Violet
She coughed into her elbow to hide her surprise.
“I’m sorry, it sounded like you just said you’d loan me the money.” She tucked some wayward strands of purple hair back behind her ear, making a mental note to put it back into a ponytail in a bit.
“I did.”
“Ivore, you barely know me. Why would you do that?”
“Three reasons.” He held up a hand with one finger up. “One, because I know you’ll be amazing at this.”
He lifted a second finger. “Two, I’m going to make money off of this. I’ll give it to you for forty percent, along with any more money we may need.”
She thought about that. Forty percent was a lot to give up, but if he was going to fund it all… “And three?”
“Three, you saved my brother’s life. That means a lot to me, and it also shows a lot about your character, who you are. That can’t be bought.”
Violet wasn’t sure how to react. First he nearly tramples her, and now he wanted to give her lots of money? She eyed him up and down, trying to figure out if he was lying to her, pulling a fast one perhaps.
The most obvious thing about him was his size. Tall, broad in the shoulders, with a bit more thickness than she’d seen in Cowl, whom she knew far better thanks to Andria. It seemed to be a common trait among his friends. They were all like that. Towering above her, beefy muscles and beautiful features that caught the eye and kept it. A potent distraction, but that was all she would allow it to be. There would be nothing more.
The dark blue jeans he was wearing seemed to have escaped the worst of her spilled drink, but she couldn’t say the same for the white V-necked T-shirt. It was splashed liberally with pink, and she could see hints that indicated most of it had gone down his back. Despite that, and despite the damage done to his hairdo, he didn’t seem to care worth a damn about it. His attention was fixed on her, which left Violet a little unsettled. She didn’t like being the center of attention.
Just like she was uncomfortable with just accepting his offer. “What if I can’t pay it back?”
Ivore waved her objection off. “Not a possibility. You’re going to do amazing. Your cupcakes are delicious.”
“Thank you. But baking doesn’t always translate to business, you know?”
“We’ll figure it out. That’s why I’m going to take a percentage. So that I can be comfortable with making some of the decisions too. But it’s going to work, trust me.”
Violet fidgeted, twiddling her fingers before picking up her drink and taking a sip.
There was no denying a part of her wanted it. She wanted to reach out and shake his hand and make the deal. This was her dream, and it was being served up to her on a platter by a white-haired investment angel. Why wasn’t she jumping all over this?
“What do you say? Tomorrow we’ll go look at some properties.” He grinned. “And you have no excuse not to, since you already told me you aren’t working right now.”
Violet was about to answer when someone else spoke up.
“Go look at some properties for what?”
She looked over Ivore’s shoulder where two men had entered the bar. They both wore light-wash jeans, tan-colored boots, and plaid button-ups that looked so similar she had to wonder if they were related. Both were tall, like Ivore, but lacked the…whatever it was about him that made him feel gigantic.
They also both looked quite mean.
Ivore took one look at her face and turned to face the newcomers in a slow, measured move.
“Violet, call Greg over, pretend to order another drink and tell him to go into the basement and wait there. Understand?”
The big man spoke so softly she could barely pick it up. Nervously she turned to the bar and called Greg over. He was the only other person inside; everyone else was enjoying the patio weather.
“Ivore says get in the basement and wait. I guess trouble?” She leaned in to talk to him, while shaking her glass.
Greg didn’t blink. He just nodded, pretended to search through the alcohol bottles and then shrugged. “I gotta get a new one.” Then he disappeared down the stairs.
“I asked a question.”
One of the newcomers spoke again.
“Well, where I come from,” Ivore said, sliding smoothly between her and their uninvited guests, “it’s considered rude to ask questions without introducing yourself first.” He stuck out a hand. “I’m Ivore.”
His hand hung there for several seconds, earning him nothing but sneers. Violet couldn’t understand what was going on. Why were these men here, and why did they seem to want to cause trouble? She’d never seen them before in her life.
“We know who you are. We’ve got a message for you.”
“Oh, you’re the delivery boy?” Ivore was obviously baiting them now. “How nice. Why don’t you let me know what it is, and then scamper on home. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” the bigger one said, his dull brown eyes gleaming in the bar’s yellow light. “This message comes courtesy of Richard Malkin. He says to get out of Barton City.”
“Ivore look out!’
Her warning was redundant. It had to be. There was no way the big man could have missed the two linebackers rushing at him. She backpedaled in fear, sliding down the edge of the bar as the three crashed together.
Ivore roared in anger as he was borne to the ground by the duo, the entire building shaking from the impact. Violet lost her balance and spilled to the floor with a yelp. Something cracked, and she saw one of the attackers roll off of Ivore with a loud groan, his limbs flopping wildly for a moment before falling still.
“Stop it!” she shouted, getting to her feet. “There’s no need to fight!”
“You heard the lady,” Ivore growled. “This fight is over.”
The remaining attacker drove a knee into Ivore’s midsection, but he didn’t go down. Instead he slammed both hands down on either side of the joint, and with a mighty heave flipped the man around like a ragdoll. The thug spun violently before crashing to the ground on top of his partner.
“Like I said. It’s over.” Ivore crouched warily while she watched, ready to engage either of them. The pair got to their feet and headed for the door.
“This isn’t over,” the apparent leader said, his left eye already swelling shut.
“Yes it is. Go home,” Ivore said, straightening wearily. “Get out before it’s too late.”
The two disappeared through the front door, barreling over Ivore’s brothers as they fled, escaping only because of their surprise exit.
“I’m fine,” Ivore said as his brothers surrounded him. He brushed them off and walked over to her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine. But what the hell was that all about?”
His eyes went flat, closing until they were slits. “I’ll tell you later. Greg!” he shouted.
“Yes?” the voice was faint and echo-y from somewhere in the basement.
“While you’re down there, can you grab us some more beer? We need refills.”
“Sure?”
“Good man.” Ivore put an arm around her. “Sorry to scare you like that.”
“I’m fine.” She moved away from him and his muscles, still swollen with blood and adrenaline from the fight. “Now tell me what that was about. I thought Malkin was after Andria.”
Richard Malkin was a powerful figure in Barton City. Most thought he was a businessman and mild politician. Those who really knew him knew he was the cities preeminent crime-lord. His sons had gotten involved with Ivore and his brothers a few weeks back, and it hadn’t gone well for the Malkin clan.
“Not anymore.” Ivore graciously accepted a fresh beer from Greg. “If I had to guess, I’d say that when his sons died from the drugs they were taking, he decided that we were at fault.”
“We, as in you and your brothers?”
Ivore downed half the beer. Greg saw this and grabbed a new one. By the time he came back Ivore had finished the rest. “Yeah.” He said it as a sigh after swallowing his beer.
“Well that’s just fantastic. So the biggest mob boss in town is after you guys now.”
Ivore shrugged. “We’ll be fine. He doesn’t know what he’s up against.”
“His sons are dead,” she stated.
“They killed themselves.” Ivore’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Their deaths are tragic, but the only person to blame is the one peddling that shit, and we all know who that is.”
“Malkin.”
“Precisely. So he’s upset with himself and trying to take it out on us. But he won’t succeed.”
“You seem so sure of that. How can you be?”
“I just am.” Ivore stepped back from her and addressed the crowd. “Now that all of you are finally in here—after I was attacked by a couple of scruffy pups, I might add—let’s kick this party up a notch. Greg, more beers for everyone!’
The crowd laughed and cheered.
Violet frowned. Scruffy pups? They had been big men with clean faces. What the hell did he mean by that? She was confused. And why was everyone treating this like it was nothing?
“Now, who wants to try some more of Violet’s cupcakes?” Ivore bellowed, pointing a finger at her. “And if you haven’t, watch out, because you’re in a hell of a lot of trouble!”
There were more cheers, and someone brought in some platters of cupcakes from outside. They were passed around and she watched in awe as the crowd devoured them. People she didn’t know started coming up to her and telling her they were the best cupcakes they’d ever had, asking her where she got them, or what the flavors were.
Bit by bit, Violet was pulled back into the party. Greg brought her another drink, which she was forced to sip from as she talked. The alcohol loosened her tongue, and before long she was completely swept back up into the party vibe, more than willing to talk about her cupcakes. Baking was something she was good at, and she didn’t mind discussing shop.
She never quite forgot the fight, but it quickly diminished in importance.