Christiano’s Angel

Misery.

CASSANDRA

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I held the tray with shaking hands, careful to keep it in front of my chest to cover as much as I could. I wore the high boots because, hell, they cover more skin.

I approached the table where the seven men were discussing something heatedly. They looked busy: maybe I should wait.

Christiano caught my eye from across the room and raised a brow. I shrugged apologetically, and he curled his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion. I grimaced and picked up the tray again. He looked moderately amused as I made my way to him.

I set the tray down on the table and began setting drinks out in front of people who gave me an initial dirty look when I laid the tray down but otherwise continued about their business.

“Cassandra.” Christiano said in a honey-costed tongue, “Please refrain from crowding the table with your tray in the future.”

“S-sorry sir,” I muttered and turned my eyes to the ground.

“It’s quite alright.” One of the men piped in. “I liked the way she bent over the table there, if she held the tray, I might not have gotten to see that *ss.” He finished his praise with a quick spank on my behind.

I jumped and pulled the tray against my chest, my cheeks turned several shades of red. With more willpower than I knew myself to possess I somehow successfully forced all of my efforts into not hitting him over the head with the silver tray. My eyes instead turned to Christiano as if asking if this was okay.

He raised a brow, in my mind I could hear him sarcastically taunting ‘I don’t know Cassandra, is it?’

“What’s the matter dolcezza? That was a compliment, you won't even say thank me?” He sounded, still showing off his thick Italian accent.

(Honey)

Now this was too much, even for me. Not breaking his head was one thing, but thanking him for s****l harassment was another. My teeth gritted defiantly, daring my tongue to even try to get the words out.

“Allora?”

(So?)

My eyes skimmed the room, surveying first the girls flirting and laughing with the men, then the men, most wearing a suit and most relatively dismissive to the women. The one similarity they wore? Each one of them housed a gun, and most had the switchblade to match.

I found a sudden fascination with my shoes. “Thank you,” I muttered.

“Basta.” Christiano cut back in. “We have business on the table.” His tone came sharp as he reminded his men. I didn’t know whether the sharp tone was intended to cut me for interrupting or his men for getting distracted.

(Enough)

With his order, it was like I wasn’t there at all, as if I had vanished. Not one gave me a second glance as all attention turned back to Christiano. I raised my head creeping out of my shame-ridden despair, and he waved me off.

Like he’d have to tell me twice.

I moved swiftly back to the bar, away from the table I knew would be calling my attention again soon, as the drinks emptied and the cigars dwindled. With a sigh, I leaned against the bar table for a moment before letting out a groan and flopping my head down against it.

My forehead moistened, someone must have just wiped the counter down a few moments ago. Somehow, I felt as though, should I get out of this place, the excellent hygienics of this place wasn’t exactly going to be one of the stricken facts in my article.

The article? You know the one. The one I’m never going to get to write because I’m going to die down here.

Or worse.

Raising my head, I looked at the girls again. I was so engulfed in my misery that I found I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the other women here. They were wiping down tables, cleaning glasses, and serving drinks as though they were programmed to do so like they knew nothing else. They did it with smiles, too. I wondered what their ‘Stories’ were, as Mia had put it.

“Hey, baby.” I looked up to another face I didn’t recognize. He waved an empty drink around in front of me, I glanced back at the table and noted one chair empty.

Truth be told, I was a shitty waitress. “I’m sorry.” I glanced at Christiano several times after asking one of the girls behind the counter for a drink. “You’re going to get in trouble for leaving during business.”

“Better I get in trouble for being distracted by a beautiful woman than get in trouble for failing to do your job.” Gag. “He wouldn’t even shoot me.” He bragged, I pretended I had not heard the implied ‘But he would you.’

“Well, thanks for throwing me a bone.” I handed him his refilled drink.

His eyes skirted me, a sly little grin tugging at just the corner of his lips. “How about we check out it here tomorrow and I throw you another.”

My eyes widened, and I was instantly furious and far less timid without Christiano watching me. “Look, pal, I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am-“ Before I could tear into this hog the way he so deserved, one of the girls from behind the counter cut between us in full flirt mode. Giggling, hips swaying too much, hell she even twisted a strand of her hair around her fingers!

One of the other girls grabbed my arms and pulled me away while he was thoroughly distracted by a nice pair of hooters. “What were you thinking?” She hissed.

“He was being a pig!”

She looked confused. “What are you doing back here? Are you new? Christiano never lets new meat in the VIP lounge.“

“I wish he’d reconsider myself,” I grumbled and glanced back to the table, where his seat was still empty. I had my guesses on where they’d be going.

“What’s your story?” She asked with narrow eyes.

“I wish everyone would quit asking me that.” I looked back to the table where Christiano very slowly sat his empty glass to the table with his eyes fixed on me. The men around the table with him seemed to be in a serious and heated discussion, but he had it turned out as he watched me.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”