Chapter 2 #2
I’m not opposed to becoming a full-time mobster; I have no issues dishing out punishment when it’s due.
That part never really scared me. It’s not like I enjoy it, but I’ve made peace with the fact that sometimes you need to be the person others don’t want to cross.
But I was supposed to be the one in the background, the guy who handled things when they needed handling.
I never wanted the title, yet here I am.
Becoming Dante’s enforcer will give me more time with Lil’ Peach, and I already know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
I tell myself that, like it’s a fact, that doing this ugly job buys me more time with her, time I wouldn’t otherwise have.
I’m more than willing to trade my peace of mind for days and nights walking the floor with that little girl in my arms.
I didn’t expect to bond with her this fast. Babies don’t care about reputations; they care about warmth and steady hands.
The first time she curled her tiny fingers around mine, something in me unclenched.
It was soft, and I don’t typically do soft, but it felt real.
It was protective, immediate, and fierce, surprising me because I thought I knew my limits.
I exit the car, close the driver’s door, and after pressing the fob to lock it, I shove the key into the pocket of my dark jeans.
I’m feeling a touch apprehensive as I push through the glass front door and enter the restaurant. It has nothing to do with whom I’m about to meet, but rather why. I can only hope I’m making the right decision, for Peach’s sake and mine.
I stop just inside the doorway as my eyes scan the room, looking for my soon-to-be leader, Dante, and his trusty sidekick, Romeo, but I don’t see either of them.
Glancing down at my watch with a frown, I see it’s just before midday, which is when they asked me to be here. I hate when people aren’t where they say they’ll be. I’m not stupid enough to insult the Don, though, but it still pisses me off.
“Hi, my name is Emily,” a small voice says, pulling my attention from my wrist to the woman standing in front of me. “Table for one?”
Her beauty hits me before her words can even land. Long blonde hair, cute upturned nose, soft porcelain skin, and those wide, clear blue eyes locked on mine, which are innocent and almost disarming. They cut through the noise and hit me like a punch to the gut.
I find myself sucking in a sharp breath before I can stop myself. My reaction to her only pisses me off further. “No,” I growl. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”
It’s rare for me to react to a woman this way, especially on first glance. I’ve just come from spending the morning with my niece at the hospital, and I’m beginning to wonder if this kid is making me soft already.
I’ve bedded plenty of beauties over the years. The ones who can put aside my don’t fuck with me vibe—and what could best be described as my growly persona—because they’re looking for a taste of the dark side.
I don’t do relationships because, to be frank, my trust in mankind as a whole has diminished considerably over the years.
I certainly give the ones desperate for a ride on my cock a good show, though, because I fuck as fiercely as I fight.
Hard, fast, and dirty. I’m not a good man, but I never claimed to be.
“Ah, okay,” she says easily, not missing a beat. I’m used to people shying away from my attitude, but not this one. If anything, that damn smile of hers gets even brighter. “Let me check, do you know what name the reservation’s under?”
I scratch the back of my head. “I’m not sure we have one. I’m here to meet the boss, Dante Mancini.”
Her pretty eyes widen, and those full lips part in surprise. “Oh. Mr Mancini has a private table down the back. I can take you to it, if you’d like.”
“Sure,” I say with a nod.
I’ve met with him and Romeo plenty of times, but never here. I’m usually summoned into the office at Crimson Lounge, the club where I’ve been working, if they need to discuss an upcoming job.
Emily turns and starts leading me in that direction, and I will my eyes not to gravitate downwards, but those fuckers seem to have a mind of their own.
The second my gaze locks on that round arse of hers—that only seems to be amplified by the tight black pants she’s wearing—I have to stifle my groan.
My dick twitches at the heavenly sight, and my annoyance rises.
What is it with this woman?
Her scent lingers in the air as I follow her towards the back of the restaurant.
She smells like a fucking cupcake. Warm and sweet, like vanilla frosting with a hint of butter.
Maybe it’s her lotion, her shampoo, or maybe it’s just her, that natural sweetness that clings to her skin just like her angelic smile.
When she stops in front of a long table that seats at least twenty and gestures for me to take a seat, I do. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait, Mr …”
“Rizzo,” I grunt.
She nods, not the slightest bit rattled by my gruff tone. “Mr Rizzo.”
“Water, please.”
“We have a liquor licence here. I can get you an alcoholic beverage if you’d prefer.”
“I don’t drink alcohol,” I murmur.
“Water it is then,” she says, giving me another one of those beaming smiles.
I scowl at her in return.
She doesn’t seem fazed by my bad mood, which throws me off. Getting under people’s skin is my specialty, so her calm, sunny attitude just makes me feel like an arsehole when she turns and walks away.