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  She watched him dice some green herbs with such speed and precision that it made Robin's aching head spin. He sprinkled them into a large stainless steel pot and tasted his sauce before he fixed her a slice of pie. Without asking her, he went into the large freezer and returned with two generous scoops of vanilla ice cream to the top, then served it to her with exaggerated movements. "Not quite the fancy feast you used to getting at that Benedicts."

  Sighing around her spoon at the explosion of taste of perfectly seasoned apples, Robin could only shake her head. When her tongue finally quit enjoying long enough that she could use it to form words, she chuckled. "They've got nothing on you, Casey. Not a darned thing."

  His cackle followed him back to the stove. "Not a darn thing," he laughed while he glanced through a tray of raw aged steaks awaiting his approval before they could have the honor of searing to juicy perfection on the grill.

  Neither spoke again. Casey concentrated on perfection while Robin concentrated on quickly devouring as much of the pie as she could. Waitresses and waiters came and went, bringing empty plates to exchange for full ones, too busy to have a conversation during the circle. It didn't bother Robin, though. She enjoyed the quiet, broken only by the opening and closing of the swinging doors.

  One of the bartenders, Marissa was her name, pushed open the door and stuck her head through, scanned the kitchen, then looked back behind her. "She's in here."

  Robin was just pushing her plate away and was contemplating getting back to work when she looked up and watched her sister Maxine stalk through the doors into the kitchen. "What are you doing here?"

  Maxine laughed and glided to the table. She wore some green little sparkly sheath looking thing and shoes with such heels that Robin wondered how she stood without toppling over. Robin had heard people refer to her sister as beautiful all her life, but as adolescence gave way to adulthood, she thought that the word stunning might better apply. Her jet black hair fell thick and straight to her hips. She stood tall and thin with a delicate figure Robin would have gladly traded for her more generous curves. Her most striking feature was her eyes. They were green, nearly emerald, slightly slanted in the corners with lashes so long and full they required no helping enhancements by way of mascara.

  Maxine pulled the chair out from under Robin's feet and sat down, propping her chin in her hands. "I have a date. He's meeting me here."

  Robin glared at her sister while she contemplated actually getting back on her feet to step out the back door for a quick breath of fresh, Boston air. "You have to work tomorrow."

  Maxine glared right back. "So do you."

  "That's different."

  "How?"

  Robin sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Because I'm working now. I'm not out late playing, so that I'll drag into work tomorrow and have to come up with new ideas on too little sleep."

  Maxine sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "I've been telling you for a year, Robin, to let me help you, now. You don't have to work two jobs."

  "I'm not taking your money, Maxi. You work hard for it, and you deserve to be able to have things."

  Maxine grabbed the hair on either side of her head and tugged while she groaned out loud. "Listen to yourself! You've done nothing but sacrifice since the day I got out of high school, and you're talking about me deserving to have nice things! When is it your turn, Robin?"

  "Sarah finishes school in two years."

  "You put me through four years of school, set me up with a contact from Benedict's, and expect me to sit back and make twice as much money as you and not contribute?" She slapped her palm on the top of the table. "That's nonsense."

  Robin took a pull of her coffee and set the cup down hard enough that it nearly broke. "You wouldn't be having this conversation with me if I were your mother instead of your sister."

  "Well, you aren't our mother. Besides, don't bet I wouldn't. You're twenty-six years old. By the time Sarah finishes, you'll be nearly thirty. That's when you decide to start living your own life? Almost thirty-years old and never even been on a date?"

  Temper surged through Robin in a white flash. She looked into her sister's face, a face that looked nothing like her own. "I refuse to measure the quality of my life based on the number of men I've dated. I will not be like her, dating thirty men by the time she was thirty. Relying on a string of boyfriends for survival, then being shot to death by one of them. Whoopee! Life was one big party."

  Robin stood, put her hands flat on the table, and leaned forward until her face was close to Maxine's. "I don't need a man in my life like her to feel my life is complete. I've managed to put one of you through college, our sister halfway through, and if I accomplish nothing else, I will have done more than I had ever dreamed possible. I get great joy out of seeing you successful in advertising, as I'll get when I see Sarah as a nurse. If it means that I sacrifice my youth, then so be it. Neither one of you will ever have to rely on any man for your livelihood, either."

  Maxine stared at her for a second, then started laughing. "Is that what this is all about?" She rose from the chair until, in her heels, she stood taller than Robin. "Sis, you can have fun with a man, go out on a date, relax, enjoy yourself, and not have to rely on him for your livelihood. You're allowed to do that."

  Robin grabbed the cup and drained the rest of the coffee with one swallow. "I don't need it and I don't want it. My life is good, now."

  "Your life is work!"

  "Work and you two. It's honest. Clean. I don't need anything else."

  "You don't know that!"

  "I've seen the other side, Maxi. I'm not going there."

  Maxine stepped back and took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm not going to try to argue with you anymore. But, will you do one thing?"

  She moved to the back door and Maxine followed. "What's that?"

  "Will you go to college when Sarah's done? Will you let the two of us help you do that?"

  It was her turn to laugh. "Yeah, right." She laughed. "That's a good one. Me, the high school dropout, go to college at thirty something."

  Maxine squeezed her shoulder and turned to leave. "You're the smartest person I know, Robin, and you deserve to be happy."

  She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped into the cool night air. "I'm happy."

  "No. You're just happier. There's a big difference."

  Robin snorted. "Go do whatever it is you do on a date. But try to make it an early day. You have to sell tires or something tomorrow."

  "Ha-ha. Actually it's peanut butter. We need to convince choosy mothers to choose a different brand."

  Robin plunked down on an overturned crate and stared at the gravel on the ground at her feet long after her sister left. She looked up at the night sky, at the stars she could see through the haze of the city lights. Finally, shaking off the dark mood that apparently came out of nowhere, she went back into the kitchen to find Casey waiting for her with a bottle of aspirin and a glass of water. She smiled as she took them from him, then swallowed two of the pills.

  "That Maxi. I've always liked that one." Taking the bottle and the empty glass from her, he turned away, heading back to roost. "Smart girl."

  Robin stretched her lower back. "Shut up, Casey."

  His cackle followed her out of the kitchen.

  AT seven-thirty that night, Antonio "Tony" Viscolli opened the door to Hank's Place. He'd done his research. He always did his research. He knew that Thursday nights were the busiest weeknight at Hank's, just as he knew that Tuesdays and Fridays were the busiest days for lunch, and Saturdays were the busiest nights on the weekend.

  This visit was unplanned. Tony wanted to know if he would like or dislike the business without them knowing they had a potential buyer peeking under the carpets. He'd liked what he'd seen on paper. He'd liked what he'd heard on the street. He really liked what he saw when he walked into the building.

  The house was packed with families. Somehow, despite the understated elegance and four-
star menu, it came off as being a family place. That surprised Tony. He expected the same stuffiness found in fine dining all over the city.

  "Impressive," Barry Anderson said from well above and right beside him.

  "Very," Tony said, moving forward toward the smiling hostess, his towering companion at his side.

  "I like it," the giant offered. "I really like it."

  The hostess explained that there would be a short wait and directed them to the bar area. Tony was an even six-feet tall, with the stereotypical dark olive complexion that most every Sicilian sported, and eyes so brown they looked black, set in a lean, angular face. Still, even at six-feet, he only came up to Barry's shoulder.

  People mistook Barry's size to mean that he was Tony's bodyguard, and the men had shared plenty of laughter over the assumption. He stood at six-nine, weighed close to three hundred pounds of steel hard bone and muscle, with sandy blond hair and ice blue eyes. The massive Super Bowl Ring on his massive right hand sparkled in the low lighting.

  Barry served as Tony's attorney, and had done so from the very first business deal Tony had made that required a lawyer. His practice had grown, as Tony's business had grown, until it was one of the largest law firms in the city. While Barry oversaw his own practice with due diligence, he – and he alone – only ever personally handled Viscolli business.

  The bar area was busy for a restaurant bar. When a cheer rippled through the bar, Tony glanced up and saw the possible reason for the crowd. A Red Sox game played on the large flat screen television gracing the wall opposite the bar, and the boys had just pulled ahead.

  Two stools became available at the end of the bar. They hadn't been seated thirty seconds before the bartender appeared in front of them. She handed the man on the other side of Barry a fresh beer, and as she brought her hand back, she pulled the levers on the tap in front of her to fill another two glasses.

  "What can I get you gentlemen?" she asked as she Frisbee tossed cardboard coasters in front of them.

  The second her eyes collided with Tony's, he felt like something sucked all of the air out of his chest. Her eyes were crystal blue seas that he was certain would drown him if he let them. Shaking his head to ward off whatever it was that had suddenly struck him, he cleared his throat and gave her his order. "Ginger ale with lemon."

  "And you, sir?" she asked, her eyes sliding over to Barry.

  "Shirley Temple."

  Tony had to give her credit. Most bartenders did a double take whenever Barry ordered. She simply nodded and began to prepare their drinks.

  "Hey, Robin. No way will you know this one," the man on Tony's left spoke.

  If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he wouldn't have spotted the flicker of annoyance before she laughed and set his drink in front of him. "I'm telling you, Sandy, give it up."

  "No way. I got you this time." The man laughed and pounded the bar with his fist. "Straight Law Cocktail."

  Her hands were busy while she answered. "Gin and dry sherry." She added an orange slice and a few extra cherries to the glass and set it in front of Barry. "Stirred, not shaken."

  An elbow nudged Tony's ribs, making him slosh his drink. "That girl. She's the best."

  "Is she?" Tony asked rhetorically, then helped right the man before he sopped up the spill with his napkin.

  Robin reached across the bar and took the rest of Sandy's drink. "That's it, hon'. You're done."

  "Come on, Robin. At least let me finish my beer."

  Her eyes remained sober through her smile. "Sorry, Sandy. You're falling off the stool as it is."

  "You can't just cut a man off at the knees like that."

  Tony watched with interest as she handled the intoxicated man next to him. She set a mug of black coffee in front of him along with his tab, called a cab, made two more drinks, collected Tony's money for their drinks, and all the while talked to the inebriated man, teased him, kept him happy while he waited for his cab.

  Tony could have watched her work all night. The longer he watched, the more he realized that he wasn't the only man in the building upon whom she had such an affect. Several knew her, stopped to speak with her, and more than one stared at her with the same desire Tony felt skirting at the edges of his mind. It irritated him that he could fall so easily into line with a dozen others, and he frowned into his drink while he considered it.

  "Well, well. Antonio Viscolli." He looked behind him and saw a man who could easily rival Barry in size. His head was shaved, he sported a mustache and a partial beard, and had tattoos running up both arms. "You officially checking me out Mr. Viscolli?" he asked with a laugh.

  Tony grinned and held out a hand. "Hank Lamore. It's good to see you again."

  "You should have told me you were coming out. I'd have held a table."

  "We were coming in from the airport and decided to swing by." He gestured to his right. "Barry Anderson … Hank Lamore."

  Tony caught one more look at the bartender as she worked farther down the bar before he set his full attention to the matter at hand. "Do you have an office, Hank?"

  "Sure. Come on back."

  On the way to the seller's office, Tony pushed the blonde out of his mind and turned it fully and completely to the business at hand.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE shrieking of the alarm clock finally penetrated the thick fog of sleep that Robin had savored for too few hours. With a groan, she rolled over and hit the button to silence the stupid thing, then forced herself into a sitting position.

  She put her elbows on her knees and rested her face in her hands. Three hours of sleep would get her through the day, but just barely. Hopefully, she'd still get a chance this afternoon to take a nap before she had to be back at Hank's.

  With another groan, she rubbed her face and stood up. It was five-thirty in the morning, and she had to be dressed and at work in forty-five minutes. She stumbled through the darkened apartment, passed the closed door of the room that housed Maxine and Sarah, and into the tiny kitchen. She stopped short when she saw Sarah already at the table, nursing a cup of tea.

  "Why are you up so early?" she mumbled, fumbling for a coffee cup, sloshing in the rejuvenating brew that had perked to perfection the last twenty minutes of her sleep time via the wonderful invention of a timer.

  "I have a test at seven-thirty."

  Robin collapsed into one of the two remaining chairs and stared at her sister through half-open eyes. Sarah had always been petite and almost delicate, but on the verge of adulthood, she looked nearly angelic. She wore wire-rimmed glasses that subtracted nothing from her hazel eyes. Her hair fell to her shoulders, an auburn mass of curls that no amount of styling could contain, framing a small face sprinkled with freckles. She'd barely breached the five-foot mark, with such a delicate bone structure that Robin sometimes worried a strong hug could break her.

  She was studying to be a nurse, and Robin wondered how she'd ever have the stamina to make it through the rigors of the education process. Whenever that particular thought materialized, Robin made herself realize that Sarah had always been tougher than she looked. They all had. Robin just had to constantly remind herself of that fact.

  "Why are you up so early?" Sarah asked in return. "Seems like you just got in."

  A yawn made Robin's jaw pop, and she had to wipe the tears from her eyes before she spoke. "There's a Chamber of Commerce breakfast at the club this morning."

  Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Isn't Benedict's a little fancy for a Chamber breakfast?"

  Benedict's was a very private, very exclusive dining club, and very picky about not only the patrons, but also who worked on staff. She'd applied every two months for three years, but it was one of the most sought after restaurant jobs in the city. The summer before Maxine started college, Robin finally managed to secure a job at Benedict's. She worked the lunch shift six days a week, and on a slow day made a hundred in tips. She'd been able to put Maxine through college on her tips alone, and managed to save enough from her hourly pay
check at Hank's for the year that she had to pay the tuition and books for both Maxine and Sarah.

  She yawned again. Two more years. Then she could rest. "There's some member who's sponsoring it, paying for the whole thing." Which probably meant scrimpy tips, but it would still amount to more than she could earn bagging groceries for two hours, and that was what counted.

  "Are you working lunch, too?"

  "Just the first shift. I have to be at Hank's at six, so I'm taking off at one and sleeping for the afternoon.

  Sarah rose to add more water to her cup. "Oh, that reminds me. Can you get some of Benedict's artichoke dip?"