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“Why won’t you answer my question?” I whisper, barely audible in my own ears. “Are you in the Mob? It’s either a yes or a no.”
He pauses for a second, but it feels like it lasts for an eternity. “No,” he finally answers. “I’m not in the Mob. How ridiculous.”
“What about the shooting Elio mentioned? I haven’t forgotten about that.”
Dominic tenses. “Loan sharks work with desperate people, Marina. And when desperate people can’t pay back what they owe, they sometimes do drastic things. Like trying to shoot us in broad daylight to absolve their debts.”
My heart leaps into my throat. I never knew something like that could happen, but the way Dominic explains it, it makes perfect sense. Guilt burns a hole in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to call you a, um…”
“A criminal?”
I nod.
Dominic places his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head up, nothing but gentle warmth in his eyes. “Think nothing of it. I suppose on the surface, my job does make me look questionable.”
“Has… Has anyone ever tried to hurt you to absolve their debts?”
“Yes,” is his blunt answer.
My heart skips a beat. The thought of someone coming after Dominic disturbs me to no end. I’m sure he can handle himself. He’s capable and strong and surrounded by a fairly large team, but that doesn’t stop the what ifs from running loose inside my head.
“Let’s drop the subject,” he says. “Before you upset yourself.”
“Ha. Too late.”
Dominic leans forward and kisses me tenderly on the lips. I can’t believe how easily I melt into his touch, leaning forward to welcome the pressure of his mouth against mine. He then brushes the pad of his thumb between my brows, tenderly smoothing my frown.
“You said you brought the suits?”
“Yes, I did. I want to verify their fit before making final adjustments. Care to try them on for me?”
“Sure. How about we grab lunch after?”
“Oh, um…”
“You’re not stuck on babysitting duty during the day, are you?”
I take a deep breath. “No, no I’m not.”
“Excellent. Lunch it is.”
Chapter 12
Arin
“When I said I was craving sushi, I thought we’d go to one of those places that serves everything on a conveyor belt.”
“And risk food poisoning?” Dominic mutters derisively. “I think not.”
By some miracle, he managed to get us a last-minute table at Nobu Fifty-Seven, one of the finest Japanese restaurants in all of New York. It’s right around the corner from Carnegie Hall, the Museum of Modern Art, andCentral Park. I thought for sure they’d kick me out for not being dressed fancy enough, but one word from Dominic and the host led us to a private table near the back without batting an eye.
Now I’m staring at the assortment of beautifully plated dishes that I don’t even know the name of, which is how Iknowthis lunch bill is going to be expensive. When I reach into my purse for my wallet, Dominic frowns.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Paying my half.”
