SHE IS THE MAFIA (BOOK#2)

Chapter 1

*Disclaimer: It's Tempest's POV until further notice**

The bell rings as another customer enters. I look up to see it was the same guy from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and from last week. I keep my eyes on the screen as I continue to fix the virus on the sweet lady's laptop.

"Alright, as soon as this bar loads to 100 percent, you should be good to go," I tell her, sliding her laptop over the counter.

"Thank you, so much," she says, taking out her card to pay the estimated amount for spending three days to remove that nasty virus. I was really back up on loads of other technical problems, but I made sure to take time out of my day to fix her laptop. She needed it for work and had a presentation saved on it that she couldn't access.

After she leaves, the guy approaches the counter with the same MacBook Air he has been bringing in so I can fix minor issues. What a time-waster.

"What is it this time?" I ask, opening his laptop.

"There is something wrong with the keyboard. The arrow keys are no longer working," he says.

"They were working just fine yesterday. What happened? Any water damage?" I ask, pressing the buttons to see if they work.

He shakes his head, "No, they just... stopped working,"

I look up at him, over the frames of my blue light glasses. He grins.
He comes in here only to engage in a completely different conversation, and I know he is meddling with his laptop on purpose. He doesn't care if it gets fixed, as long as he talks to me about it. I find it very annoying.

I didn't graduate college to be anyone's entertainment. I have worked for three different technology repair companies over the past two years, leaving each one because some men decide that women in technology engineering are soooooo fascinating.

If only they knew who the hell they were talking to.

I slam the laptop closed and push it to the side.
His creepy grin turns into a frown as I lean towards his face.

"Listen... listen very closely," I say in a low voice, "I am not here for your entertainment. I am here to do an actual job. I would gladly appreciate it if you take a class on how to properly take care of a laptop so I don't have to continue seeing your disgusting perverted face again,"

He steps back in shock, "Oh my... How dare you speak to a customer like this?"

"Maybe if you kept your eyes on my face rather than my chest, I wouldn't have to speak to you in such ways, am I correct?" I challenge.

His face turns beet-red, and he reaches for his laptop. I grab ahold of his arm and stare at him dead into his eyes, "Don't let me catch you here again,"

He nods and scurries out the door.
I huff out a frustrated breath.

I take several calming breaths, trying to relax and think happy thoughts as my therapist once told me. However, they rarely work. I think being a hot-tempered, raging bitch is in my genes. Here I am, a twenty-four-year-old service repair technician, getting paid five figures yearly to process data and fix anything from phones to computers.

How... normal.

It's dark outside, and a little past closing time. I place all the equipment back into the designated cabinets and lock them up. I do a quick sweep of the floor and wipe the glass counter, making sure to remove the fingerprints people leave. I turn off the open light-up sign and lock up the store.

I take out my phone as I wait on the elevator to drop me off in the parking garage. No messages. No calls. Dozens of emails all related to work.

The elevator comes to a stop, and I exit into the cold garage, where a few cars are parked. I reach into my bag for my keys to my black dodge charger.