“Well, I do have the advantage of my entire personal wardrobe here,” he says, walking over to envelop me in his arms. He smells wonderful, like a mix of fancy cologne and his own particular, musky, delicious scent. “And besides, you make everyone in every room you walk into look terrible by comparison. Anyway, let’s get you to work. Bath emergencies wait for no man.”
We pile into his car and head out, with the mid-morning sun beaming joyfully overhead. Everything is so bright and crystal-clear today, with the kind of bright blue skies and puffy cotton-ball clouds that seem better suited for a painting than real life. It’s hard to determine whether the beauty of the world is actually intensified today, or if I’m just seeing it this way because of the gorgeous man beside me in the driver’s seat.
“This is gonna be a good day,” I say softly. “I can feel it.”
“Every day with you is a good day,” Bruno adds, squeezing my thigh gently.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, there is a sudden flash of gray across the windshield and Bruno hits the brakes. I look out my window to see that there is a pillar of smoke blowing down from an alleyway next to us at the stop light. “What the hell?” I murmur, rolling down my window to look.
“Smoke,” Bruno says.
“From where?” I ask, squinting into the occasional clear spots. Then it hits me.
I know where we are.
Before the car can start rolling again, I unlock and hop out the door, taking off down the alleyway. Bruno somehow manages to pull over and park, halfway on the sidewalk, and run after me. I burst through the alleyway and across the street to stand in front of the source of the fire.
Room With A View is in flames, a clamoring crowd gathering in a messy semicircle out into the road. There’s a fire truck out front, its siren wailing while the firefighters run in and out of the burning building. I dart around, looking for Nico or Rafaela, my heart pounding in my chest. Bruno catches up to me and takes my hand, pointing to an area closer to the front line. Police are blocking the crowd from getting much closer, and luckily Bruno can see better over the crowd from his height than I can.
“Up there!” he says, pulling me along behind him as we push through the crowd.
I shove past lots of angry spectators, caring only about locating my friends. If they were inside when the place caught on fire…
“Rafaela!” I shout, catching sight of my best friend and wiggling past a couple of cops to reach her. There’s ash on her skin and she’s crying, but there’s a hardened expression on her face. Rafaela is not the kind of girl to cry over just anything. She’s incredibly tough, and even with the tears clearing a path down her sooty cheeks, she looks about ready to fight someone.
She turns to pull me into a hug, and I can tell she’s been needing this. As strong as she is, I know that she can be vulnerable, too, with people she trusts. Like me.
“Oh, Serena, it’s fucking horrible. Everything we have—had—it’s all gone. This bar was our everything. I-I don’t know how this happened. But I have an idea who,” she says, her eyes flashing with anger.
“Are you okay? Where’s Nico? Is there anybody inside?” I ask, panicked.
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. The firefighters got everyone out, but two of our boarders are already en route to the hospital. It—it doesn’t look good,” she adds, looking horrified. “But Nico is over there. The cops keep trying to talk to him but he doesn’t want to say anything to them yet.”
I glance around her to see Nico and Bruno huddled together, several feet away from the line of policemen. Nico looks unscathed, and I silently thank the heavens that both of my friends are okay. I link arms with Rafaela and walk her away from the cops, trying to look unobtrusive.
“So, what do you think happened?” I ask quietly. She shakes her head, blinking back tears.
“I think it was one of those fucking gangs, chica. Probably the same shitheads who graffitied your shop and hurt those dogs,” she says bitterly. “I just feel like this is my fault. I should’ve been here more. I’ve just been so distracted with school lately and leaving Nico to look after the Room by himself. I should’ve done something ages ago. Mierda. I fucked up.”
I give her another tight hug. “No. No. You can’t blame yourself for this, Raf. You’re not a superhero. Nobody could’ve prevented this.”
She sighs heavily and tucks her hair behind her ears like she does when she’s nervous. She fixes me with a sorrowful look. “I just know there’s something else going on here. No sé. I think—I think I’m a little out of my pay grade, you know? Like, maybe I should’ve just stayed in Harlem. Maybe I’m reaching too far trying to make it in this neighborhood.”
I squeeze her hand supportively. “Hey, don’t say that. You’ve achieved so much. Seriously, you know what I said a minute ago about you not being a superhero? I was wrong about that. You are a superhero, Raf. And you’re gonna get through this just fine. Like you always do. Just don’t blame yourself, okay? It’s not like you set the fire.”
“How do you know I didn’t burn it down for insurance money or whatever?” she pipes up, a flicker of that old attitude flaring through.
I grin.
“There’s my girl. Just, not so loud, the cops might hear. Now, let’s go find Bruno and Nico and regroup, okay?”
We weave through the crowd, gingerly avoiding eye contact with the cops. Rafaela is right. I may not know the details, but I’m pretty sure this fire is no accident. Somebody did this, and I have a feeling things are about to get worse before they get better. When we reach the guys, Nico puts his arms around Rafaela and points out a man in slightly nicer clothing than the rest of the crowd.
“Babe, that’s a detective. We’re gonna have to make a statement to him. No big deal. Just tell the truth, and nothing else. Everything is gonna be fine,” he tells her. Then, looking at Bruno and me, he gives a quick nod. “Thanks for being here.”
“Of course,” I say.
The two of them make their way down the street to the detective and Bruno turns to me, giving me a quick kiss before staring into my eyes emphatically. “We need to get away from here. Now.”
“What?”
“We’re being watched. I’m sure of that. Let’s go. Back to the car.”
We quietly sneak back through the masses and down the alleyway to the car. Once we’re inside and driving away, Bruno continues. “The two men who were injured are mafiosi. They’re in critical care. I do not expect that they will live through this.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur, my head starting to spin. “So, this is a gang thing.”
“Essentially,” he agrees. “The Cleaners are responsible for this, no doubt. I don’t know if you were aware of this, but your friends have been running a kind of halfway house there. Mafia guys in hiding, a place for newcomers to blend into the city, a place to lay low when things get heated. Well, they just got too hot.”