As she reaches out to take the menu from his hands, he tugs it back. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap and read it, and we can talk about the first thing that pops up?”
I’m out of my chair so fast it tips backwards, landing on the marbled floor with a thud. “What did you just say?” I roar.
The place falls deathly silent, and everyone’s eyes snap to me, but Dante doesn’t miss a beat. Calmly, he clears his throat. “Edoardo, why don’t we step outside for a moment?”
There’s no mistaking the command in his voice. Edoardo hesitates, giving me a glare before reluctantly standing.
“Who does this clown think he is?” Edoardo growls, buttoning his suit jacket. “Know your place, boy. Do you know who I am?”
Dante gives Edoardo a knowing look. “He’ll be your worst fucking nightmare if you don’t shut the fuck up,” he states, final and deadly.
The Don of theFamigliais easygoing and jovial untilhe’s not. When that switch flips, his smile vanishes, and everyone takes notice. He doesn’t raise his voice or throw threats around for show; the menace is quiet, precise, and as cold as fucking ice.
I watch Edoardo’s back as he storms towards the door, every step radiating arrogance and anger, and my fists clench before I even realise it.
When he’s gone, my attention snaps straight back to Emily. She’s standing there, wide-eyed and stunned, her cheeks flushed pink. She’s clutching the drink menu to her chest like it’s a lifeline.
She looks shaken, so I force myself to sit, to stay calm, but the urge to protect her, to make sure nothing like that ever happens again, burns hot in my veins.
The anger is still burning through me minutes later when Dante walks back into the restaurant alone. The first thing he does is go straight to Emily. I can’t hear what he says, but she smiles, nods, and goes back to work.
I half expect fallout for my outburst, but it doesn’t come. Maybe that fucker’s right—I should know my place—but there was no way I could sit there and ignore that comment. No woman deserves to be spoken to like that.
When Dante passes me, he clasps my shoulder, squeezes it, and says, “Calm down, big boy. I handled it.”
I grunt in response, because unless that fucker’s no longer breathing, I doubt he handled it the way I would have.
I wasn’t planning to stick around long today, but there’s no way I’m leaving now. Not until I get a chance to talk to Emily and make sure she’s okay.
That chance doesn’t come until lunch is over. I hang back after everyone clears out, waiting.
“Would you like the leftovers packed up to go again?” Emily asks as she and another waitress start clearing the table.
“Sure,” I say, my eyes never leaving her. As much as I enjoy the food she packs for me, that isn’t why I’m still here. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Your boss said he barred him from coming back.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
She pauses and faces me, her hands now laden with plates. “Thank you for standing up for me like you did.”
I just nod. If she knew what I really wanted to do to that fucking creep, she’d run a damn mile. “If he gives you any trouble, let me know.”
She smiles softly before turning and heading towards the kitchen.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I slide my hand into my pocket and roll her Chapstick between my fingers. I should give it back, but I already know that’s never going to happen. There’s something thrilling about having something of hers.
Chapter 8
Emily
One and a half years ago …
Irummage in my bag for my phone. It’s freezing out here, and Mick still hasn’t arrived. I reminded him this morning, when he dropped me off, that I finished at eight.
Me: Are you still coming to pick me up? My shift finished half an hour ago.
It takes a good five minutes to get a reply, and that only makes my annoyance grow. I wish I didn’t have to rely on him for a lift when I finish late. I usually get a bus during the day, but I’m not comfortable travelling on one at night.
