Page 53 of Mafia Wedding

Can being the operative word, since what he's actually wearing is a made-to-measure suit from Giorgio Armani.

I know this guy, and I know of him, and that's why—-

I don't get it.

How can a billionaire party boy like Drake Morrison be a member of Strakh?

I'm aware that he used to work for the FBI ages ago, but all he seems to do these days is host orgies and look good while having his photo taken by the paps. I'm tempted to call Thomas and ask if this is a prank, but my guts are never wrong, and so I know I'm not mistaken.

It's really him.

My so-called perfect match.

Now what?

Chapter Two

FANCY RESTAURANTS, horror movie nights, or wholesome meet-cutes at the park. These are some of the things that my friend's wife Tahey have recommended for my blind date, and they sound awfully tame for someone whose husband is the leader of Strakh.

The thought of forwarding such PG-rated suggestions is frankly bile-inducing, but since I'm no expert on romance—-

Dining car, 8AM train bound for West Palm Beach.

I was about to hit Send when an email from my mystery girl lands on my inbox, and its fortuitous timing saves my dignity from hanging itself.

She already has a place in mind as things turn out, and I don't care if a train ride isn't what people would describe as blind-date-material. I've always thought 'normal' was overrated, and besides...

A little craziness has never hurt anyone, and even if she suddenly changes her mind and tells me she wants us to meet in Hell, I won't even think twice about trading places with the Devil.

This is the most I've felt alive in over a year, and it's this feeling that has me boarding the train even though it's still fifteen minutes to eight.

Are you here, Girl?

I have my answer when I spy in the corner of my eye someone entering Car #7 from another set of doors.

Exhilaration courses through my veins even though I know it would be smarter to keep my expectations to a minimum. It's always been all or nothing for me, and I've never needed time to think things over like others do.

One damn look is the only thing I need, and I'll know right away if "Girl" is someone I'd like to fuck and forget.

Just one damn look.

And when our gazes finally meet from opposite ends of the car—-

Well, well, well.

My lips slowly curve.

Hello, you.

But this only has her blinking at me like I should know better than to assume that her smiles come cheap.

Fine with me, darling.

Challenge accepted, and it's her virginal pussy that I'll claim as my reward.

The two of us remain in sync as we start walking towards our reserved seats, and I can tell by her unwavering gaze that she still sees me as a potential threat.

Fair enough.

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