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“TheRicci family? Aren’t they Italian mobsters?”
“Ain’t we gangsters?”
I laugh. “Point taken. How do you know about this place?”
“I know a lot of people, Princess.”
“And this speakeasy doubles up as a restaurant.”
“Best Italian food in London, for those with the password, that is,” he replies with a smirk as he strides over to the boarded-up door and raps his knuckles against the wood. A wooden slot slides open at about eye level and dark brown eyes with thick black eyebrows peer out at us. They crinkle at the edges when they notice who’s standing at the door.
“Password?” a thick, heavily accented male voice commands.
“Amore,” Beast replies.
Love.
Having an Italian housekeeper has come in handy it would seem. The question is why is Beast taking me to a speakeasy where the password islove. Am I reading too much into this?
“Welcome Beast, I see you’ve brought a friend,” the voice replies as the sound of several locks unclick and the door swings open revealing a handsome, smartly dressed man of about thirty years old with neatly groomed black hair and perfect white teeth.
“Good to see you, Romeo,” Beast replies as the two men shake hands. “This is Miss Davidson. Carter’s daughter.”
“Ah! Yes, I’ve heard much about you.”
“You have?”
“Beast speaks very highly of you,” he replies with a wide grin as he opens the door and steps aside to let us in. “Welcome to Sapori.”
I glance up at Beast, a frown pulling my brows together. “You do?” I whisper.
He just shrugs, a smile in his eyes as he rests his hand on the small of my back. “Ladies first.”
My skin tingles beneath his touch and I’m hyper aware of his nearness as we follow Romeo down a darkened hallway and a set of stairs. The walls and floors are painted black, and a strip of red LEDs running either side of the hallway gives us just enough light to see where we’re going.
Stopping in front of a door at the bottom of the stairs, Romeo turns to me with a warm smile that really doesn’t befit his reputation, then says, “I think you’ll enjoy what Sapori has to offer, Beast certainly has in the past.”
“Thank you,” I reply, not quite sure how to interpret that comment, then suddenly not caring as Romeo opens the door and we look down into wonderland. “Wow!” I exclaim, totally taken aback by what I see before me.
“You like?” Romeo asks, moving to one side to allow us to step onto the balcony overlooking the room below.
“It’s incredible,” I say, my gaze taking in every detail with more than a little bit of awe and wonder.
The whole room is wrapped in floor to ceiling stained glass windows that are backlit by spotlights instead of daylight given this is a basement. Splatters of prismatic light filter through the different coloured panes of glass and it’s as though an artist has painted the room in a flurry of colour that is both sensual and rich all at the same time.
Couples sit at every table, candles flickering between them as they eat, enjoying the sultry sound of a woman singing. Her voice is pure, undiluted sex, and I search the room, finding the owner of such an incredible voice perched on a stool next to a baby grand piano in the corner of the room. She sings whilst an older gentleman with slicked back grey hair and a handlebar moustache plays.
“Who’s that?” I can’t help but ask as Romeo guides us down the ornate gold staircase to a small table tucked into the corner of the room that’s slightly set back from the main dining area affording more privacy than the other tables.
“That’s my brother’s wife, Nina Ricci. She’s outstanding, don’t you agree?”
“I’ve never heard anyone sing so beautifully,” I reply in awe, staring at her like the rest of the captive audience is.
Not only does her voice sound like pure sex, her figure is to die for. She has the kind of dips and curves and softness that most, if not all, men find attractive. My figure is far more lean from spending the past year training with the fighters of Tales and sparring in the ring with Beast. I’m envious of her milky white breasts confined in a corset top that jiggle when she sings and can’t help but appreciate her auburn hair that falls in waves around her face. She’s wearing a fascinator with thick black lace attached, covering her face. There’s something about the way she holds herself that’s melancholy, and I have the urge to get a closer look at her, to set eyes on the face of the woman who sings like temptation personified.
“Take a seat. I will bring you our finest red wine produced in my family’s vineyard back home in Oltrepò Pavese,” Romeo says, his gaze flicking to his sister-in-law on the other side of the room. I want to ask why a woman who sings like she does isn’t in the spotlight, but hold my tongue. It’s not my business to know.
“Sounds good, Romeo,” Beast says, pulling out my chair so that I can sit down.
