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"Another." I tap my empty glass of Bacardi on the counter.
The bartender nods at me, muttering "Yes, boss."
Good thing I'm drinking at my own bar, or else they would've cut me off by now. What am I talking about, I'd probably just threaten them or something.
"She left me." I slur my words, the bartender handing me a filled glass. "I can't even be mad at her, cause' I get it. I fucking get it, but I was just trying to protect her."
The bartender watches me with an uncomfortable expression. Safe to say that my men are not used to this.
"She smells so good. Like flowers and shit. Best thing to wake up to, I promise." I gulp down a big sip of my drink, my throat burning.
"And she's so kind. The money she made at work, she basically gave it all away to homeless people. Or 'unhoused people'." I do the finger quotes. "That's what she calls them."
"Her feet are always so cold. When we're sleeping, she slips them in between my thighs to warm herself up." I laugh, my mind fogging with the memory as I take another sip. "She doesn't even realize. She's a deep sleeper. That's why she snores so much." A snicker slips past my lips.
Her little soft snores.
"She's so beautiful. So pretty. Her little cute nose. Her eyes. Her hair is so fuckin' soft. Have you seen her? She's so beautiful, isn't she? " The guy goes to answer but I interrupt him, swinging my fingers in his face. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't feel like killing you."
Cause' if you say yes— yes, she's beautiful, then I'll kill you. And if you say no— no, she isn't beautiful, I'll also kill you.
His face pales, his head bobbing in a nod.
"Okay, I'm here. I got your two million messages." Callan swoops in, sitting on the stool behind me.
I tap my empty glass again, almost breaking it before the bartender takes it away from me.
"Where's Isabella? Did you guys celebrate?"
I let out a humourless laugh. "Yeah. Celebrated. Best birthday everrrr."
He squints his eyes at me. "Are you drunk?"
"No." I quickly answer.
The bartender places another glass in front of me.
"I think I made friends with this guy." I tell Callan. I look at the bartender, speaking slightly quieter. "What's your name?"
"Uh, Angelo, capo."
"Yeah, me and Angelo. We're fuckin' friends now." My eyes meet Callan's concerned and curious gaze again. "You think she'd be proud of me? She always told me to be more friendly. She'd be proud of me if she knew. Maybe I should text her. Just to let her know." I pull out my phone pressing on her contact, my heart breaking as I read our last messages.
