Chapter 6 - Beatrice
I slipped into the six-inch golden heels and walked over to the mirror for one last look.
Jesus, I looked hot.
The emerald green satin dress clung to every curve like water, and the neckline dipped low enough to make me look lethal.
I smiled as I slicked back my hair into a tight, high pony, letting my shoulders catch the light on every bone. The thin straps looked like threads, and this dress left very little, yet so much, to the imagination.
Well, Arko Pavlov said dress up, and now he was in for a rude awakening, for I was going to make him eat his heart out tonight.
The high slit up my thigh revealed just enough leg to be tempting but not trashy. My brothers would have a collective heart attack if they saw me in this, which made wearing it all the more fun.
I wanted Arko to choke on his own tongue when he saw me.
I told myself it was just a way to keep him distracted. As long as I let him think I could be molded, I’d retain some freedom to make another run for it. Tonight’s dinner, too, was the perfect opportunity to see if I could sneak away.
But as I walked down the stairs, I felt a strange fluttering in my heart that had nothing to do with my plans for escape. Arko’s face flickered uninvited through my mind, and I felt the urge to slap myself for even wondering if he’d notice the dress.
What was I even doing…wanting to make him eat his heart out when it shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me.
When I couldn’t find Arko downstairs, one of the maids told me he was already outside, waiting by the car.
I stepped out and found him standing with his back to me, his hands folded behind him like a soldier’s. I didn’t know why, but I froze for just a moment to take in the sight. His suit draped so well that for the first time, I noticed how broad his shoulders were.
“Am I late?” I asked, my throat feeling drier than it should have.
Arko turned, and the look on his face was worth every second I’d spent getting ready. His eyes widened a little before he got control of himself. But I’d seen that flash of interest, and I knew I’d just won the first round.
“Not at all.” His voice had a rough edge that hadn’t been there before. “You look nice.”
“I put on the first thing I saw in the rack you sent up,” I shrugged out the little lie. “Shall we go? I’m starving.”
He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
I moved toward the sleek black limousine before him and felt Arko’s hand on the small of my back as I waited for him to open the door. Even through the dress, his touch burned through to my skin.
“After you,” he murmured, and as I climbed in, I took in a deep breath, accidentally catching a whiff of his cologne. He smelled like mahogany, as masculine a scent as could be, and I hated how it hit me in all the forbidden places.
I let out a small breath through my lips and felt every motion my body made near him. When my slit slid open as I moved across the leather seat, I knew he stared.
Arko settled in beside me, and when the limo started to turn out of the driveway, that’s when I realized I’d never been in a car this fancy. From the buttery leather seats to the dim lighting, everything screamed luxury I wasn’t accustomed to.
My family had expensive cars, too, but nothing this…romantic.
I felt my palms go clammy at that word, the heat rising in my neck.
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked, after a few minutes of silence. My eyes snapped to his, and in the dark, his blue eyes reminded me of the ocean. They looked like the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.
He motioned to the bottle chilling in an ice bucket, and I felt myself blush when I realized I’d been staring right into his eyes.
“Sure,” I whispered, then cleared my throat. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be tomorrow.”
“Ouch.” He let out a chuckle. “Taunting me, are you?”
“Sorry. Did you believe I should be lauding you with medals?” I asked, sweetly.
“For such a pretty face, you’ve got one bitter tongue,” he said back to me, just as sweetly.
“For a mafia don, you’ve got way too much time to go around kidnapping young women,” I smiled back.
There. I felt it again, that rush of adrenaline in dishing it out with him. It was followed instantly by guilt, because I had no business enjoying this, but my heart simply didn’t care enough to listen to my brain.
He handed me the glass of champagne, and when I took it, his hand brushed against mine. I still felt the heat of his skin as he pulled back.
“Cheers,” he said, his face poker-straight, like he’d felt it too and feared his face might give it away.
Or maybe I was just imagining things.
“Cheers.” I took a sip, not bothering to wait for him to clink his glass against mine. I’d had enough civility with Arko Pavlov for one car ride.
***
The closer we got to our destination, the more nervous I felt. I knew I had agreed to this dinner, but the thought of being seen with Arko in public felt like I was betraying my family.
I still hadn’t had a chance to speak to them and tell them what happened. I disappeared from the club that night, and as far as they knew, I could be anywhere.
If they were to hear that I was out and about by Arko Pavlov’s side, I didn’t even want to imagine how worried they’d be. Of course, they were smart enough to guess I’d been taken against my will, but they were also reckless enough to start a war.
And the thought of Arko retaliating and hurting them terrified the hell out of me.
I felt the fear rising in my chest, but it was too late to back off now. I only prayed Arko hadn’t brought me out to make a point to my family.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up behind his restaurant to a private entrance of some sort. I sighed with relief. If he didn’t bring me up front, he probably wanted to keep tonight private.
That made it easier for me to digest this evening.
He helped me out of the car and, to my surprise, gave me his arm.
I stared at it, frozen.
“My arm doesn’t have any secret knives.” He leaned down and stage whispered, his breath hot on my ear, causing me to shiver. “But those heels look pretty damn hard to walk in.”
I glowered, but took his arm.
We walked up to the red velvet barricade, and the security immediately let us pass. It was just then that I realized I knew this place.
“You own Il Tesoro?” I asked quietly, keeping my voice even so as not to sound too impressed.
It was one of the most exclusive spots in the city. My family had connections everywhere, but even we sometimes had to wait for a table there.
“Of course I own it,” he muttered, like there was nothing in this city he didn’t have fingers in.
“Maybe you should write a book on humility,” I hissed back.
When he looked at me, his eyes were crinkled in the corners. The gaze made my skin tingle, like he was assessing me for memory. I turned away to look around at the restaurant, refusing to let him see how he affected me.
We walked in deeper, and he kept my arm tucked through his like we were a real couple, leading me through a door held open by a suited man who nodded deferentially.
“Mr. Pavlov, we’ve been expecting you.”
Inside, the restaurant was filled with soft lighting and beautiful wooden wall paneling, with tables spaced far enough apart for privacy.
The hostess practically tripped over herself when she saw Arko.
“Mr. Pavlov! Your table is ready, sir.”
Every head turned as we walked through the restaurant. I felt their stares and ducked my head low, not wanting to be recognized.
I would have done anything to get through that evening without my family finding out Arko had me.
Our table was in a secluded corner, with views of both the restaurant and the street beyond. Arko pulled out my chair, his hand brushing against my bare shoulder as I sat.
That simple touch sent yet another jolt through me that I desperately tried to ignore.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked when the waiter came over to take our order.
“Whatever wine you recommend,” I said, reaching for the food menu to avoid looking at him. “You seem to have good taste in some things.”
He chucked and turned to the waiter. “The 2015 Barolo.”
“Good choice,” I muttered.
“Yeah? Why don’t you impress me by ordering the starters?” He leaned forward on the table.
“You serious?” I asked, incredulously. “Like order even for you?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish,” he warned, with a gleam in his eyes.
I pounded right on that. “Should we start with the prawns in white wine?”
He leaned back in his chair, the gleam in his eyes even brighter now. “Did no one ever teach you to be polite to your host?”
“They did,” I gushed, once again feeling my senses awaken with this banter. I didn’t want it to be so, but this night was starting to feel like it could even be fun. Even if it was with my family’s enemy. “They just forgot to tell me what the protocol was around my kidnappers.”
Arko looked like he already had something fun to throw my way, but just then, the waiter arrived.
He poured us our glasses, and I didn’t know what it was that made me—the anticipation for the night ahead, the traitorous feeling singing through my heart, the anxiety of it all—but I took a few large sips.
“Careful,” he warned. “I like my dinner companions coherent.”
“Worried I’ll embarrass you?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Worried you won’t remember our first date.”
“This isn’t a date,” I snapped, and picked up the menu to place our order.
He didn’t interrupt me even once, not even when I ordered the prawns just to mess with him.
He just sipped his wine and watched me over the rim of his glass. The whole, entire time.
Just then, the manager arrived to check if everything was alright at the table. I watched, feeling slightly out of place, as Arko held an entire conversation in Italian.
I didn’t know that about him… that he spoke Italian. I couldn’t tell why it stuck with me, that little detail. God, I hated it. But Arko Pavlov was turning out to be cultured in ways I’d never expected.
“You speak Italian well,” I admitted, after the waiter left.