The Mafia Boss's Rose

Chapter 3

     The next morning, I went through my regular routine; I walked Rosco, made tea and watered my plants. I decided to take a book, as well as a notebook in an over the shoulder type bag. I took Rosco with me and drove to the pub. The file folder Mr.Mystery had included the information on the different mafias that they had but also the suspected pub that acts as Switzerland.
     Stepping out of the car, I opened the back door and Rosco jumped down. He followed me as I entered the pub, and I ignored the curious glances I got as I picked out a booth seat near the middle of the back wall. Rosco sat between me and the rest of the place, his eyes always scanning for danger. He probably shouldn't be in here but he was a German Shepard and any time someone came near me, he would growl softly unless I told him otherwise.
     A waitress with shiny black hair, and a cheerful smile came up to me and asked for my order,
"Do you have any Irish Whiskey?" It was still early, at about eleven in the morning but I'm in a pub and I'm in the mood for whiskey.
"Yes, are you new to the area? This isn't the common place for tourists." That's one of the reasons I knew I had found the right address, there wasn't any good reviews.
"Yes," that's all I was going to tell her. She seemed to wait for more but when I didn't say anything, she nodded her head and went to the back to get my order.
     I pulled out my book and began to read. Just when I flipped the first page, I heard the door open and lots of cheers. It was a mix of yells, in an Irish accent. I hadn't planned on them showing up but the timing was perfect. I could see at least twenty guys come in and sit down at tables scattered around the room. There was another group of about five who appeared to be in command as they sat down at one of the round booths. I felt the attention of one guy in particular on me and it made me uneasy. I flipped another page.
     This time I heard the door open and the entire place went silent. I noticed the Irish guys sit up taller, there conversations brought to an abrupt halt. I've never felt a chill on a hot summer day before today. Even the air seemed to still and leave the room. People seemed to be holding there breath and I didn't dare turn around to see why.
     I heard a shuffling of feet, maybe 40 men, do the same as the Irish. They scattered across the room and on the opposite side of the pub from the Irish, a group of about ten, sat in a large booth. Lucky for me, I was right dab in the middle of the room, stuck between two obviously powerful groups of men. I pitied the waitress, she reappeared from a room in the back and from the corner of my eye, I saw her face pale a bit.
     She handed me my whiskey, her hand shaking ever so slightly.
"Thanks," I said so casually you'd think I was at home in pyjamas. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop and at the sound of my voice all eyes turned on me. The girl nodded before standing in the middle of the room wondering who she should help first. If she helped the Irish first than that meant she would be favouring them, making the opposing mafia angry that she thought the Irish were more intimidating and therefore in need of assistance first. If I were her, I'd simply tell them there's a bar and one of their garbage guys could get them their drinks but that'd probably get me killed or favoured and I don't want either.
     She was standing there quietly, clearly debating it and the guys in the room seemed to be enjoying her indecisiveness. So I decided to help, if only for a second. I drank the whiskey, sat it down and cleared my throat. She startled, grabbed the glass, nodded her head in thanks and headed into the back where I imagined she'd stay.
     I picked up the book and went back to pretending to read. I felt people staring, unashamedly but I refused to give in and look up. From the corner of my eye, I could see the Irish guy that appeared to be in control, staring at me. I could feel another's eyes on me and I gently turned my head so I could see him. I was looking at him from the corner of my eye, not wanting to make eye contact. To my surprise the waitress came back with two trays of mugs, beer slopping over the sides of each glass. She set them down on the table directly in the middle of the room and all of a sudden the Irish man jumped up and yelled,
"let's get drunk!" And suddenly the place was booming with noise, guys racing for the drinks. Each of the men in the booths were handed a drink and pretty soon everyone but me and one other guy was drunk.
     I glanced up and locked eyes with the only other sober person in the room. His eyes were so dark they were almost grey with flecks of gold embedded in them. He has short black hair and a scar running down the right side of his face, starting from just above his eyebrow and running down to his cheek bone. His eyes bore into mine and I realize a second to late that he was wearing a suit, tattoos peaking up from beneath his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. He has an eerie calm radiating from him and a chill runs down my spine as his eyes bore into mine. I want to stare him down and hold his gaze, I want to refuse to let him show me dominance but I can tell the Irish guys attention is back on me. I turn my head back to my book and make a hmph sound as if I'm annoyed they've interfered with the silence.
I turn and look up at the Irish guy, his green eyes full of mischief and deep red hair, giving him a persona of having a fun and bubbly personality. He smiles, genuinely and raises his beer in a toast before guzzling it down. I have the attention of two, very powerful people and the only thing I can think of doing is reading because I have no idea how to get out of this mess.
Fed up with repeatedly reading the same sentence, I close the book and set it down. When I know the Irish guy isn't looking, I turn my attention to the man with grey eyes, I know he's staring at me but I don't look him in the eyes. I do however look at the man sitting next to him who turns toward me, beer slopping all over his hand and he gives me a crooked grin. He looks at the man with grey eyes and then back at me. He looks between us three times before he finally stands up and starts walking towards me. His action drawing the attention of the whole room. He plops down in front of me and I quickly snap my fingers to keep Rosco from barking at him. A wide grin spread across his face. I turn and face him, as I tilt my head to the side, giving him a questioning glance. He's clearly drunk, he ran into tables and nearly dropped his beer on the way over. If this situation was better I would have laughed at the horror that had crossed his face as the mug almost slipped from his grasp.
"He hasn't stared at a woman, the way he just stared at you in a long time," well he's definitely telling me what he wouldn't normally because he's drunk which was the goal but there are just a few simple problems. One problem is that he isn't Irish and the second is that it has nothing to do with any sort of deal that may or may not be going down. Great just great, now what am I gonna do?
I smile kindly and pick up my book, in an attempt for him to leave.
"We never see girls like you around places like this," clearly he wasn't going to stop so I look up over my book and wait for him to continue.
"Although no wonder he's staring, if it wasn't for him, the rest of them would be too," I made a disbelieving pfft sound.
"Ahh and your humble too, even better," I didn't think his grin could get any wider but it did. I set the book down and took in his appearance. He has pure blue eyes, similar to mine and he has wavy brown hair.
"Why are you and all your buddies here disturbing my peace and quiet?" He contemplates this for a second and when he speaks again, he slurs his speech a bit.
"Why else? We're Russian, they're Irish," as if I'm supposed to understand what that means.
"Your disturbing my silence because your Russian? That makes sense." I shake my head slightly thinking he's too drunk to be of any help.
"No, well yes, erm." He makes a tsk tsk sound and rubs his hands on his face.
"I can't think of the word for it, it's erm m-, I don't know."
"Mafia?" His eyes light up and he yells,
"That's it!!" As his hands slam down on the table. Once again his beer spills, this time it just nearly misses my book. I put the book away, smile kindly and say,
"So because your in the Russian mafia, that means that you can disturb my peace?"
"Well no, we're here to make a deal. A very important one," he bobs his head as if to make sure I understand his point. This time I only raise an eyebrow as if to say, 'there's no way it's important enough to disturb me'. It seems to get the response I was looking for.
"Weapons! We're making a deal over weapons, cocaine, and territory. It's all about who gets Berlin, blah blah blah. If the Russians and the Irish work together they can overtake the city. Just like that," he makes a poof motion with his hands. There's only one fault in his story.
"The Italians don't just go poof, there tougher than they look." His swimming brain tries to take in what I just said.
"How'd you know what power the Italians have?" I shrug a shoulder and reply,
"It's common knowledge." A blatant lie but he's too drunk to pick up on that. He raises an eyebrow, nods his head and looks over at the Russian guy with grey eyes.
"Ah, look my brothers staring at you again."
"That's your brother?!?" I widen my eyes at him in shock, they look nothing alike.
"Yeah, same dad. He was born first which is why he's the Don." I take a deep breath and start question every reason for why I thought it would be a good idea to do this. The only problem is that it's already too late, I'm in deep now.