The Devil's Gaze

Mirabella let out a soft laugh, leaning slightly forward on the polished counter, her fingers now wrapped around a glass of sparkling lemonade. Mario, the grey-haired bartender with eyes that still held a glint of wild youth, had just told her a story about a drunk politician who'd once mistaken the stage for a urinal.

"And he pissed right there on stage," Mario said, wiping a glass dry with a knowing grin. "Stage lights and all. He damn near gave the girls a stroke."

"No ...