Page 25 of Betraying the Mafia Boss

Vincent is standing in front of a white Mercedes. He’s wearing a white three-piece Tom Ford suit and holding a bouquet of roses. He smiles when he sees me and my stomach flutters, butterflies awakening.

He’s especially handsome tonight. His dark hair is gelled back and a diamond stud earring glitters in one of his ears. When he inches closer, I inhale his misty cologne. He’s so addictive I can’t hide my attraction to him.

I’m smiling sheepishly and blushing as he hands the flowers to me. He stops moving and takes me in from head to toe, and it feels like he’s savoring every inch of me. “You’re beautiful tonight, Isabella.” It’s one of the very few times he’s not called me Silver. “That dress looks like it was made only for you, and I made sure it was.”

My brows knit. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a new limited-edition dress. I bought every last one available,” he says casually, wearing a warm smile.

My jaw drops and I’m gaping at him. “What do you mean you bought every last one?” I mean, the dress looks freaking expensive and it doesn’t make sense he bought all of them.

“It means what it means. No one should have the right to wear this except you.” He stretches out a hand to me. I’m still stunned as I take it and he leads me to the passenger seat, waiting for me to get in before he closes the door and rounds the car to the driver’s seat.

I still can’t get over what he said. “You were joking when you said that, right? I’m certain this dress is expensive and there’s no way you bought all of those available.”

“I wasn’t joking. They’ll all be shipped to your address, do whatever you want with them.” He ignites the car engine and drives off. “Did you like my gift?”

“Like?” I’m beginning to think he likes to downplay himself. What does he mean like? “I love it. Thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.”

An hour later, we arrive a fancy restaurant in Hudson Yards. It a grand building made of steel and glass. Eat Bistro is written boldly at the top. Vincent hands his key to one of the valets after we climb from the car, then he leads me inside the restaurant and to a spot he reserved in the V.I.P. area.

Obscene chandeliers glow from the roof, a soft waltz escaping through the hidden speakers. Our table is decorated with candles and roses. It’s really romantic. Naomi would lose her mind if she saw this.

Vincent pulls out a chair for me before settling on his seat. “Do you like it here?”

“I love it. No one’s ever done something like this for me.” I peer around. I’m sure this must have cost him loads money and effort.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable and would like to go somewhere else.”

Trust me, I don’t have a reason to be uncomfortable.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I nod and say, “I will.”

We glance through the menu and a waitress takes our orders. While we wait for our food, I’m anxious to start a conversation but I’m too nervous to say anything.

Vincent's eyes remain fixed on mine. As always, he reads me perfectly, like I’m an open book. “Nervous, Silver?” he teases, placing his hand on mine, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on the back of my hand.

I chuckle, feeling my nerves dissipate. Heat glides up my arm as I burn from his touch. “Maybe just a little. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to do all of this for me. I don’t even have the faintest idea why you asked me out on a date.”

Vincent leans back, a contemplative look crossing his face. “I don’t need a reason to ask you out on a date. I did it because I wanted to and I want you enjoy every moment of tonight.”

I appreciate his sincerity, my curiosity piqued. "You're quite the mystery, Vincent. The first time I met you, you didn’t seem to be someone who would be so…thoughtful.”

A flicker of a smile flashes on his face. He retracts his hand from mine, but he doesn’t stop looking at me. “I knew from the first time I saw you I wanted to be very thoughtful when it comes to you.”

Those damn butterflies awaken in my stomach once again. “How do you know the right words to take my breath away?”

He shrugs, smiling. “I just know.”

A waiter arrives with a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne, pouring two glasses for us.

“Is there anything about you I should know?” I ask, wanting to keep the conversation going. “What do you do besides visiting the children at the hospital?”

“Nothing.” He twirls his glass of champagne. “I suppose you already know all there is to know about me.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but I have a feeling lying to Vincent will be of no use, not when he looks like he can see right through me. “Well, I know everything I can find on the internet about you.”

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