Chapter 22 - Anna
"Sofia... Sofia, hey," Luca says, and I shake my head, pulling myself out of my thoughts.
"Yes, sorry," I say and give him a forced smile, squeezing his arm that I'm holding. "I just—"
"It doesn't matter. Just smile and nod and speak only when spoken to, got it?"
"All right."
Asshole.
Luca opens the door to the speakeasy and pulls me in.
"Bet you've never seen a place like this," he says as he closes the door.
"No, wow, so cool. What is this place?" I ask, a little too sarcastically.
"Johnny Torrio and Al Capone's old stomping grounds. The deals here, Sofia, I tell you."
"Who were they?"
Luca stops and looks at me. "What? The Fox? Scarface? You've never heard of them?"
Of course I had, the former was mentioned during my training when I came to Chicago, and the latter because everyone knows who Scarface is from any mobster movie ever.
"Politicians?" I reply.
Luca scoffs and waves his hand at me. "Good thing you're pretty because brains," he says, shaking his hand from side to side, "not so much. Anyhow, you remember what I said to you up in the hotel room?"
Yes, I remember it, you fucking idiot.
"Yeah."
"Good. Just some introductions and whatnot, and then I need to talk business, but we'll meet up later," he says and leans in, his breath smelly and hot on my ear, making my skin crawl. "Because I'm finally fucking you tonight—nothing, and I mean nothing, is getting in the way of that."
I almost throw up in my mouth, but instead, I just smile. My mind immediately starts churning on how the hell I'm going to avoid it.
I look around and see a group of men sitting at a table in the center.
There's no one else here, so I'm assuming it's been closed.
Luca told me in the elevator that it's members from the Demitrakis and Ostowski families he's going to meet with.
Apparently, the Bonventis feel the Russians are showing up at exactly the right time a little too often and suspect the Irish are still working with them.
Naturally, they need to form an alliance to take on both families.
I think back to what my contact said at the coffee shop about others involved. I wonder if there are any other undercovers in this room now?
Since day one, it's always been about the Italians. The impenetrable fortress. Bill was the closest with the Irish, at least to my understanding, but alas, nothing could crack the Bonventis—that was until I came along, a Trojan horse born out of Bill's demise.
"Gentlemen, good to see you. This is Alex and Theo,” Luca says, turning to me.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Alex says.
"Luca, you sure got lucky with this one," Theo says and kisses my hand. "How much is he paying you?"
The men laugh.
"He's not that bad," I say and smile.
"Oh, you're definitely on his payroll," another man says, and his response is met by yet another round of laughter.
"Funny, very funny," Luca says. "This is Kaz” and Jack.”
The men stand and nod. "Nice to meet you. Please, sit," Kaz says to me and gestures to an empty chair.
"Yes, good idea," Luca says and removes his jacket. "Hey Teddy, whiskey and a champagne for the lady."
The man behind the bar shakes his head and begins preparing our drinks.
I take a seat next to Kaz, the man who made the joke about me being on Luca's payroll, which at this point I wish I were—at least I'd be getting some money.
"So, tell me about yourself," Kaz asks me as he looks down at my chest. On one hand, I can't blame him.
I'm wearing a short black plunging V-neck dress that leaves little to the imagination.
My breasts are on full display, so much so that I thought Luca was joking when he handed it to me to wear.
I actually think he'd have me come naked if he could.
I think it's some kind of power play. Like, look at this hot piece I got.
We're Italians, we're the best, etcetera, etcetera.
"Well, there's not much to tell. Born and raised in the city. Ran into the likes of him," I say and look over at Luca, who's staring at me intently, wondering what I'll say, "and we've been inseparable ever since."
Luca nods. "Yes, she is a beauty."
"I see. Well, dear, you'll have to tell me where women like you hang out so I can run into someone just as stunning," Kaz says to me and pats my hand.
I laugh. "Oh, you're terrible, making a girl blush."
The bartender comes and places our drinks down, and I reach for my champagne, taking a sip and almost choking when I hear his name.
"Gabriel, good to see you," Kaz says and stands. Gabriel approaches Mr. Smoothtalker and shakes his hand. He then places a hand on my shoulder. "Sofia, nice to see you. Luca," he says, and they shake hands.
I watch as he goes around the table greeting everyone.
I can't take my eyes off of Gabriel. Not the least because he's the tallest person in the room, but because he's him.
He's wearing a dark suit with a black shirt and tie.
He looks so confident, and I find him moving with an almost seductive quality—obviously, that's me putting it on him, but at this point, I think he could trip and fall, and I'd get wet.
Luca leans into me. "Be a good girl and go with Gabriel now, and I'll see you later," he says and slides his hand up my dress.
It takes everything in me to not slam my glass across his face or, better yet, tell Gabriel what he just did.
Tell Gabriel?
Woah, that's a new thought.
Do I see him now fully as my protector? Has his claim on me taken its hold?
How could one part of me almost not care about the bad things he does, that I want to run to him?
I've never felt that before, and as I stand to make my way over to him, I'm completely shaken to my very core at how easily that thought entered my mind.
Approaching Gabriel, he does a double-take as he looks me up and down in the only way I ever want to be looked at again.
"You look beautiful," he says.
I feel his gaze on me like fire, and I wonder how I even existed before finding such warmth. Such appreciation of me and what I have to offer.
"You look very handsome," I say with a smile as wide as my face will allow. It's that giddy, nervous feeling that flutters in my stomach and makes me do awkward things for the first few moments we're together.
"So, what's the plan?" I ask and lean against the bar, my high heels giving me the inches to do so comfortably.
"Do you remember the painting?" he asks.
"The painting?"
He turns to look at me. "The man on the bench—"
"Oh," I say and then lower my tone, "the secret door?"
He nods. "The secret door."
I see him glance over my shoulder to the group as another man enters.
"Let's go," he says and grabs my hand.