Page 17 of The Don's Hacker


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The words are out of my mouth before I realize it, but I can't help it. I know Loren takes a break at lunch every day, but given how late she's been staying to work, she's missing a regular dinner time by a mile. It hasn't escaped my notice that she avoids the lavish break room stocked with plenty of free food for my other employees. Despite her past, it tells me she doesn't want to risk being accused of taking things she doesn't deserve.

I don't make a habit of caring when people around me do or don't eat, but the idea of her going hungry just to work sets my teeth on edge.

"I'll eat when I get home," she shrugs.

My jaw tightens, and then I nod, deciding. "Follow me."

She looks anxious, like she wants to argue, but doesn't ask questions as I lead her from the security room and walk through my casino. It's not as busy as It usually Is this time on a Wednesday night, but the ambiance is still rich and crowded with laughter and music all around.

Loren follows me into the connected club where we had danced three years ago and then into the back kitchens where the typical flurry of chefs is at a steady crawl. I exchange a nod with the head cook and order two plates of the most popular dishes, ignoring Loren's protests and insistence that this is unnecessary.

Minutes later, we're standing in a portion of the back kitchen reserved for extra busy nights, so we're alone. She stares at the plates in front of us and then at me.

"What is this?"

“Fried calamari, eggplant parmigiano, and tuna Tartare. Pick one.”

Loren grimaces, and her face is flushed from what I recognize as embarrassment. "Domenic, I can get my own damn food. Why are you doing this?"

It's a good question. I ignore it and wait for her to pick. She scowls at me, but when it's clear I'm serious, she slides one of the plates closer to herself and takes a bite of shrimp and salad as if it's a chore. Then she moans as she digs in, and the sound sends heat through me.

To distract myself, I eat the other plate of food. I had expected to eat at my father's place since he was so insistent on it, but since I left early, this was as good a time as any to get fuel into my system before continuing with work until late at night.

I typically eat alone in my office on the top floor of the casino or with stuffy business associates or dangerous mobsters. As such, my meals usually come with a side of irritation or boredom.

Not this one. Though we're standing in the back of the kitchen late at night, both of us after a long day, something about merely being next to her eases the tension in my shoulders.

Loren seems to realize she's been lost in her meal and clears her throat nervously. Her tongue flicks out to run along the seam of her lips, and I watch the movement, forgetting entirely about my own food as my mouth waters.

I still remember how she tasted. It's fucking maddening to know that and have her here now, close but not to be touched.

"The chef here makes a mean salad, and I'm officially a fan of calamari," she says, setting down her fork. "But I'd appreciate it in the future if I could just eat at home. I can pay for my—"

"Why do you keep staying so late?" I interrupt, dismissing her idea of paying for any of this altogether. She's admirably independent, but I won't hear of it. Instead, I fish for the answer to something that's been gnawing at me since the moment I saw her again over a week ago. "Surely you have a life outside what you do. Friends. Hobbies. A lover."

If Loren has a fucking boyfriend, that jackass isn't taking care of her. If he was, she wouldn't have come back here, putting her life at risk. She wouldn't be exhausting herself at work every day, forgetting to eat. I clench my fists in my suit pocket at the idea of some deadbeat taking this intelligent, devastatingly sexy woman for granted.

No matter her past of hacking, she deserves more. Far more.

To my relief, she laughs brightly and shakes her head. "No, no, and big no. My family takes up all of my time when I'm not here."

Same here, though I doubt herfamilyis anything like mine.

"I just want to be thorough," Loren adds, shrugging. "Some hackers are so subtle that it's hard to pick up on their patterns, and I want to make sure I'm not missing anyone who comes in here regularly. Some of them show up a little late every day, so I stick around for that. I think you might have one hacker, in particular, causing a problem and going undetected."

Then she arches a brow at me. "And you don't really have a place to get off saying I should have a life outside of work. I'm almost certain you never sleep. You'll work yourself into an early grave at this rate, you know."

"Early graves run in my family."

"You don't have to be like the rest of yourfamily."

Her words cut close to things I've been mulling over for as long as I can remember. I examine her slowly because it's clear she knows I'm speaking about the Caputo crime family, yet she's not shying away. Instead, she just shrugs and offers a knowing smile.

I don't know if I've ever met someone else as vibrant. Even after a long day of hard work, she's all warmth and soft sass. She's addicting.

"Tell me. Whydon'tyou have a lover?"

Loren covers up her surprise with a laugh. "Every time you saylover,I picture my grandmother describing her beloved, sordid, bodice-ripper romance novels—may she rest in peace. Call them boyfriends or fuck buddies, but please stop withlover."

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