More than he already is."
"Shhhhh!" Shea snapped, horribly embarrassed when the young kid Henry was serving giggled. "You're going to get us both fired if you keep that up."
"Well, you're not fooling anyone. If he was into me, I'd be all over that, honey," Henry whispered. Shea nodded and then tensed. Her phone vibrated relentlessly in her pocket, signalling a series of incoming messages. She finished up the kid's order and then scooted to the back, before Henry could pry into who was desperately trying to get ahold of her. Opening her messages, her mouth ran dry at the words.
Ambush. Lost three men and half the shipment compromised.
Boss, we need orders.
Place will be crawling with cops any minute now. We need orders!
Fabrizio's last message had come in just a few minutes prior. Fucking bastards. Since taking over the business, her father's enemies had seized opportunity after opportunity to attempt to wipe them out, each one failing. They were becoming bolder with their efforts, a fact that pissed Shea off more than anything.
They thought she was weak.
They thought she couldn't handle the pressure.
They thought the new leader of the West 9th gang was a pushover.
They couldn't be more wrong.
Without another moment's hesitation, she gave the only order she could.
Kill them all. Make them suffer for daring to cross me. Leave one alive and bring him to me.
Chapter 3
Shea entered Strip on the 9th with fire in her step and murder in her eye. Three men. Three of her men dead in a fucking shoot out in broad daylight. If that didn't attract unwanted police attention, nothing else would. She was furious; livid and out for revenge. The heat from such a display was not going to be easily avoided.
Fabrizio was seated at the bar, smoking a cigar and arguing with Tyler. Both had blood splattered all over their clothes as they'd been through a war. Which technically, they had.
"What do we know?" Shea asked, signalling for Beverly behind the bar to make her a martini.
"Fucking bullshit, boss. It was Terry's crew, they hit us from the North side, full force. Sheldon, Jason and Gino are dead. Half the shipment compromised," Fabrizio told her.
"Paid for it, though," Tyler chimed in. He wiped his forearm across his brow. "Took out the ones that had the balls to fight us. Got you one in the back."
"Good." Shea snatched up the martini and tossed the drink back in one go, relishing the burn of alcohol as it slid down her throat. She wanted to comfort the men, to ask if they needed anything. But she'd learned that such emotions would not be seen as compassion and caring, but as weakness. A leader had to be strong, cold, and forceful at all times. Anything else was unacceptable.
"Let's go," she ordered. Shea led the way across the bar and down a short hallway. There were a few offices on the right side, the last door on the left opening up to a large storage garage. At the moment, it served as a prison for their guest. He was chained up in the center of the room, hands outstretched towards the ceiling, thick steel twists wrapped around his hands as he hung suspended in the air. His toes barely grazed the concrete floor as he writhed, desperate to gain his freedom.
Shea studied him for several long minutes in silence. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, shaved head and muscular build. He was trying in earnest to speak around the bandana stuffed in his mouth, not having any success. There was blood all over his clothes. Blood of her men, no doubt, mixed with a little of his own since he hadn’t come willingly. The longer she stared at him, the angrier she became. This man, a pathetic waste of space was breathing, while her men were dead. It was an injustice she couldn’t allow. Certainly not if she wanted to maintain her ground as a strong leader.