Leighton's phone buzzed, its screen lit up in synchrony. She picked up the phone and realised the caller had hung up. Her notification bar read twelve missed calls and eighteen unread text messages.
She sighed.
"Another please," she said to the bartender as she pushed the tumbler away from herself.
Leighton sat at a bar counter in a corporate black suit with her long dark hair draped over her shoulders. They just finished the briefing at work which was last minute and so she decided to stop by the bar.
She straightened up on her seat and tied her hair up, then leaned in on the counter with a sigh.
"Bad day?" The bartender asked, his eyebrows furrowed at her as he shook the mixer.
"Yeah." She replied halfheartedly staring at the eviction warning email that had just come in.
The bartender turned away from her and continued brewing the martini.
The door at the entrance shuts closed.
Loud talks turned to gentle whispers. The man wordlessly walked to the counter and sat on a chair beside Leighton.
Leighton glanced at him, she couldn't help but notice his bandage peeking out of this rolled up sleeves.
She laughed. He finally turned to her.
"Don't tell me you tried cutting yourself too, suicide?" She spoke between giggles.
His expression turned sour as he shot her a deadly stare. What the hell? Who did she think she was?
His stare sharpened, not with aggression but calculation.
She wasn't local. Her accent was off. Hair tied up like she'd been working late. The suit? Pressed, but not flashy. The kind worn by people who wanted to be taken seriously, not remembered.
He followed her eyes to the bandage under his sleeve, then to the crimson seeping into the cuff of his shirt.
Her gaze lingered — curious, not afraid. Bold.
He tilted his head slightly.
Lawyer or cop, he guessed. Too casual for a cop. Too direct for a civilian.
"You know, I've got a case," she said, twirling her straw.
"A Girl was found hanging in her own apartment. Everyone says suicide,the police, the landlord, even her own sister."
She paused.
"But the body had bruises. Not fresh. Not defensive. Old ones like she'd been hurt for a long time."
Dario glanced sideways.
"The kind of hurt people don't talk about," she added, softer now. "Her file reads like a diary no one wanted to read."
"Two more glasses for you mademoiselle" the bartender interrupted mimicking a french accent then placed two martini glasses in front of her.
"Its on the house" he winked at her. She smiled back at him. Dario narrowed his eyes on her. A lawyer. Fancy seeing them around here.
The bartender turned to Dario, " Dirty Negroni?" The bartender asked with raised brows.
"You know me well Matteo"
Matteo turned away with a smile.
Despite the reek of alcohol, Leighton caught a faint smell of blood oozing from Dario. She peered at the bandage, it looked new but she noticed the dark red lines on his black shirt. He was bleeding.
He observed she was looking at him and followed her gaze. He looked up at her.
"You want me?" He blurted cocking one of his brow.
She shot him a glance then chuckled. "Hell no," she rolled her eyes, muttering into her drink.
And then he saw the badge, half tucked under her jacket.
Her badge and ID peeked out of her hip pocket. She worked at the legal firm that was handling a case relating to him. They had had him sued. They were on his tail but was she undercover for them? She had no rights to speak with him besides. He quickly downed his drink and tipped the bartender.
"You won't stay for another Negroni, I'll make it extra dirty this time" Matteo said lowly then winked at him.
"No, gotta run, next time" he whispered smiling then rushed out of the bar.
Leighton watched him leave in a hurry and turned to where he sat. His white handkerchief with the letters "DM" embroidered in gold at its corner was set neatly on the bar table.
She sipped her drink, picked it up and rushed outside the bar.
" Mister…" she began to call out but on reaching the door, her heel missed the top step.
The pavement rushed towards her face as she tripped on the steps.
She didn't reach the floor afterall. She'd felt something stop her mid air.
+++++++++++++++++++
The back door slammed open.
Zara stepped out in a red satin robe, her blonde hair wrapped in oversized red rollers. She paused, startled by the sight of the black GTA Benz parked at the far end of the alley.
Her face dropped.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, walking toward the car.
The driver's door creaked open. A man placed a foot on the ground slowly, dragging a lazy grin behind a cloud of sarcasm.
"You've been busy..." Nico said, voice low
"Busy enough to forget how to answer your damn phone."
"You're not even supposed to be here," she snapped, folding her arms tightly. Her knuckles were white.
"I would've known, but you were too busy shaking ass for tips."
"Snap out of it," she whispered harshly. "I'm not free till eleven. You should know that."
"And?" He finally stepped out of the car then strolled toward her.
"Just leave." Her tone dropped, pleading now. "I'm trying to protect you, Nico."
Nico laughed, cold.
He pulled her by her hand till there was barely an inch left between them. She jerked. One of the curlers slipped from her hair and bounced to the floor. Her loose strands fell across her face like a curtain. She didn't dare to move to brush them back.
"Protect me?" He chuckled.
"I believe the only one who needs protection here is your sorry ass"
Zara's eyes widened. His grip tightened and she winced.
"You think you'd still be dancing out here free without me? One word from me and they'll rip your pretty face off."
She felt her pulse quicken as she swallowed hard. Her voice cracked. "What do you want?"
"Ahh… there it is," he said softly, mockingly. "There's my little Zara."
He lets go off her hand and reaches for a packet of cigar in his inner pocket
He lit a cigarette, the flare illuminating the tension between them then drags on it.
Zara examined her wrist. Her skin was red.
"Well?" he said, his eyes narrowing. "I was hoping to hear from my brother. How is he? Where is he?"
Her gaze shifted. "He's in London."
Nico tilted her chin up. His fingers were deceptively gentle. He gazed into her eyes.
"He's not back yet?" he murmured. "Haven't spoken to your bae in a while? That's... sad."
Her jaw clenched.
Then she looked away from him.
He flicked the ash, then froze. His smile vanished. "You've been to his spots before right? Word on the street is... he's here."
Zara didn't flinch.
He stepped closer, too close, grabbed her arm and pressed the lit end of the cigarette near her skin.
She whimpered. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
"Don't lie to me again," he whispered. "You don't want me pissed. You really don't."
He dropped her arm and climbed into the car.
"I want an update by ten. I pay you. Do your damn job."
The engine roared to life, and in seconds, he was gone leaving Zara in silence, her wrist red and stinging, her breath caught in her throat.
Someone tapped her from behind.