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“And how many dates has Anton introduced you to?” I ask.
She shifts uncomfortably. “A few,” she admits.
I smirk. “Exactly. Let’s face it, after tonight, I doubt there will be a follow-up date. It’s not his style. But it’s been a nice evening and I had some great food, so I can’t complain.”
It’s another hour before the men return. They’re laughing, joking, and things seem more relaxed. The guests begin to make their excuses and leave, and when the final couple has left, I finally breathe a sigh of relief. Dinner was nice and all, but I’ve not felt like myself all evening.
“Drink?” Anton asks, heading over to a small table. He lifts the glass lid off a decanter and begins to pour the contents into a glass.
“No, thank you. I really should be leaving.” I yawn and stretch my arms above my head to show him how tired I am. Anton smiles but continues to pour two drinks. He hands me one, and I take it, rolling my eyes. “Why didn’t Ella come to dinner this evening?” I ask.
A look passes over Anton’s face. I can’t quite make it out, but it reminds me of sadness. “She was busy,” he eventually says.
“No, she definitely told me that she was bingeing on Netflix tonight.”
“Yes, as I said, she was busy. Did you enjoy our date?”
“Dinner was lovely. I’m not sure I fit with your people.” I laugh. Anton takes a seat next to me, and I shuffle up to the other end of the couch as discreetly as I can.
“My people?” he repeats.
“Rich. Cultured. Intelligent.”
Anton laughs aloud and throws his head back. “Cultured and intelligent? They’re merely lucky, and definitely not any of the things you say.”
“Lucky in what way?”
Anton thinks about the question. I notice he does that a lot when he wants to find the right answer. He lays his arm along the back of the couch and his fingertips brush my bare shoulder. “Most were born into this world. Like me. We had fathers who were either born into the Mafia or paid their way in. I come from a long line of Italian Mafia, but Tag, for example, his grandfather bought his way in.”
“So, Tag is like the third generation of Mafia?”
Anton nods. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he mutters, swirling his drink around in his glass.
“How does a person buy into the Mafia?” I ask, taking a drink. I wince as it burns its way down my throat.Christ, it’s strong.
“Are you enquiring for yourself?” he asks, arching a brow.
“I think I’d make a good boss,” I joke.
“You pay by earning the respect of the family,” he replies.
“That sounds doable. So, it’s not really hard to get in. I thought you meant cold hard cash,”
“Respect doesn’t come easy, bellissima. It takes dedication, hard work, and a strong stomach. And once you’re in, you never get out.”
“So, what if Tag tells you he’s had enough and wants to ride off into the sunset with Lucy?” I suddenly feel tired, and I pull my legs under me, curling up and getting comfortable.
“It wouldn’t happen,” he says firmly.
“But if it did?”
“It wouldn’t,” he replies.
“But if it did?” I push, and Anton looks irritated.
He sighs heavily. “Like I said, he wouldn’t be allowed. I would have to stop him.”
“How would you stop him?”
