Chapter 4
Gio
“Well, I…” She’s interrupted as our drinks arrive. The young, male server carefully sets them on our table, his gaze flicking over Carissa in a way that’s irritating and rude. She’s my fucking date—even if she’s really not. But she’s certainly not his.
With a subtle text to my men, I order him removed. Fired. As soon as he ventures toward the kitchen, two of my men intercept him and escort him to the back room. I’m feeling merciful enough tonight to let him grab his belongings and leave.
Carissa swallows down half her drink in a single go. She’s nervous. Is it because of me, or does she not date often?
“Wow, this is by far the best martini I’ve ever had.” She swirls the olives around before bringing the spear to her mouth and biting into one. As her lips close over the garnish, my blood heats. I have a suspicion that this woman has no idea how sexy she is right now.
I clear my throat. “You were saying?”
“Oh, um, I mean there’s not much to tell. I work as a maid, with Miranda, at a hotel. My father lives with me. And, that’s about it.” She carefully sips her martini.
“Where’s your mother?”
Swallowing, she says, “My mother passed on many years ago. I don’t really remember her. My father raised me all on his own.” Her smile’s sad.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The condolence rolls off my tongue. ”Are you close with your father?”
“Very.” Carissa glances away, and I spot her lie.
“Really?” I push.
She sighs, staring into her martini. “Not as close as I’d like to be. It’s… difficult.”
When she leaves it there, I press for more. “Difficult how?”
Her gaze finds mine, searching as if trying to determine how much I actually want to know. All of it. Tell me everything, sweetheart. The more I know, the more leverage I’ll have over you both.
“Okay. Um, my father has an addiction. Two actually. Gambling and drinking.” She motions to her martini.
“I hardly ever drink. I’ve seen what too much can do to a person.
How it can ruin their life and hurt those around them.
” Her green eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
For some reason, the sight hits me square in the chest. I don’t like seeing her sad.
“My father was an alcoholic, too.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m surprised by my own admission. I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even my late wife. God rest her soul.
“So you know what it’s like, then.”
I nod, swallowing my bourbon. I haven’t thought about the darker side of my upbringing in many years.
She swirls her drink, eyes downcast. “At least my father isn’t a violent drunk. I’m grateful for that, no matter what other challenges we face.”
“Mine was,” I admit. “Especially to my mother.”
Until I was old enough to stop him—permanently.
Her gaze meets mine. “I’m so sorry.” The raw understanding and sympathy in her tone threatens to unravel me. So much for digging into her relationship with her father, and being unaffected. This is not going to plan.
“So, Carissa, tell me what you want in life.” I change the subject so abruptly that she blinks several times before responding.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for our conversation to get so heavy.”
Neither did I.
“No need to apologize.” I offer her a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. Memories of my father linger, haunting my mind. I do my best to shove them back in the box where they belong. He doesn’t deserve another second of my attention.
Unaware of my internal struggle, she picks up our new topic. “Honestly, and I know this sounds pathetic at my age, but I don’t really know what I want. Other than…”
Her hesitation piques my interest. “Other than what?”
She shakes her head, blushing. “Never mind, it’s way too soon to even mention.”
Now I’m even more curious. I pin her with an expectant stare, and she squirms.
“Fine.” She relents. “I decided a long time ago that I don’t want children.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” My gaze dips down her upper body. I can’t help perusing her curves.
She blushes. “This is going to sound terribly selfish. But I don’t want the responsibility. And I want to live my life for myself, not for someone else. My idea of the perfect family is a house full of rescue animals.”
“I see.” Given that she’s apparently the sole caretaker for her father, and living her life for him every day, I can see why she wants to be free.
The man’s a leech. She’s better off without him, just like I am without my father.
“I enjoy pets, as well. I already have a grown son, and no interest in producing more offspring.”
I’m not sure why I told her that. We’re not on a real date, where we’re supposed to discover compatibility, or lack thereof in some cases.
“Were you married?” she asks, seeming genuinely interested.
I nod. “For many years. She passed too young. Ten years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her features crumple. “It’s so hard losing a loved one.”
A server steps forward, a woman this time, to take our order. When Carissa orders a salad, the least expensive item on the menu, I pad our meal with five different appetizers, the soup course, and a bread basket. She’ll have no excuse not to eat.
“We’ll have a bottle of red, too.” Whatever they bring will be aged, expensive, and delicious. I don’t allow any other wines near my restaurants.
Once we’re alone again, I pick up where we left off. “Let’s say you were free to do whatever you wanted with your life, what would that be?”
She thinks it over. The rest of her martini glides down her pale, gorgeous throat. “This may sound strange to you, but I actually really like numbers. Jimmy, the manager where I work, has me do the book keeping. I really enjoy it.”
“So you’re not only a maid, but a bookkeeper, too?”
“No, not really. I mean, I don’t have a certificate or anything.
I barely graduated from high school. In fact, if anyone found out I was the one doing their books, they’d probably get in trouble or something.
” A wry grin twists her lips. “Actually, if anyone looked at those books they’d definitely be in trouble.
Jimmy thinks he’s hiding it, but I notice how he’s skimming off the top. ”
Realizing what she just said, she claps both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. I chuckle at her horrified expression.
“Oh no. Pretend I did not just tell you that.” She glances around the restaurant like her boss may be within earshot. Slim chance of that. Leaning forward, she whispers, “I think they’re in the mafia.”
I bark a laugh. The sound bursts through me, more genuine than it has in years.
Carissa frowns. “What’s so funny? I’m serious.”
“I’m sure you are.” My fingertips trail across the back of her hand. The simple touch sends little sparks through me. “Don’t worry, tesoro mio, you’re safe with me.”
Her rosebud lips part in shock. I realize what I called her, out loud. Damn it.
I’m supposed to be interrogating her, getting to know her so I can decide what to do about her father. Instead, I’m ordering her food, calling her mine, and promising to protect her from the mafia.
From men like me.
I am the mafia.