Entangled With The Mafia

Chapter 11: Trust

Amelia

And just like that, I've become an employee they can trust.

It's been two weeks since Jason's death, and the Kellers have put me to work in another bar, a lounge they own. Well, when I say the Kellers, I mean Damien since he's the one who's in charge. Ethan mostly takes care of the financial aspects of the business, or rather, businesses, and Theodora, well, I haven't quite figured out what it is she does. Still, I know more about them than I did when I first got here, and that's a bonus.

I know they trust me, and not only because Jason was a trusted employee. My display of loyalty in his office on the day of the shooting really gave me an edge. I deliver letters, tons and tons of them. Basically, he hands me an envelope, and I meet his driver, Thomas, outside. He drives me to wherever the location is, where I meet someone and deliver the letter. No words are exchanged. We go about our separate ways after.

I didn't think this was how they communicated. From what I've heard, anything could be wired; anyone could be listening. Letters are the safest way, but a letter in the wrong hands could cause significant damage. I have no interest in them. He wouldn't write any important names on them. They must be coded. All I do is deliver them.

I'm also the only waitress who serves drinks during important meetings and conferences. I never stay long enough to hear what they're saying, but soon, it'll be like I'm not even in the room.

Usually, Damien sends me on errands. His cousin rarely speaks to me. I know it was because of a slight misunderstanding the other day. But it's only been two weeks, and I have time to get them to trust me. Gaining their trust in a week is a massive accomplishment for me. I know there are still things I'll never get to do, and I don't know when I'll discover that name, but it's best not to push it. Nothing is certain right now.

Only one thing is: Theodora doesn't like me. At all.

It started on the day I signed the employment contract. I met him Monday morning in his office, and the contract was right before him. It was just a document with a bunch of disclaimers, which I didn't even bother to read. I took the pen, and I signed above the line. It so happened that Theodora was in the office when this happened.

She made a face when I put the pen down. She had a glass of wine in her hand. "You're not even going to read it?"

I shrugged. "I don't have to. I've already seen enough, and I think I can handle it." From the moment I uttered those words, I could tell that Damien was pleased with my response, and Theodora wasn't. She narrowed her eyes at me, and because they were just like her brother's, the expression made her look like a feline—a wild cat.

"This nightclub will be closed for the time being. Nora will give you directions to the new establishment."

Nora is the middle-aged secretary. I also took the opportunity to hand her the address Devon sent me to Jason's family. I wrote it down on a piece of paper. She wrote down the directions on the back of a business card, and I turned on Google Maps to see just how far away it was from my location. I'm never going to be late again, even though it practically saved me that day. Had I been with the other girls at the bar, I'd be dead, too. It truly is a wonder that I'm alive.

In the lounge, I come across a lot more important people, and I learn a lot more. Firstly, because I'm not confined to the bar. I serve tables, get really close to people. Secondly, there's a stronger likelihood of a government official stopping by here than at a nightclub. Still, I've had no chance. I wrote down a few names I've heard to give to Devon at our next meeting. Maybe one of them will be the one he's looking for.

Basically, his headquarters moved. He used to spend more time at the nightclub, but now it's always in the lounge. Having him closer is better for me. Any day now, that name will come to me. It's only a matter of time.

I'm pouring drinks in martini glasses when Theodora approaches me. "Take a neat scotch and a glass of white wine to the office." Before she leaves, she grabs an olive from one of the glasses. She barely looks at me. I know she does it on purpose, though sincerely, I don't mind.

I know who the wine is for. Damien's fianceé, Elizabeth. The supermodel. Well, she's not an actual supermodel. She only looks like one. Long, smooth legs. A face to die for. She's always here, in and out of his office. The entire day. She'll order a drink, always from me, but has never looked me in the face. Not once.

I prepare the drinks and carry them to the office. Usually, when they're in there, she sits on his lap. Today is no exception. I use my elbow to open the door, and she's kissing his neck. She doesn't stop when I enter. As I said, she barely acknowledges me. I'm invisible.

I set the glasses down wordlessly, but Damien's voice stops me in my tracks. "Huxley, there's something for you to do this afternoon."

I turn to him. Elizabeth sips her wine, and he grabs his scotch. I clear my throat. "Of course." I don't ask what it's about. I'm sure it has to do with delivering a letter to someone.

"Ethan will come to get you. Be ready by four."

I leave his office and return to the bar. I work alongside one guy, Chris. He's fast and efficient and not altogether a bad person, though he is cocky; I don't speak to him. After the shooting, I couldn't bring myself to be friendly to my colleagues. I keep thinking of Sandra with that bleeding hole in her chest. It's best if I keep my distance from everyone I work with. I don't want to get attached. I don't want to make friends. Like Damien said, that could easily happen again, though security has tightened. There are a lot more guards stationed everywhere.

The shooter came from the back door, so they sealed them all. I heard something about there being a 'blood feud' with another gang, the Browns. Well, the Kellers don't consider themselves a gang; they're an 'association'. I don't see what the difference is. The point is, something happened years ago, and there's trouble. They want the Kellers dead.

Devon told me they own a vast number of illegal casinos, and all their alcohol is smuggled across borders. Drugs, too. I never thought I'd ever get this close to such dangerous people. In my little world, gangs and mobsters and trafficking were fictional. I've read books about them, watched movies, but it's nothing compared to being this close to having death breathe down my neck wherever I go.

The lounge opens at 9 am and closes late at night. Sometimes, there's live music. Those nights are hectic, but the two of us can handle it. Chris knocks off at 1 am, and so should I, but I stay till late. I'm trying to show them that I'm a hard worker, a team player. These are Devon's instructions, and I follow them accordingly. I'll gain their trust a lot quicker this way, he says.

I'm waiting for Ethan, and by four, I see him stride toward me. A virtue all the Kellers have is punctuality. They're always on time, not a second late. I do my best never to be late. I don't want to get in trouble again.

"Huxley," Ethan says when he reaches me. He crooks a finger, "Come with me."

I've learned not to ask questions, so I follow him. We get out of the building, and right at the entrance, there's a vehicle waiting for us. We get inside a black, sleek car. It looks brand new. Ethan has never accompanied me in delivering these letters. I usually go alone. Wherever we're going is different. I look at my stained apron. He notices this and says, "You'll change when you get there."

I frown. This piques my curiosity. "I'm not delivering a letter?"

He smirks. "We're going to a strip club, Huxley." He watches my face closely. Right now, I have no control over it. I feel my face flush and prickles down my spine.

He tilts his head to the side. "What's wrong? You don't want to go?" His concern isn't sincere. He's mocking me, and I don't know what to think of that.

I fake a smile. "This just caught me off-guard, that's all."

He nods in understanding. "You want to prove your loyalty to us, don't you?"

I study his face. Something about his choice of words doesn't sit well with me. In fact, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I prepare myself for the worse.