Prologue

Myla

Fourteen months ago…

Entering through the employee door at the back of one of the three San Francisco located Shivers, a “something for everyone” kind of restaurant, I still can’t believe the “something” for me is a job. At twenty-five years old, I’m supposed to be progressing in my career, not taking food orders. But then, waiting tables wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I’d packed up my car in Texas and used my savings to get here for a job that fell apart before I even arrived. I knew being a fashion designer was still a long reach for me, but a move from merchandiser for a smaller retailer to one of the largest on the planet would have been a step in the right direction. 

Shutting the door behind me, I cut left into a small locker room, stopping at the first of twelve metal doors. Grabbing the lock, I turn the combination, and open the door, quickly sticking my purse inside before grabbing the pink apron on the hook. Fitting it over my jean-clad hips, I wish like heck it covered the low V of my hot pink “Shivers” t-shirt. But then, unlike some of the girls here, I prefer using my brain as an asset to get ahead in the world over the DD’s. Though I guess I should thank the girls, since I’m fairly certain they are why I was hired, considering my boss, Eduardo, spends way too much time looking at them for my comfort. I might not like that reasoning, but I need to pay my bills. 

I shove the locker shut and set my lock in place before turning and all but running into a big, broad body. “Eduardo,” I gasp. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He gives me one of his heavy-lidded stares, his thick arms crossed in front of a broad chest some might think is rather stellar. I, on the other hand, think it’s as creepy as the way he looks at me. “The CEO of the chain is in the house tonight, in the private, lower-level dining room. You’ll be attending his needs.”

“Me? I’m still learning.”

“He’ll like you. That’s all that matters.” He settles his hands on his hips. “There’s a two-thousand dollar bottle of tequila with Joe at the bar waiting on your service. And make it fast. He’s thirsty.” He turns and leaves and I stand there for several beats before I shake myself and start moving, following in his footsteps, down a long hallway past several offices. 

Exiting into the main restaurant, the clusters of wooden tables and bar booths are half-filled, but considering it’s Friday night, I am certain they will soon be at capacity. That means big tips I pray I don’t miss out on for an owner not likely to tip at all. Turning right, I head to the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar and Joe meets me at the counter, setting two glasses down in front of me. “Don’t spill this. It’s liquid gold.”

“I don’t even know where the downstairs is.”

He motions behind me and I glance over my shoulder to an archway and then back at him to discover he’s already walking away. Inhaling, I pick up the two glasses and head in that direction. Right now I really wish I was back in Texas, where at least I had a job in my field, and I’d still have Sally, my best friend, who was recently married and now pregnant. Exhaling, I head down about a dozen stairs and reach a landing to cross to a large archway. Entering, I find a cave-like room with a long rectangular booth horizontal to me that could easily seat a dozen, but leaves no walking room in the small space. There are only two men present. My boss, who has his back to me, and a Hispanic man in an expensive looking suit, who is facing me. 

“You must be Myla,” the man says, an arrogant, worldly air to him, the slight graying at his temples aging him to what must be his forties. “Come,” he adds, lifting a hand. “Bring me my drink.” There is something about this man’s command that is powerful, almost sexy, and yet…he is sinister. Scary even. I walk toward the table and set both men’s drinks in front of them. “Thank you,” he says, and surprisingly, he does not look at my cleavage. He just looks at me, and does so with uncomfortable intensity. 

I force my hands to my hips, when I really want to hug myself. “Can I get you a menu?”

“How old are you?” he asks, as if I haven’t spoken. 

“Twenty-five.”

“Why are you waiting tables?” 

“I moved here to start a new job that fell through during my relocation, but I assure you I need the work, and I’ll work hard.”

“I am quite certain you will. Leave us to talk, but when my business is done here you’ll join me for dinner. In other words, you are to remain free of other obligations.”

“What? No I-” He arches a brow and I quickly amend. “I’m sorry. I just…I need the tips tonight. I do appreciate the offer though.”

“I’ll be leaving a five-hundred dollar tip. So you’ll have dinner with me. Now, leave us.”

I jolt with the command, my heart thundering in my chest, while my feet move of their own accord, leading me up the stairs. Once I’m there, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I’m more than a little uncomfortable with being ordered to dinner, but considering the cost of living in this city, I need that five hundred dollars. Not sure what to think of any of this, my gaze scans the restaurant and catches on Heather, a waitress who befriended me my first day, heading in my direction. I dart forward and intercept her before she reaches the bar. 

“Why do you look panicked?” she asks, blowing a lock of blonde hair from her eyes. 

“The owner of the restaurant is here and-”

“Michael Alvarez is here?”

“Yes and-”

“Do you know who he is?”

My brow dips. “What do you mean?”

“The leader of one of the biggest cartels in the country.”

“What? He’s the leader of a cartel?”

“Oh yes,” she says. “He has money and he’s kind of sexy, or so I hear. He never comes in, but I Googled him, and he’s scary. So very scary.” She touches my elbow. “I have a cranky customer. I’ll be back in a minute. I need to get him his drink.” She darts around me and I stand there, shell-shocked, and well…shell-shocked. It takes me almost twenty seconds to realize that I should be calling my sister who’s an FBI agent. 

I rush toward the hallway and the offices, cutting down the hallway, and instead of going to the employee locker room, I enter the bathroom to my right. Walking to the last stall, I enter and shut the door, locking up before leaning on the solid surface, already removing my phone from my pocket to punch in my sister’s number. It starts ringing and dang it, it goes to voicemail, the way it often does for months on end when she’s undercover. I don’t even know if she will get my message but the beep sounds and I say, “Kara. It’s Myla.” The bathroom door opens and I silently curse being forced to leave a generic message. “Call me. Please.”

Leaning my head on the hard surface, I wonder what it is about this family that sends us into a collision course with really bad people, which has me considering my options. Alvarez is the kind of man that my father and sister have devoted their lives to shutting down. The kind of man who killed my parents. So I should get the hell out of here, leave and go to a temp service tomorrow, and for those very reasons, and more, I’m justified and smart for doing so. No one knows how dangerous Alvarez is, simply because of what he is, more than me. Decision made, I decide to call anyone I can in the FBI to reach her, the instant I’m out of here. Pushing off the door, I open it and gasp to find a man with a long scar down his cheek standing in front of me. 

“What are you doing in here?”

“Mr. Alvarez requests your company, which means I’ll need your phone, and I’ll need to search you.”

“What? No. No. I don’t agree.”

His lips twist in an evil grin. “I don’t remember asking.”