Surprise Baby for the Don (Dark Daddies #2)

Chapter 10

10

Mateo

I overtake her in the alley, watching as she realizes she can’t escape. Her wide eyes dart from side to side, her hands curled into fists as if she’s going to fight her way out of this. She very much looks like prey being cornered by a predator, but that isn’t at all how I want her to feel. I need to assure her that she’s safe with me.

“Ginny,” I repeat, my voice low, trying to get her to relax. But it’s clear from the look on her face that she wants nothing to do with me right now. She’s not just tense, she’s frightened, and my heart sinks at the realization.

“What was that?” she snaps, her voice high, her gaze sharp as she glares at me.

I let out a sigh, not even sure where to start. She likely doesn’t really want the truth, she just wants me to say something to comfort her, to make her think that she misunderstood what she saw. But I can’t do that for her.

“Listen to me, Ginny,” I answer lowly. “Forget about what you saw. Let’s just go back into the restaurant and have a meal like civilized people. You can tell me all your ideas about my properties and we’ll put this nasty incident behind us. Sound good?”

She doesn’t respond, just stares up at me with a fire in her eyes that, I’ll admit, makes this arrangement all the more interesting. But even as she meets my gaze, I see the slightest tremor in her stance. It’s that defiance mixed with a hint of vulnerability that nearly undoes me.

“Does that sound good?” I repeat, making it clear that it’s not really a question.

After a tense silence, she finally lets out a small huff, her shoulders relaxing just enough to let me know she’s given in.

“Yes,” she says, her voice clipped, but I can tell she’s still curious, that she has questions she’s dying to ask. Perhaps I’ll even answer some of them if she can stay calm and reasonable.

She follows me back through the alleyway, and we enter the restaurant silently. She doesn’t look at me, and I don’t push her. The ma?tre d’ lights up as we walk in, as if he’s been anxiously awaiting us. He guides us back to my usual table, and orders one of the staff to bring out my favorite wine.

Ginny refuses the wine and asks for water, which is brought with much fanfare. By the look on her face, I can tell she isn’t used to being fussed over like this.

Once our drinks are settled, I tell the waiter I’d like my usual—flank steak with pommes frites. I look at her curiously, wondering if she’ll let me order for her, but she glares at me.

“Just a house salad,” she tells the waiter, refusing to meet my gaze.

“You could have anything on the menu,” I tell her. “Are you sure you just want a salad?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, looking down at her place setting.

The wait for our food is filled with a thick, stony silence. She doesn’t even look at me for several minutes, instead fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.

When our food finally arrives, she doesn’t look up from her plate, just quietly stabs at her food. She’s still angry, still stewing, but I hope she doesn’t keep silent for too long. I was expecting a nice lunch to get to know her better. This whole situation has obviously not turned out how I hoped. Just as I’m taking my first bite, she slams her fork down, making the silverware rattle slightly on the plate.

“I think you owe me an explanation,” she demands, her gaze hard. “Who was that man? Why were you hurting him? And don’t just brush it off with some vague excuse. I saw what you did, Mateo.”

I can’t fight the smile that gathers at the corner of my lips. I admire her boldness, though I’d punish anyone else for being so outspoken. She’s a force to be reckoned with, that much is clear. I’m starting to understand how she’s put up with Rex all these years. She takes no prisoners.

“That man,” I start slowly, keeping my tone as calm as possible, “was caught spying on us, stealing company secrets. We were simply extracting information in return.”

She narrows her eyes, and I can tell she’s weighing each word, assessing the truth behind what I’m telling her.

“Extracting information,” she repeats, her tone mocking. “That’s a nice way of putting it. And what happens to him now? Are you going to”—she pauses, glancing around the restaurant, dropping her voice—“kill him?”

I can’t help but laugh at the idea, my voice carrying through the small dining room.

“Kill him?” I sputter. “No. He’s not valuable enough for that. We’ll send him back with a message instead. Let him tell his boss exactly what happens when they try to mess with us.”

Her expression softens a bit and she deflates, as if the news comes as a relief. But I see the tension in her shoulders, the fear behind her eyes, and it’s a stark reminder that this isn’t her world. Maybe it was a bad idea to agree to using her services. No matter what a piece of scum her father is, she’s too innocent for this business.

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising subtly, and I can’t help but notice how nice her cleavage looks in this new dress. It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to really look at her since her abrupt arrival. She’s so ridiculously beautiful it takes my breath away. I suddenly couldn’t care less about this conversation, my mind drifting to other activities that might be a better use of our time.

I take a sip of my wine, trying to quiet my thoughts. She wants answers to her questions, she wants to know who I really am. Now’s not the time to be lusting after her like a horny teenager. I need to focus, to keep my mind sharp enough to answer carefully.

“What is it you do, exactly, Mateo?” she asks suspiciously, stabbing another piece of lettuce.

“I’m in real estate,” I answer casually, observing her reaction.

She nearly rolls her eyes. “Real estate?” she echoes, disbelief clear in her tone. “Is that why you have so many buildings? All these properties you keep mentioning?”

I nod, offering her a faint smile. “Precisely. I have properties all over the city, and each one is an investment. They serve a purpose, and they bring in revenue. Some require a bit more management than others.”

She looks at me with a guarded expression, clearly not fully buying my answer. Her fingers trace the edge of her water glass as she considers her next question, but I can see the reluctance there. She’s curious, but she doesn’t seem to trust herself. Or perhaps she doesn’t trust me. After a moment, she straightens, meeting my gaze with unbridled determination.

“I want to make one thing abundantly clear,” she says, her tone carefully neutral. “I didn’t sign up to work for the Mob, Mateo. I don’t care what my father’s promised you. I’m good at what I do, and I’ll make sure you’re happy with my work, but I refuse to be caught up in whatever this is.” She gestures vaguely between me and the door to the kitchen.

I can’t hold back the chuckle that bubbles up in my chest. “You’re not working for the Mob, Ginny,” I assure her, amused. “You’re working for me. Personally. Your name isn’t on any payroll in my organization, and there’s no paper trail tying you to anyone or anything except me.” I pause, letting the weight of that sink in. “You’re safe.”

She studies me for a long moment, her face a mix of skepticism and resignation. She and I both know that she’s been promised in a deal she can’t break. Not without significant injury to her father. She saw what I did to the man in the office.

She leans back in her chair, arms crossed, as if trying to shield herself from me.

“So, let’s say I go along with all of this,” she begins, her tone guarded. “Let’s say I finish this project for you. What happens then?”

“Of course, I won’t force you into anything you don’t want to do, but you and I both know that you are obligated to work for me until your father pays off his debt.”

She looks down again and reaches for her water glass, taking a long sip.

“Once you’re finished with my project, you’re free to do as you wish,” I promise her. “If you want to move on, find other clients, pretend this never happened, I’ll happily send you off with a glowing recommendation. You could also stay on with me, continue working on other properties. That choice is yours.”

A flicker of surprise crosses her face, but it’s gone just as quickly. She was expecting a different answer, one that implied I’d keep her around, that she wouldn’t be able to leave. Her shoulders relax just a little, and she looks up at me finally.

“And what if I decide I want nothing to do with you? With any of this?” she asks, her gaze sharp, her voice low.

I meet her eyes steadily, letting her see the truth in my own.

“Your father has told me he’ll have my money in a week,” I tell her honestly, and she snorts her derision. She knows as well as I do how unlikely that is. “After that, you’re free to go. But it would benefit both of us if you take advantage of this opportunity.”

She holds my gaze and I can almost see the wheels turning in her brain. I have no intention of forcing her into anything she doesn’t want. I mean what I say, if she wants out, she can go. But a large part of me hopes she’ll stay.

Ginny finally looks away, and the silence that follows feels heavy, weighted by unspoken thoughts. She picks at her salad, her expression unreadable, as though she’s working through everything in her mind, sifting through the pieces and trying to make sense of them.

After a moment, I break the silence, my tone casual as I change the subject. “Now, how about dessert?” I offer, shooting her a reassuring smile.

She surprises me by smiling back, a wicked glint in her eye. “I did see a brownie sundae on the menu with gold leaf on top,” she answers, smirking.

“Now you’re thinking big.” I laugh. “Make sure you ask for the Tahitian vanilla ice cream on top. It’s very expensive.”

She blushes and takes another sip of her water.

“You really don’t have to keep plying me with lavish gifts,” she says, her tone becoming more serious. “The clothes, the salon, it was too much. I’m serious. It felt like I couldn’t breathe with the amount of people working on me. I don’t deserve any of this.”

I lean back, watching her. Her cheeks are still pink, and she’s back to looking down at the table, as if she’s afraid of my reaction. Suddenly, a protective urge washes over me, and I don’t want her to be afraid of me.

“Ginny,” I say quietly, forcing her to look up at me. “It is my genuine pleasure to do it, okay? If you don’t mind me saying so, I get the impression you haven’t been lavished as much as you deserve.”

Her blush deepens, and she nods curtly. “Okay. But let me prove to you that I’ve earned it with my work at least.” She adds, with the slightest hint of a smirk.

I match her expression. If I read into it too much I might have thought it was a slight attempt to flirt. I wave the waiter over instead and she orders the gold leaf sundae with not one, but two scoops of the Tahitian vanilla bean ice cream.