Arlene POV
"No…" I whispered, shaking my head. "You're lying. You're trying to twist this, Evan. My mom, she wasn't like that, she couldn't have been that. Stop using her as an excuse to cover up your cheating ass."
He stepped closer, his eyes glinting with a kind of hatred I had never seen in him before. "Your mother ruined my family. Accept the truth that she was nothing more than a cheap distraction to my dad, and when he wouldn't leave us completely, she couldn't handle it, she took the easy way out and left you behind."
Tears stung my eyes, I felt the liquid trail out. "Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about.."
Erica giggled, circling her arm around his waist like she was enjoying every second of my destruction. "Oh, he knows," she sang. "He's been waiting to tell you this but poor little you was caught up in work still trying to build up a perfect romance, not knowing it was all payback. Isn't that right, Evan?"
He didn't answer, his silence was already an answer.
My chest tightened as I pieced it together, the way he had shown kindness to me when he first met me, the patience he had with me when I messed up and the vows to wait and his genuine smile I had always seen had always been a weapon for revenge.
My voice came out broken. "So this… us… everything we had, it was revenge?" I nodded.
Evan's smirk was mocking. "You finally get it."
*******
The glass in front of me was already empty, the rim smudged with faint traces of my pink lipstick. The bartender eyed me cautiously as I slid the glass back toward him with a shaky hand.
"Another drink," I muttered, my voice rosy.
He hesitated but poured anyway, the liquid sloshing down into the tumbler. The bar was dimly lit, loud with music and chatter, yet I felt completely alone, the damn music didn't help much, it added to the heart break.
I lifted the glass, the burn of the whiskey cutting down my throat. I thought it was going to make me forget that fool, but the words he spoked rang in my ears.
"Your mom was a home wrecker,"
"the same way you tried to wreck my relationship." Erica added.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made his voice clearer.
"She seduced my dad, made him leave my mom, and now you'll face the punishment for your dead prostitute mother."
My chest constricted, tears threatening to fall again. I gripped the glass tighter, my knuckles white. How could he say that? How could someone I love and someone I gave everything to speak about my mother like that?
I had spent years clinging to the memory of her warmth, her laugh and her advice. She was gone too soon, ripped from me in an accident… or at least, that's what I was told.
But now? Now Evan's voice gnawed at me like a parasite, planting doubts I didn't want to believe.
"She committed suicide because she found out my dad was married."
"No…" I whispered into the rim of my glass, shaking my head as the tears spilled despite my resistance. "No, Mom wasn't like that, she was always a virtuous woman and will always be."
The bartender's voice pulled me from the storm. "You okay, miss?"
I forced a weak smile, though it might look wavered but I didn't care "Yeah, I am just... feeling peachy." My voice cracked on the last word.
The bartender lingered a second longer than I liked, wiping a perfectly clean spot on the counter, suspicious.
His eyes flicking from me to somewhere behind my back. He leaned down a little, lowering his voice so it wouldn't carry over the music.
"Uhmm, miss… I don't know if you know that man," he said, jerking his chin up subtly toward the far end of the bar, "but I can tell he's definitely…" he looked back, then smirked at me, "...interested in you."
I frowned, my brows knitting. "What man?"
He slid me another whiskey, his hand a little too slow, his gaze still fixed on that direction. "Don't look too fast," he muttered, "or you'll make it obvious."
Curiosity itched at me against my better judgment, I twisted slightly on my stool, my eyes darting quickly toward the reflection in the bar's mirror rather than turning outright.
That's when I saw him, he sat at the corner booth, he as on a black button down shirt, the fabric stretched just enough across broad shoulders.
The collar hung open, exposing the start of a tattoo that grazed up his collarbone, curling onto his neck against his olive-toned skin.
His sleeves were rolled halfway up, veins running down his forearms like some tree roots, then my eyes lifted to his wrist, a wrist watch sat there, I could tell that it could pay my rent for three years, by how it glinted from the club light.
And then, maybe he felt my eyes watching him, he lifted his glass up and tilted it in a toast. His lips curved into a smirk that made the pit of my stomach tighten.
I snapped back around so fast my stool creaked out loudly, my heart skipped a bit either with panic or maybe from how breathtaking he looked.
The bartender chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "Yup, you definitely caught his attention."
I swallowed hard staring hard into my drink like it held all the answers. "You're mistaken, he caught me staring. He's definitely not interested."
"Nah," he said, leaning his elbows down on the counter, dropping his voice again. "Trust me sweetheart, I've been working in this place for six years now and I have seen him here many times. Never once has he looked twice at anyone but I caught him stare at you many times."
He pulled back staring at the mysterious man. "He's not a type to look at woman, they look for him, but you…" He studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly as though he couldn't figure something out. "You're definitely the next." He smirked chuckling at the same time.
A nervous laugh tumbled from my lips, as I forgot why I was here. "Why would he be interested in me?"
The bartender shrugged, "That's what I'm wondering too, you don't seem like his type."
My pulse hammered in my ears. "His type?"
"Yeah, he's always interested in young petite girls."
Was he trying to say I'm old? I don't answer him because I was already getting tired and drunk. I felt hazy.
I tore my eyes away from him forcing myself to focus on the drink in my hand, but my fingers trembled against the glass.
"Who…" My voice cracked as I tried to figure his name out. "Who is he?"
The bartender's mouth pressed into a thin line, then he leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.
"Giovanni Uman."
The name hit me like a blow. It sounded familiar.
I knew that name, even I was drunk the name still rang a bell. Everyone in the city could tell who own that name.
I have heard bad news about him, the warnings, the late-night news stories about bodies found in rivers, about politicians who suddenly dropped campaigns, about businesses that went bankrupt overnight after refusing the wrong deal with the damned cursed name, GIOVANNI.
Giovanni Uman.
I blinked hard, gripping the edge of the bar. "No way," I whispered, more to myself than the bartender. I grabbed my glass of whiskey and gulped it down, not leaving a bit.
"Hi princess." I turned up to stare at who was beside me, but the effect of the whiskey already kicked in making me see a blurred fucking Giovanni.
Or was it Ethan? Did he come for me?