Chapter Two #2
We walk back to the register, and I pull out my wallet. She rings me up, the ribbon costs twelve dollars, which is probably the least expensive purchase I’ve made in years, and I hand her a hundred-dollar bill.
“Oh, I’ll need to get change—”
“Keep it.”
“Alessandro, I can’t—”
“Consider it a tip. For excellent customer service.”
She stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. But then she smiles, shaking her head.
“You know, you’re a very strange man.”
“So, I’ve been told.”
“Strange in a good way,” she clarifies. “Most people don’t tip their florist. Or buy ribbon at flower shops. Or show up looking like they’re about to close a billion-dollar deal just to browse.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” she says softly, studying me with those honey-colored eyes. “You’re really not.”
The moment stretches between us, loaded with something I can’t quite name but can definitely feel. Outside, the rain has picked up, drumming against the windows. The Christmas lights cast shadows that dance across her face, and I find myself leaning slightly forward, drawn to her like gravity.
The bell above the door chimes.
We both jump, the spell broken. A young couple enters, laughing and shaking rain from their coats, and Elena immediately shifts into professional mode.
“Welcome to Petals & Pines! Let me know if you need any help.”
She glances back at me, and I see something in her expression, regret, maybe? Or disappointment the moment was interrupted.
I should leave. Let her help her customers. Go back to my car where Marco is undoubtedly having a field day with whatever conclusions he’s drawing.
But I don’t want to.
“Elena,” I say quietly, and she turns back to me. “Would you like to have coffee sometime?”
The words are out before I can stop them. Before I can think about all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Before I can remember men like me don’t date women like her.
She blinks, clearly surprised. “Coffee?”
“Or tea. Or lunch. Whatever you prefer.” I’m making this worse. “I just thought, we could talk. Get to know each other. If you’re interested.”
Say no, the rational part of my brain begs. Please, for your own safety, say no.
“I’d love to,” she says, and her smile could power the entire city.
Fuck.
“Tomorrow?” I ask, because apparently I’m committed to this disaster now. “I could pick you up after you close?”
“That would be perfect. Six-fifteen?”
“Six-fifteen,” I confirm, memorizing the time like it’s a tactical briefing.
“It’s a date.” She pauses. “It is a date, right? Not just, coffee?”
The hopefulness in her voice does something to me. Something dangerous.
“It’s a date,” I confirm.
Her smile gets impossibly wider. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Alessandro.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeat, then force myself to turn toward the door.
“Alessandro?” she calls after me.
I look back.
“You forgot your ribbon.”
Right. The ribbon. The excuse I used to come here in the first place.
I walk back, take it from her outstretched hand. Our fingers brush again, and this time neither of us pulls away immediately.
“Tomorrow,” she says again, softer this time.
“Tomorrow.”
I manage to make it out of the shop without doing something stupid like kissing her in front of the young couple currently debating over poinsettias. The rain has picked up, coming down in sheets, but I barely notice it as I cross to where Marco is waiting by the car.
He takes one look at my face and starts laughing.
“Oh, this is beautiful. This is perfect. The great Alessandro De Luca, brought down by a florist.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, sliding into the backseat.
“What’d you buy? More flowers?”
I hold up the ribbon.
Marco loses it completely, laughing so hard he has to lean against the car for support.
“Ribbon. You bought ribbon. Oh my God, wait until the guys hear about this.”
“You tell anyone about this and I’ll have you running security at the fish market for a month.”
That sobers him up. The fish market is our least profitable, and least pleasant-smelling operation.
“Fine, fine. Your secret ribbon purchase is safe with me.” He slides into the driver’s seat, still grinning. “So did you at least get her number?”
“Better. I have a date with her tomorrow.”
Marco’s grin fades, replaced by concern. “Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t ask what you think.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” He turns in his seat to face me. “You’re at war with the Russo family. Greco is actively trying to provoke you into a confrontation. The last thing you need is a civilian girlfriend who could be used as leverage.”
He’s right, of course. He’s absolutely right.
“It’s just coffee,” I say.
“It’s never just coffee with you. When was the last time you took a woman on a date? Actual date, not just screwing in the back of a club?”
I don’t answer because I can’t remember. Five years? Six?
Marco sighs. “Look, I get it. She’s beautiful. She seems nice. But you know how this ends, right? Either you walk away and break her heart, or you don’t walk away and she becomes a target. There’s no happy ending here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You’re in deep already, aren’t you?”
Am I? I’ve barely spoken to the woman. Two conversations, maybe fifteen minutes of total interaction. It’s absurd to think I could be “in deep” based on so little.
But then I remember the way she smiled at me, like I was someone worth smiling at. The way she talked about her grandmother’s garden with such love. The way her eyes lit up when I asked her to coffee.
“Drive,” I tell Marco.
He starts the car, muttering something in Italian I choose to ignore. As we pull away from the curb, I look back at the shop one more time.
And freeze.
There’s a man standing across the street under an awning, partially obscured by shadows. He’s watching the flower shop with an intensity that makes every instinct I have scream danger. He’s wearing dark clothes, hands in his pockets, seemingly unbothered by the rain.
“Marco. Eleven o’clock. Black jacket.”
Marco’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “I see him.”
“He was there when we arrived.”
“You sure?”
I’m sure. I notice everything, especially potential threats. The man has been standing in roughly the same spot for over half an hour, barely moving, just watching.
“Circle back. I want to get a better look at him.”
But by the time Marco navigates through traffic and comes back around, the man is gone.
“Probably nothing,” Marco says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Add him to the surveillance reports. I want to know if he shows up again.”
“You think he’s one of Greco’s?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s what bothers me. In my business, unknown gets you killed. “But I want to find out.”
Marco nods, already pulling out his phone to relay instructions to our surveillance team.
I look back at Petals & Pines one more time as we drive away. Elena is visible through the window, helping the young couple, completely unaware someone might be watching her.
Completely unaware I’ve probably painted a target on her back by showing interest.
Marco was right. There’s no happy ending here. The smart thing would be to cancel tomorrow, to stay away from her, to let her live her life free from the violence that follows me like a shadow.
But I’m not going to do the smart thing.
I’m going to show up at six-fifteen tomorrow, and I’m going to take her for coffee, and I’m going to pretend, for a little while, I’m the kind of man who gets to have normal things like dates and conversations and maybe, eventually, something more.
And I’m going to make damn sure whoever was watching her shop today knows that Elena Harper is under my protection now.
Even if she doesn’t know it yet.