Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 59551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
I just got locked into the exact scenario I had hoped to avoid.
And damn Gio Tacone for looking so devastatingly debonair right now as he steals my future. His lips curve up and he acknowledges us all with a regal inclination of his head.
Asshole.
Seriously. What an asshole.
We head back into the kitchen, and Lilah whispers to me, “Do you think he’s related to the Tacone crime family?”
“I can guarantee it.”
She must hear the condemnation in my tone because she shoots a look over her shoulder at me as we work beside each other. “Wait… do you know him?”
I lift my shoulders in a sullen shrug. “I’m from Cicero. His family owned my neighborhood growing up.”
Lilah whistles. “Holy shit. Do you personally know him? I mean, he doesn’t know you, right?” There’s excitement in her tone, like this is the best gossip she’s heard all year.
“Oh, he knows me all right.”
“Marissa” —Lilah grabs my arm and stops me from emptying pasta into the pot of boiling water— “what aren’t you saying?”
I just shake my head. “Let’s just say it’s no coincidence he bought this particular restaurant.”
Lilah’s eyes widen and she cranes her neck to see my face. “Giiiiirl! Are you telling me Mr. Dark and Dangerous is after you? Like wants to be your boss in a big daddy kind of way?”
I just shake my head and turn back to what I’m doing. “I can’t even… I can’t.” I’m too upset to let her cajole me into laughter about it. It’s not funny.
Gio Tacone went way too far this time.
Gio
I enjoy the fuck out of sitting in the corner of Michelangelo's and watching the business run. The waitstaff scurries around, throwing me nervous glances, probably feeling the burn of my gaze. They’re good at their jobs, though. I won’t come in and make a lot of changes. Not without observing how things run for the six months I have Michael on contract.
He didn’t want to give up his restaurant, especially with a no-compete clause so he can’t open a new one, but I made him a good offer and applied a tiny bit of pressure for good measure. Like mentioning everything I knew about his family. How his mother could use more help in Florida. And his daughter’s college bills were probably high.
He got the picture. I wanted him out. I had the cash to buy him out. And I’d appreciate his cooperation. No actual threats were made, although I think my name and reputation are often threat enough in this town.
And buying this place feels like opening a door. Like it could be the thing that was missing from my life—a purpose to throw myself into. Something I will enjoy the fuck out of creating. A place to stave off the stabbing loneliness. To become a part of something.
To play the fucking piano for people whose last name isn’t Tacone.
And yes… as a gift to Marissa. To keep her somewhere I can protect her and let her do what she loves.
I swear to Cristo, the shooting changed the fuck out of me, because I don’t even want anything in return. She doesn’t have to fuck me. She doesn’t have to be my girl.
I have the capacity to make her happy, and it pleases the hell out of me to do it.
I stay the entire night, sampling various dishes, calling for a few drinks. Watching.
And when the restaurant closes up, I tell Michael, “I’ll lock up.”
He’s too befuddled by his new role to argue. He hands me the keys and writes down the security code so I can arm the system. I make a mental note to get the code and keys changed by tomorrow night.
Then I saunter back into the kitchen to watch the clean-up.
Marissa looks exhausted, a line between her brows as if she’s been worrying on something. She also ignores me, pretending we don’t know each other.
Okay, maybe she doesn’t want it to look like she’s sleeping with the boss. Which she’s not.
Yet.
“Nice work, everyone. All the food I sampled was delicious,” I say and most of the kitchen staff shoot me half-wary, half-resentful glances. Well, nobody likes change.
I stand and watch them finish, which has the effect of making everyone scurry around quickly, and start to leave.
Marissa gets the hint and hangs back until they’re gone, exchanging a silent glance full of hidden meaning with the other girl who works there when her friend leaves.
“Come on.” I tip my head toward the restaurant area. “I’ll pour you a drink.”
She follows me to the end of the bar. I pour a glass of the expensive chianti I sampled earlier, but she sets it on the bar and knees me in the balls.
“The fuck?” I double over. What. The Fuck? Pain shoots all the way up to my stomach, reverberating where I got shot.