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Camilo doesn’t need the pizzazz to attract the attention of customers. His clientele is a small, elite group. People like my family who will pay an exorbitant amount of money for one-of-a-kind pieces with very little turnaround time. The lack of glamour does him well because jewelry is only one part of the business he takes part in. The discreteness of his business, as well as the large number of cash transactions, makes him an ideal sponsor for money laundering.
Emma gasps as she walks over to the display cases Camilo has set out. I roll my eyes. He only brings out the displays when he wants to upsell. For a ring appointment, there is no reason for him to set out necklaces and earrings, unless he intends on my new wife wearing them at whatever social events he assumes she’ll be attending.
“Oh, wow,” she says. She’s almost reverent as she stares at a necklace made of various-sized emeralds. Camilo knows the business. I make a mental note to have him send that to our house, she can wear it to our engagement party.
“Hello,” Camilo says, clapping his hands as he enters from the back storage room. His guard must have notified him of our arrival. With a wide smile, he takes in my fiancee. The news of my engagement has already reached the gossip circuit, I’m sure of that. Yet this is the first time anyone has seen her.
If he was anyone else, the way he’s eyeing her would have me putting him in a grave. Even knowing the details about him I do, particularly from his and Luca’s ongoing friends-with-benefits situation, I’m still tempted to remind him of who Emma belongs to. But his eyes travel to rather innocent places. Her ears, which are adorned by two simple stud earrings, her bare neck, and empty wrists. Unlike many other women he has designed jewelry for, Emma isn’t decorated with enough jewels to weigh down the Titanic.
“And you must be Emma,” he says, purring out her name.
My eyebrows raise. I didn't mention her name when I made the appointment.
“I see you’ve been spending time with Luca,” I mention casually. He shoots me a quick glare. I ignore it. Luca and Camillo’s arrangement is between the two of them, and I won’t involve myself. I might have to remind my cousin not to gossip about my wife.
Camilo leads us to the desk he has in the center of the room. On the desk, he has trays filled with rings of all different designs. He pushes one tray forward.
“I have a few of my original designs set out here. Looking at you, I’m guessing you’re going to want to stick to cool tones but if there is anything with yellow or rose gold and you would prefer it done in white gold or platinum, I can make it happen.” he rattles off as Emma looks at the rings placed in front of her.
Camillo prattles on about the unique designs. He has everything from ridiculously ornate to simple and understated. I commend his foresight to include less gaudy designs. Most mafia wives prefer the biggest jewels with the most gleam, but I know that’s not Emma’s style. She’s already narrowed in on one design, though she’s too polite to reach for it on the tray. I don’t suffer from the same predicament.
“Which one has caught your attention, dear?” I ask her.
Camillo silences instantly and directs his attention to where Emma is staring. He smiles and picks up the one she can’t take her eyes off.
The band itself is simple platinum, with three stones. The largest center stone isn’t huge, but I can tell the diamond is of excellent quality.
“This one is a custom made, one of a kind just like the rest, but it has a little secret that won’t be caught right away,” he tells us. He takes the ring and tilts it so we can see the underside where more diamonds lay. “We call this a hidden halo.”
“It’s beautiful,” Emma says. Camillo holds it out for her, and she hesitates for a second before grabbing it. She inspects it, taken by the simple beauty of the ring.
“May I?” I ask her. She glances at me and nods before handing the ring to me. I smile, slipping it onto her finger. It's a little too big, Camillo will have to size it down, but it compliments her. It demands attention, not because it's ostentatious like some of the other designs he has available, but because of whose finger it sits on.
Everyone who sees it will know that Emma is taken and that she is loved, even if she doesn't realize it yet.
“Perfect.”
Chapter Twenty-One- Emma
I’d like to say I’m not the type of woman who allows a man to order for me at a restaurant. The last date I was on was my high school prom, if you can call that a date. Tommy Hayes and I danced together for half a dance, and I found him making out with someone else in the custodian closet before the end of the night. Couple that with the lack of dates over the past several years means all dating knowledge is theoretical. Still, I think I have a pretty good idea of who I am, and that is someone who orders for themself at a restaurant.
Enzo has taken me to a restaurant where the menu is entirely in an unfamiliar language. I stare at the menu for far too long, trying to make sense of the words. I even pull out my phone and try to translate, but it doesn't work well for me. In the end, I allow Enzo to pick out my meal.
The ring wasn't the correct size for me, so we waited in the jewelry store while Camilo resized it. When one of my classmates had gotten engaged, I remember her complaining about how long it had taken to get the ring resized. I guess that’s the benefit of having money and power. Normal human inconveniences, such as having to wait for what you want, don’t exist. If you throw enough money at a problem, people become much more motivated to fix it. And if you have a reputation as a very dangerous person, it’s an extra incentive.
An involuntary moan leaves my mouth as a delicious combination of sauce and noodles hits my tongue. I’m not sure what Enzo ordered for me, but he got my tastes exactly right. Somehow, that only irritates me. I don’t want Enzo to know what dishes to order me. I don’t want him to know my coffee order. Hating Enzo is so much easier than the alternative, which is regretting the last several years of my life I spent running from him.
Enzo watches me with rapt attention. His leer feels dirty as I wrap my lips around the fork and suck the food into my mouth. My eyes droop with pleasure and hums of satisfaction escape me.
His own food sits abandoned in front of him, preferring to watch me.
“It’s rude to stare,” I tell him between bites of food.
“I wouldn’t stare if you didn’t make those faces and those sounds while eating. It’s like trying to ignore my own personal pornography and that would be rude. Tell me, Emma, what else makes you moan?”
I think of a few different replies in my head. Ultimately, I decide I rather give my attention to something worthwhile, like this food, than waste the mental energy sparring with Enzo. I think he gets off on it.
I set up the wine menu as a barrier between us. Enzo chuckles and I try not to groan at the flavors floating in my mouth. It’s a considerable effort, but I don’t need him giving me dirty thoughts in the restaurant.
