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The boy, Enzo, looks dumbfounded as he glances between the two of us. “So, he’s your boyfriend, then?”
Bella shakes her head. “Definitely not.”
“Soon to be husband.”
Enzo’s brow furrows. “Right, sounds complicated. Can I get you some drinks?”
She smiles flirtatiously at Enzo and I feel a possessive rage claw at my heart. “Sure, you know what I like,” she says, placing a hand on his forearm. I’m pretty sure she’s doing it to piss me off.
“Bella,” I say her name in a deep tone in an attempt to warn her.
Enzo’s cheeks flush and he glances at me, turning pale the moment he sees my expression. “Of course, pinot noir, right?” He takes a step away so her hand falls off of his forearm.
“That’s right,” she says.
Bella shakes her head opposite, glaring at me disapprovingly, but I don’t give a shit. This kid has the hots for her and it’s pathetic.
“And what can I get you, sir?” he asks, rightfully realizing when he’s in the presence of his superior. I’d tear this boy apart if he even tried anything with her.
“Single malt on the rocks.” I narrow my eyes. “Macallan, if you have it.”
He swallows hard. “I’ll check what we’ve got,” he says, rushing away from the table at speed.
“Do you have to be so rude to people?” Bella asks, glaring at me.
I lean forward and grab her hand firmly. “Let’s make something very clear here,” I say, holding her gaze. “You’ll stay away from boys like Enzo now that I’m a part of your life, unless you want to be the reason his head is severed from his body.”
Her eyes widen at the threat as she visibly shudders.
“Do you understand?”
Her lips purse, but she just gives me a small nod, aware that she’s sitting opposite a killer. She knows what I’m capable of and she knows I wouldn’t hesitate to make an example out of a boy like Enzo if he flirted too much with what is mine.
“Now, what are you going to order?” I ask, glancing at the menu.
“I’m not hungry,” she mutters.
I glare at her. “Your dad assured me this is your favorite restaurant. Don’t be immature.”
“Immature?” she asks, that fiery rage blazing to life in her vibrant blue eyes. “You just told me you’d cut a boy’s head off and you expect me to have an appetite?”
I roll my eyes as she’s being dramatic. “It’s nothing your dad wouldn’t do.” I scan the menu. “I reckon you are into pasta, am I right?”
Her eyes narrow. “Everyone is into pasta.”
“I bet I can pick your favorite dish from this menu.”
She watches me for a few minutes and then nods. “I bet you can’t.”
“Spinach and ricotta cannelloni,” I say.
Her eyes widen for a split second. “My dad told you, didn’t he?”
I shake my head. “No, you can ask him yourself. I’m good at reading people.”
She scowls. “I bet that Italian food isn’t your favorite, am I right?”
“No, it’s not my favorite.”
