“Ah! No! That’s not what I said. Bitch, are you deaf?”

I slow at the bottom of the stairs, seeing a woman vacuuming near the billiards table. She has her long black hair tied up into a messy pony, a casual Levi’s shirt on, and skinny jeans.

“I’m just saying, Gracie, damn!” the black-haired girl hollers over the vacuum. “If you bite off more than you can chew, don’t be fucking alarmed when you choke!” She continues vacuuming furiously, and I look to the bar, where a girl stands, staring at me with wide brown eyes. She has blonde curly hair that’s wild around her face and soft tanned skin. The kind that only happens during your late teens, if you’re lucky enough to not be met with acne. Which I wasn’t.

The vacuuming girl sighs, banging on the power button and turning to face the blonde with a hand on her hip. “Don’t—” She follows her eyes and stops talking when she sees me. The dark-haired girl is beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, freckles scattered over her cheeks, and curves that hit all the right places. “Oh.”

“Look, I tried to get that fucking stain off the carpet, but—” Another woman enters the room just as someone turns the music off. I’m guessing these are the old ladies.

“Hi…” I test the words out on my tongue. I’ve never had to introduce myself because everyone has always known who I was. It was both a good and a bad thing. A good thing because I didn’t have to waste time with boring introductions, but a bad thing because I never knew if they were being nice to me because they were afraid I’d kill them. Or have someone kill them.

“Morning!” the blonde pipes up first from behind the bar where she’s drying glasses. “Are you Wicked’s old lady?”

I swallow a laugh as I continue my way over. “No, mother of his kid, and ex… I suppose.” I lower myself down onto the barstool, watching all three of them carefully.

“I’m June.” The older one finally stands beside Grace, placing the cleaning bottle down. “Kirby’s old lady, a.k.a. the old one with all the gray hair but devilishly great looks.” The older woman nudges her head toward the dark-haired girl. “And that is Diane. She’s, well… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated,” Diane grumbles, falling onto the stool beside me. She leans back, her eyes coming to mine. “So—since your old man is our president now—thank God for that—does that mean we will see you and that cute child more around the club?”

I open my mouth to answer when it hits me. They truly don’t know who I am. For whatever reason, their men have kept aspects of the criminal world hidden from them.