A terrible first date
Chapter 8
A Terrible First Date
Amara Queen was beginning to understand why Lorenzo Vitale got his way so often.
The man was relentless.
Absolutely relentless.
Twenty minutes after agreeing to dinner, she found herself sitting in the passenger seat of a black luxury sedan questioning every life choice she'd ever made.
The city lights blurred past outside.
Chicago glittered beneath the night sky.
Inside the car...
Silence.
Not awkward silence.
Not uncomfortable silence.
The dangerous kind.
The kind where two intelligent people were quietly studying each other.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Lorenzo drove.
One hand on the wheel.
Suit jacket discarded.
Tattooed forearm visible.
The realization annoyed her.
Entirely too attractive.
A serious flaw.
Amara looked out the window.
Refusing to acknowledge the flaw.
Professionally.
Maturely.
The way adults did.
"You're staring."
Silence.
Immediate silence.
The audacity.
The complete audacity.
Amara turned.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
"I was looking out the window."
"You were looking at my tattoos."
The accuracy.
The irritating accuracy.
Undefeated.
Amara crossed her arms.
Immediately.
"You're insufferable."
Lorenzo smiled.
Immediately.
The traitor.
The complete traitor.
The smile made him look younger.
Less dangerous.
Which somehow made him more dangerous.
Life was unfair.
Very unfair.
The restaurant turned out to be private.
Of course it was.
A normal restaurant would've made too much sense.
The entire top floor had apparently been reserved.
For them.
Because Lorenzo Vitale was apparently incapable of subtlety.
Amara stared at the empty dining room.
Then at Lorenzo.
Then back at the dining room.
"You rented an entire restaurant."
The man looked confused.
Reasonably confused.
"I wanted privacy."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Amara rubbed her forehead.
Immediately.
Because somehow she couldn't even argue with that.
Privacy was nice.
Privacy was practical.
Privacy was absolutely not worth whatever this cost.
The hostess led them to a table overlooking the city skyline.
Candles flickered.
Music played softly.
Everything looked expensive.
Everything probably was expensive.
Amara hated it.
A little.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Not really.
The view was incredible.
The traitorous view.
The menu arrived.
Amara barely glanced at it.
Years of working eighty-hour weeks had turned restaurant ordering into a science.
Fast.
Efficient.
Minimal effort.
The waiter left.
Silence returned.
Dangerous silence.
The kind that invited questions.
Lorenzo broke first.
"What was your childhood like?"
Amara blinked.
Once.
Slowly.
The question caught her off guard.
Completely.
Most people asked about medicine.
About degrees.
About intelligence.
Nobody asked about her childhood.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"Short."
Silence.
Lorenzo stared.
Then laughed.
Immediately.
The man laughed entirely too much around her.
A growing concern.
"A real answer."
Amara considered.
Thoughtfully.
Carefully.
Then sighed.
"My parents were teachers."
A pause.
"They figured out I was reading college textbooks when I was seven."
Another pause.
"I skipped grades."
Another.
"Repeatedly."
Lorenzo listened.
Actually listened.
Not waiting for his turn to speak.
Not pretending.
Listening.
The realization surprised her.
A little.
"My entire childhood became school."
Her voice softened.
Just slightly.
"I graduated high school before most kids learned how to drive."
Silence.
The city lights reflected in the restaurant windows.
Beautiful.
Distant.
Quiet.
Then Lorenzo asked:
"Were you happy?"
The question hit harder than expected.
Dangerously harder.
Amara looked away.
Toward the skyline.
Toward anything else.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because she didn't immediately have an answer.
Finally she shrugged.
The universal language of complicated feelings.
"I was successful."
Lorenzo's expression changed.
Subtly.
Enough to matter.
"That's not what I asked."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The man saw too much.
Far too much.
Amara suddenly understood why people found him dangerous.
Not because of the money.
Not because of the power.
Not because of the violence.
Because he paid attention.
The truly terrifying people always did.
The food arrived.
A welcome distraction.
A desperately needed distraction.
For several minutes they ate in relative peace.
Then Amara decided revenge was appropriate.
Professionally.
Maturely.
Naturally.
"What about you?"
Lorenzo looked up.
"What about me?"
"Your father."
Silence.
Immediate silence.
The atmosphere shifted.
Not negatively.
Just...
Differently.
Lorenzo set down his fork.
Thoughtful.
Quiet.
"My father was larger than life."
A pause.
"He could walk into a room and own it."
Another.
"He taught me everything."
Silence.
The city glittered below them.
Neither looked away.
"He also taught me that everyone is replaceable."
The words came softly.
Without anger.
Without bitterness.
Which somehow made them sadder.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Amara studied him carefully.
The grief was still there.
Hidden.
Buried.
But present.
Always present.
Then Lorenzo smiled.
A real smile.
Small.
Soft.
Rare.
"The first time I met you..."
A pause.
"You reminded me of him."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Amara froze.
Immediately.
Because of all the things she expected him to say...
That wasn't one of them.
Not remotely.
"What?"
Lorenzo laughed softly.
"You walk into rooms like you own them."
The smile remained.
"You just happen to own operating rooms instead of crime families."
The realization hit her unexpectedly.
Warmly.
Dangerously.
Because somehow...
That might've been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.
And that was a problem.
A very serious problem.
Because she liked hearing it.
The betrayal.
The emotional betrayal.
Undefeated.
For a moment neither spoke.
The city sparkled.
The candles flickered.
The food cooled.
And something shifted between them.
Something small.
Something important.
The beginning of trust.
Neither of them noticed the man watching from the bar.
A man who wasn't supposed to be there.
A man with a camera.
A man sending photographs to someone who very much wanted Lorenzo Vitale dead.
And unfortunately for everyone involved...
The photographs had just captured something valuable.
Something dangerous.
Something worth targeting.
Dr. Amara Queen.
End Chapter 8