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.
Chapter 3
Emily
Itake a deep breath and paste on another fake smile as I glance over at the ruggedly handsome ogre now seated at a table in my workplace.
He’s freakishly tall with thighs that rival tree trunks and has an arse so tight it’s begging for a slap. He’s also rude and downright prickly, but I’ve become accustomed to men like him. When I moved back to Griffith after years away, it felt like I’d fallen into an alternate universe. It wasn’t the same quaint country town I remembered growing up in.
Granted, I was a teenager then, and like everyone else, I’d heard the rumours about the local mafia, but I didn’t pay much attention. Now here I am, not only waitressing in one of the mob’s restaurants, but also living with the vice president of a motorcycle club. Who knew this little town would become a hideout for criminals who wear danger like a second skin.
This isn’t how I pictured my life turning out when I packed up my things and climbed onto the back of a Harley-Davidson to return to my hometown, somewhere that once held fond memories for me. Well, until things went to shit with my parents that is. In hindsight, they were toxictogether, so it really doesn’t surprise me that they ended things the way they did.
Michael Bucannon, my bikie boyfriend, was also once my high school sweetheart.
The bad boy.
The hellraiser.
The wild one no one could tame, no matter how hard they tried.
He hung out with the undesirables even back then, but that was part of his appeal.
I was a good girl, someone who always toed the line and followed the rules, but there was something thrilling about walking on the dark side.
In retrospect, I suppose it was only a matter of time before Mick ended up with a bikie gang like the Steel Reapers. Even when we were teenagers, he was restless and never fit in with social norms, forever drifting towards trouble.
There were rumours circulating that he had spent time in juvenile detention before coming to our school, but even that didn’t seem to deter me.
I was sixteen and convinced I’d be the one to save him. Every girl wanted him, and all the guys wanted to be just like him, but he only had eyes for me. We were the cliché of first love, big dreams and plans that never stood a chance.
