Swirling the liquor, I turned back to the window. My desk was behind me, and I should be sitting at it, dealing with work. My laptop was open, and I’d been sorting through orders and paperwork.

I sipped and enjoyed the sweet, smoky burn.

Letting my gaze drift over the crowd, I took in the dancers on the dance floor, the people standing at high tables sipping their drinks, the small groups in the VIP area. Everyone was behaving, and I knew I could trust my security team to spot any trouble.

Movement at the bar caught my attention. My newest hire, Mila Clarke.

She moved well, and was good at her job. Organized and efficient. I frowned. I couldn’t quite get a read on her. She didn’t have the vibe of a seasoned bartender. The things that stood out the most were her bad dye job, and the fact that she was smart. Really smart. She hadn’t had much experience at first, but she’d picked things up quickly. She was hard-working, I’d give her that.

She also had dark smudges under her eyes, and I wondered if she worked a day job, too.

The woman had high, thick walls. And she wasn’t keen for anyone to penetrate them.

I understood that. Hell, I’d had my own version of that growing up.

My thoughts turned to her face. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped lips, and killer curves that her black trousers didn’t hide. Plus, she had that glint in her gray eyes.

Sharp-edged secrets, but also a hint of challenge.

Like she was daring me to push her.

I muttered a curse and took another sip. She was my employee. One I suspected needed help.

There was a knock at my office door. I took another swig of the bourbon and set the glass down.

Speaking of employees who needed help…

“Come in.”

The door opened. The man in the doorway was in his early sixties, stocky and balding, and worked a ball cap nervously between his fingers.

“Hiya, Mr. Fury.”

“Eddie, I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Dante.”

The man nodded. “Yes, Mr. Fury.”

With a shake of my head, I circled my desk and sat in my chair.

“Take a seat.”

Eddie dropped into a leather armchair on the visitor side of my desk. “It’s Tommy again.” He pinched his nose, worry on his broad, weathered face.

Tommy was Eddie’s teenage son. He had one more year of high school left, and a scholarship lined up for college.

Unfortunately, a few of his friends were mixed up with a local gang called the Big Gs.

“He’s been hanging with his gang friends again?”

“Yes.” Eddie’s face creased with panic. “They’ve dragged him into a mess. There’s a girl.”

I nodded. “Ah.”