Chapter 4
“ W here are you going?” my mother snapped from down the hall.
I winced. So much for sneaking out. “I was going to meet some friends at the Providence.”
The petite pert nose gracefully planted on my mother’s face twitched. “There are no events at the club tonight.”
“It’s just dinner,” I added. “I won’t be out late.”
“Fine, but next time, check first. Your father has a business associate coming for dinner, and it would have been nice for the family to be here to support him.” My mother sailed past in a cloud of Chanel.
“Who’s coming?” I asked, tiptoeing after her and holding my breath. I might not conform to the preset standard, but my curiosity about the business knew no bounds.
Mother stepped into the kitchen and began fussing over the preparations, much to the dismay of the new housekeeper. “Allen Whitkop.”
“So Uncle Tim will be here too,” I surmised, plucking an hors d’oeuvre off the tray.
“No, he’s tied up with a fiasco. Some company we were supposed to merge with backed out at the last minute.”
“Oh, who?” I plucked another treat when she wasn’t looking.
“Parkland Press,” my father said, struggling with his tie. “They are in talks with a competitor, and I fear they’ll involve an acquisition company to organize a rebrand, which they think will make them viable for the modern era.”
As if the sneer in his tone wasn’t enough, my father’s face was scrunched in disgust.
“Isn’t change a good thing for businesses like ours?” I muttered without thinking.
Both my parents stopped short and gawked at me.
“You shouldn’t talk about such things.” The ice in my mother’s voice was cutting.
That was my cue to leave.
As she helped my father do his tie, scolding him for coming down in such a state of undress, I disappeared. Uncle Tim’s spawn would inherit the company. Not me. Never me. It didn’t matter I chose business to study instead of English and literature. It didn’t matter that I kept abreast of the Fortune 500 lists. My future was mapped out and it didn’t involve talking business strategy with my father.
The pizza parlor was decked in Old World decor. The theme was Italy, and red, green, and white exploded on the walls. Cheesy knick-knacks decorated every visible space. And even though it was a weeknight, Pizzeria Ostiense was packed.
What most patrons didn’t know was that Serena’s brother owned this place—which meant it was a cover for not so legal business. My bestie and I never openly discussed it, but I learned years ago that her brother was a real-life mobster. A sigh left my lips. There were so many things we didn’t talk about, but we were still closer than sisters despite it.
A waiter brought by a small carafe of wine, not bothering to check ID. One more reason to love this place. That and the fact that he knew me on a first name basis. He paused to ask how my college finals were graded, since I hadn’t been here in the last four weeks.
“Straight A’s,” I beamed.
“That’s our girl!” he said proudly. “I never doubted you for a second, Anna.”
“Thank you, Paolo.”
His gaze lifted, widened, and then he scampered away.
“You’re on a first name basis with the staff?” Leonard asked, folding into the seat across from me.
I shrugged. “I’m a friendly person.”
“Friendly,” Leonard repeated, his eyes scanning the restaurant with a precision that missed nothing. “And connected, it seems.”
I poured us each a glass of the ruby-colored wine. “What makes you say that?”
“The staff’s reaction to you. The fact we were seated immediately despite the line at the door.” His gaze settled back on me, dark and assessing. “The wine that appeared without being ordered.”
“Maybe I’m just a very good customer,” I offered with a smile.
He took a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving mine. “And maybe there’s more to the little author slash college student than meets the eye.”
The way he said it—not accusatory but intrigued—sent a flutter through my stomach. I’d chosen this place specifically because I knew I’d be treated well, but I hadn’t considered how revealing that special treatment would be.
“How young are you, Anna?” He steepled his hands.
This was a question I was prepared for. “Old enough to take grad school courses.”
Nothing about that was a lie. I sat motionless, letting those dark eyes study me. When he was satisfied with the truth of the statement, he took his wine and sipped it.
“So tell me what happens next,” he said, his smile shifting into a sly slant. “I’ve thought of nothing else but those two trapped in a dungeon.”
Of all the ways I’d planned to charm this man into dating me, this was the one I was least prepared for. But I spent last night thinking long and hard.
“He was tortured—brutally. Her magic snapped into place. She destroyed the villain and now they are living happily ever after,” I quipped, glancing at the menu even though I knew what I was going to order.
The silence from the other side of the table continued. I wondered if he would think I was crazy for taking home a half dozen cannoli later. Well-brought-up society girls weren’t supposed to eat much, but it would be a sin to come to Pizzeria Ostiense and not pig out.
“Do you see something you like….” My question trailed off.
Leonard was leaning back in his seat, studying me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I brushed a hand self-consciously over my hair. “Is something wrong?”
He rubbed his chin, and then let out a long sigh. “I’m not a writer, nor do I read much fiction, but it seems too easy.”
I blinked. “Easy?”
He nodded slowly. “Deus ex machina.”
My heart fell. “Well, uh, thanks.”
Anger quickly flamed to my aid. How dare he. He didn’t know me or the book. And yet he sat there, offering unsolicited advice. This was why I didn’t share my work with the world. People didn’t get it.
“The David is good. Or maybe the Prima Vera.” I changed the subject. “What are you hungry for?”
Leonard reached across the table and caught my fingers. The contact was warm and firm. "I've offended you."
I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on. "Not at all."
"Anna," he said, my name somehow intimate in his low voice. "I apologize. I spoke without thinking."
The sincerity in his eyes caught me off guard. I’d expected many things from this man—arrogance, charm, perhaps even manipulation—but not this genuine contrition.
“It’s fine,” I said, relaxing my hand in his. “Most people don’t understand what goes into creating a story.”
He released my hand but not my gaze. “Then help me understand. How do they really escape?”
I hesitated, considering my options. No one outside my online writing workshop had ever heard the details of my manuscript—and that was months ago, when the story was only a simple idea. But something about Leonard’s attentiveness, the way he seemed to actually care about my fictional characters made me not hate him.
“I just meant that magic should come at a price. What does it cost her to save him?” He pressed.
“Oh….” I swallowed hard, conflicted. “I suppose there could be a price. Maybe her humanity?”
Leonard nodded. “Is that something dear to her?”
It hadn’t been. But now I saw how it could fit into the bigger picture. The tension of other beings versus mortals. My voice slipped out of its own accord. “To harness enough power to free him, she has to embrace the darkness inside herself.”
“And then, how does she not hate him for that?” he pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“But you’ll figure it out.” Leonard turned to the waiter. “One quattro formaggi, and one Fra Diavolo. For you, Anna?”
“My usual, Paolo,” I said, handing the waiter my menu.
We fell into an easier conversation after that. But my heart still pattered wildly when I caught him looking at me with that mixture of curiosity and admiration. A real danger was becoming ever-present. I liked being with him. The way he challenged me, the way he watched me—it was intoxicating to be the center of such focus.
When the half dozen cannoli came on a platter—because Paolo didn’t need me to order, he simply brought them—Leonard slid his palm over mine. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”
I quickly searched my heart. The criticism was a surprise, one I wasn’t prepared for. But now that it is settled, I saw how good his questions were. “Not a bit. It helped, actually.”
“Good, because I’d like to see you again.” He snatched a dessert and took a large bite.
And I didn’t even have to ask. “I see that I’ve made an impression on you,” I drawled, avoiding giving him an answer.
“You haven’t once asked me about my salary or net worth, my dating history, or my family.” He wiped crumbs from his chin. “It’s not every day I find someone who doesn’t interrogate me.”
“Well, if it’s off-putting, I can ask, but frankly, I don’t see the big deal.” I waved my hand in his direction. “You’re in business, probably make a lot of money, and have very little free time, so what?”
“It is a big deal. Appearance is everything.” The hard note lacing those words made me pause.
He was calculating and figuring me into his life based on the information I presented. When I came clean, and told him who I really was, what would his reaction be? Better, probably. Dating an heiress would only increase his value. I would cross that bridge later, but only once I was sure he liked me enough not to run when he found out the truth.
After sliding cash into the black book, I rose from the table. Taking my purse, I filed from the restaurant into the sultry, humid evening.
The silence followed us until I reached my car. Leonard’s brows shot up as he recognized the model.
“A gift from a grandma,” I said, telling the truth. “Not something I can afford on a day job and romance writing by moonlight salary.”
Opening the door, Leonard stepped in my path. One hand on either side of the roof, he caged me in place. “I’m not an easy man, Anna.”
The air was suddenly ten times thicker and made drawing a breath hard.
“Okay?” I gulped.
“I want to see you again. I find you refreshing.” His tongue did that thing where it curved over the word. “But my life is high profile. I’ve made a lot of enemies in the business world. This city doesn’t like me.”
There was an unexpected note of pain in his words as he spoke.
“Being with me is hard,” he finished, body tightening with the assertion. “So I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
My stomach did a real flip. This was really happening. And it was better than I could have planned.
But the way my body reacted, the fact that I was drawn to him, that scared me. Scared me enough that I hesitated.
“I understand,” Leonard said, taking a step back. “Thank you for dinner.”
He walked away, going across the street to a blacked-out motorcycle.
What am I doing? While he was exactly the kind of man my parents would hate, I knew that waving him in their faces would produce the desired effect. They would see I was capable of forging my own way in the world and that I wouldn’t bow to their pressure to conform. Leonard couldn’t be controlled. But that part of me that wasn’t ready to give up, wanted to see where this thing would go and defy my parents’ agenda with a man I genuinely liked. If he liked me enough, there would be no problem.
But if he was angry at the deception, I would lose him. Was I prepared for that alternative? Days ago, I would have said yes and found a backup. Right now, the thought of finding another filled me with dread. I wanted this one to work out!
“Wait!” I called out. Racing to him, I stopped short in front of his bike. “Why don’t we keep this low-key for a while?”
The easy solution fell into place, my brain seeing the story play out in a different way. I didn’t have to introduce him to my family anytime soon. I could take my time opening up to him and explaining why I needed his presence to free me from their plots.
“Let’s just take it slow and get to know one another,” I insisted.
Leonard studied me, his expression unreadable in the dim streetlight. For a moment, I thought he might refuse, might walk away for good. Then something shifted in his eyes.
“Slow,” he repeated, testing the word. “I can do slow.”
Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by a flutter of excitement. “Good. That’s...good.”
He swung his leg over the motorcycle, the powerful machine rumbling to life beneath him. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I nodded, stepping back as he settled his helmet over his head. The visor came down, obscuring his face, transforming him into something dangerous and unknowable.
“Goodnight, little author,” he said, voice muffled through the helmet.
I watched him pull away, the taillights of his motorcycle growing smaller until they disappeared around a corner. Yes, I chose well, and now it was up to me to play the hand of cards I rigged.