Handcuffed To The Mafia Boss

Chapter Two

Zach Davis'

'Justin Brown'

That's what every banner outside the deck said, thousands of fans fleeting inside with cheer and laughter everywhere around us, and I had the opportunity to be back-stage. With them. 

"I can't believe we were going to miss on this just because of your negligence to check the band's name on the concert tickets." Sam grumbled beside me, but I was still busy staring at their names on the posters until I shook my head and zoned in again. 

"If you ask me, I'd say it's extremely anti-feminist for Zach and Justin's names to be out here on the banner and Ruth and Tara's names to be inside. They're a band, their names are supposed to be together, you know–"

"Yes. Yes. I know. Shush." Sam replied, huffing as she cut me off. "What matters is... we're back-stage. Ta-da!"

"Sshhh." I told her, my eyes widening at how loud she was as I immediately looked around and thankfully, no one had heard us. 

The back-stage was less like a back-stage and more like a VIP room full of famous people. Everywhere you look, there had to be someone you recognised. It was always moments like these that humble me, making me realise that even with my first movie just a few months away from it's release and me being casted in Hollywood's next predicted it-movies, I wasn't where these people are. I was not exactly Hollywood's next Jennifer Lawrence, but to be honest, I didn't want to be her. I wanted to be me. The first Natasha. The girl who made it. Without nepotism.

"Oh my, God. Is that Liam Payne?" Sam mumbled into my ear, her eyes fixed at someone indistinctly. "Do you think I'll be thrown out if I ask him to confirm or deny the One Direction's split rumours?"

"You will be thrown out, yes." I tell her with a pointed glance. "Don't even think about doing that."

"I'm a journalist," She pouts, "Where else am I going to end up in a room full of celebrities? Might as well take advantage of it."

"Sam, no." I tell her firmly.

She grumbled in return, "Fine. At least you can go have fun. Go, introduce yourself to someone," She told me, "You're in that career line now. Make connections. You never know when it might come in handy."

I looked around the room. It was full of celebrities. Actors. Directors. Producers. Politicians. Reality stars. Influencers. And unfortunately, very few people were here for the people playing. Most of them were busy in their propagandas and talks, making 'connections' as we put it.

"You're right." I shake my head. I wasn't a part of the race yet, of the real it-world of Hollywood, and I wanted to enjoy this normalcy until it lasts but I had to get out of my head and put myself out there. 

"Wait, you're actually agreeing?" Sam looked at me suspiciously. "No- 'Sia gave me these tickets to enjoy and I am not taking advantage', no 'goody two shoes' behaviour?" 

I was anything but the goody two shoes, but Sam didn't have to know that. 

"Of course not," I told her looking around at the room, "Any opportunity not taken is an opportunity wasted, and well, you know..." 

"You never waste opportunities, I know," she finished the sentence for me and then flashed me a quick smile, "Go on. Do your thing."

"I will. But don't do anything stupid till I come back." I give her a pointed glance, and she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"How can I?" She answered dramatically, quoting one of our favourite movies, "You're taking all the stupid with you."

This undeniably made my smile grow as I went around the room. Being an extrovert and socialising at backstage parties after theatre shows all the time had given me one thing for sure– the confidence to start conversations with strangers.

Walking to the bar side of the room, "Wine," I told the bartender.

"Any preferences?"

"Sine Qua Non," I answered, and watched as he disappeared behind the counter, and fluttering my eyes innocently, I turned to the man to my left who was staring at me with amusement.

"Some Qua Non? That is good taste indeed." He commented the second my eyes met his hazel ones, and continuing to flutter my eyes, I smiled wider, forwarding my hand.

"Thank you," I said, "I'm Natasha. Lopez."

"Natasha Lopez." He repeated my name before taking my hand, "I'm Justin. Justin Brown."

My lips parted in surprise, but I kept the composed face on. "Of course I know you," I replied, "Aren't you supposed to be preparing to go on-stage or something though? Last minute costume changes? Make-up tantrums that rockstars have? Anything like that?"

"I am, yes." He almost sighed, "I was just waiting for somebody."

I twitched my eyes. "Somebody special?"

"Something like that." He laughed as if he had mentally made a joke about my words that only he knew about before looking at me again, in a much more amused way this time. "Guess I just got stood up."

"Her loss." I commented.

"His," he corrected, and then gave me a smile, "I'm waiting for my brother."

"Oh. Brother?" I asked. 

"And he stood me up. So." He fake-pouted.

I crossed my hands in front of my chest, raising my eyebrows. "Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?"

"Well, that depends. Would it make you feel sorry enough to come to the after-party?"

"There's an after-party?"

"You bet there is." He grinned. "It's always party with us."

"Hmm..." I pretended to think, "That depends. Your brother... is he a d*ck who bullies you, or the kind to bully others for you?"

"Oh, he's a d*ck. Undoubtedly. A big, big one." Justin whispered in return as if he was a five year old telling me a big secret, and I chuckled.

"Well in that case, I do feel sorry for you." I feigned sympathy.

"I guess I'll see you at the after-party then?" He asked, grinning.

"You will." I answered, smiling too, but before any more words could be exchanged, I heard someone calling his name in the crowd.

"That's my queue." He said, and then added, "Hotel Charles. Starts after midnight." 

"Have fun." I tell him, "On the stage."

"I will." He winks at me before disappearing and I turn to my champagne lying on the countertop. I smile before pressing the glass to my lips. I had never had this one before. The only reason I even said the name was because I'd seen the bartender pouring Justin the same one when I was walking to the bar.

And God, it tasted horrible.

Leaving the glass on the counter top itself, I moved ahead. It was time to talk to somebody else.

*

Everything about the night went according to plan, if I ever had a plan that is. I spoke to celebrities. I watched the concert with an over-excited Samantha. And then we grabbed dinner in a local restaurant before wanting to head straight to Hotel Charles for the after-party. And still somehow, I ended up alone in its parking lot instead.

It was when we were heading inside the hotel that I came across a fallen mobile phone right outside the entrance. A phone with no password, contacts saved as numbers instead of names and the most recent conversation was with somebody named '23'. No calls, just a single text.

'Hotel Charles parking lot. Midnight.' 

And despite Samantha telling me to just hand over the phone to one of the many security people there, the knack of adventure in me had to want to go and return it myself.

The phone had to belong to an interesting person. After all, who saves people contacts in numbers instead of names. 

I also knew Sam would never allow me to do this myself. 'It's too dangerous' she would have shouted at me– and she'd had been right. So, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and that's how I found myself alone in the parking lot of Hotel Charles at a quarter passer midnight.

It was hot here. And I was very conscious of the little red dress I was wearing, and so I stood leaning on one of the many posh cars, pulling my dress down and wondering if I had made the right decision by coming here when I heard a voice that made me jump.

"I hate waiting." It was more like a growl. I jumped on my place before turning to the man behind me. 

He was tall. Muscular but not too muscular. Hazel brown eyes and messy black hair. And he looked pissed.

"I hate waiting." He repeated himself as he walked closer, his voice so dangerously low. He was definitely pissed.

"Are you talking to me?" I asked, and then looked behind me once. Just in case.

"Are you dumb?" He asked me, frowning as he took steps closer. "Of course I'm talking to you." 

"Oh." I licked my lips, "I'm not– I'm not the person you're supposed to meet here."

"I don't care who you are." He answered, "Just do what you're supposed to and f*cking leave."

"No–" I began, but he cut me off. 

"Listen," he said, loud. "Who are you, again? Amanda? Karen? Bella? Juliet? You look like a Juliet. Let's go with Juliet, shall we?"

"I'm not–"

"I don't care, Juliet." He cut me off. Again. Boy, this was really beginning to piss me off. "I have paid you in advance. In cash. Which meant I needed you to be here on time. And you weren't. So you have even lesser time. I have a f*cking party to attend and I cannot give you all night. Let's get going to the room, shall we?"

The room? I almost gasped, and then it all made sense. Why there were no names saved, but numbers. He thought I was a... pr*stitute?

"I am not who you think I am," I said aloud and quick before he could make any further assumptions, and picked the phone I'd found. "I found this lying around and came to return it."

"Stop playing with me, Juliet." He smirked, "I know you love your games, but it's time to work."

My lips parted. "I am not your Juliet." I tell him adamantly, "And I don't care if you work or play with her, but here's the phone I came to return." Saying as much, I threw the phone towards him. He was standing at a good six feet's distance, and caught it effortlessly.

"You're not her?" He asked, frowning. "You look like her."

"What do you mean?"

"Ginger hair. Very short dress. Good ass." He commented, and I could feel my cheeks burn as I walked towards him impulsively, and without thinking twice, slapped him across his right cheek.

And then, I walked away.

He deserved that. He... whoever he thought he was to insult me like that.