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It's five men in suits, and I can immediately tell by the way they carry themselves that they're from my world—my family's world. The telltale whispering to the waiter to get a more private table. The way their eyes shift around the room to gauge threats before they enter. There are a lot of small giveaways to know that they're mafia, even if most people would never pick up on it.
As they move across the room towards a corner table not far from where I'm sitting, my eyes settle on the man walking in the back of the group. He moves with unstudied natural grace like a relaxed tiger in the wilderness. His dark hair is a bit long and mussed, falling over his forehead, the boyish flare of it contrasting with his tall and muscular build.
His eyes connect with mine, and his eyebrows lift slightly before he winks.
A winking mafioso.
I already knew he wasn't part of my family because I knew everyone connected with the Russos. But if I hadn't, the wink would have Done him in. He's too cocky for someone from out of town.
Then again, he probably has no idea whom he's winking at. Even people connected with the Russos Don’t realize I'm a key player in most of my family's operations. They see me as young, privileged, ambitious, and little more. To them, I'm just—
"Aloof."
I blink back at the date who's finally settled on a word for me. He smiles sheepishly.
"Or maybe unreadable is the right word," he hurries on. "I mean, you're really nice, and even from the little you've said, I can tell you're an intelligent girl, but I'm just not sure if I've gotten a good read of you."
That's a fair assessment. I had expected him to call me cold, detached, or haughty—all descriptions I've gotten from past blind dates.
"But I do know one thing: I'm very excited to get to know you better and find out for myself what's going through that pretty head of yours," he adds, picking up the dessert menu. "Would you prefer the chocolate mousse or the banana split? Oh, God, that just reminded me of another Eric incident. We once went on a road trip to—"
He rambles about a chaotic trip as I fold and unfolds the napkin in my lap. I wonder if I could cut short his reminiscing by announcing I'd prefer to dance. Or would that be any more entertaining than this? Probably not. He'd likely keep showering me with tales of Eric while we waltzed.
Then I wrinkle my nose slightly because, as nice as this guy is, I Don’t want his hands all over me while dancing, and I Don’t know if he would keep them firmly on my waist and nowhere else.
Out of mere curiosity, trying to be subtle, I glance to the side where the group of suited men is now sitting. To my surprise, the one who'd winked at me is leaning back in his seat, looking as comfortable as can be, and he's looking directly at me while his companions speak in hushed tones.
He raises his eyebrows, almost in question, looking me over. Then he smirks.
Cocky indeed.
I hold his stare for a moment out of mere habit. It's something my parents taught me around the same time I learned to speak—not backing down from eye contact. Most people aren't comfortable with strong, even eye contact, and they'll look away. In families like ours, it's the norm.
My suspicions about this stranger and his group are confirmed when he refuses to look away first. His smirk only gets wider. Looking at him this long, even from a distance, I can see that he really does have a nice face. He's handsome. I'm sure there are women he could melt into a puddle at his feet with his sly winking.
"—and then the banana just stayed thereforever." Dud Date laughs hard, shaking his head and straightening his menu. "My God, those were good times. Did we decide on the chocolate mousse?"
I slide my gaze back to him and offer a tight smile. "I'm not big on dessert."
His attention dips back over me with a distinct meaning before he wetly licks his lips and nods. "I can see that. I bet you taste just like one, though."
Sigh. And he was doing so good. Now I will have to tell Amanda how horribly boring this guy was, and I'll also have to inform her about his more disgusting flirting skills. And I'll have to find a polite way to cut the date short because I wasn't lying about not wanting dessert, and I'd rather get back to the San Francisco office to finish up the reports I was working on earlier.
I'm always cautious about not ending dates on a bad note, though, because most of the guys I get set up with are relatively successful, and you never know. Maybe I'll have to do business with them in the future. With the rate at which my family functions in business, it's happened a few times. So I'd really rather not have any awkwardness or ill feelings.
"This has been an enjoyable dinner," I begin, working my way up to excuse myself.
"I agree. And you know, we can still get to dancing and everything, too—oh, by the way, the song they're playing right now? It's the same one that played over and over again when Eric and I got stuck on a ride at—"
He's off on another story. I sigh and finally take the second sip of my now-room-temperature wine. I pretend to ignore the feel of the mafioso's stare on the side of my face as I tap my foot under the table, waiting for the right moment to slip out of here and forget all about my billionth boring blind date.
Chapter 2
Roberto
Ihavetophysicallybite back a laugh when she begins inspecting her cuticles.
I Don’t think she's doing it consciously. More like a bored tick—and it's clear she's very fucking bored. That is understandable, given that her date looks like he came from a cookie-cutter and obviously doesn't know how to give a stunning woman like her the good time she deserves.
