Page 31 of Mafia Star

“That was the goal. What about your place? Is it purely functional like Enzo’s?”

“Don’t get me wrong. His is comfy, but it’s just not homey. It actually sounds like our tastes run very similarly. I have colonial shutters instead of Havana, but they’re sort of close.”

Close enough. They both are affixed to the sides of the windows, as opposed to Bahamas shutters, which open like an awning.

“Since I live on the top floor, mine are interior shutters.”

“I live in a walk-up in Brooklyn. Mine are interior, too.”

I know both are rather unusual, but my guess is he has them for the same reason as me. They’re practical, but they also personalize the space in a way you can’t do from the outside of an apartment or condo building.

“I have a few Miami-esque Art Deco pieces, but mostly, it’s Cape Cod comfy.”

“Overstuffed sofas with throw pillows? Blankets perfectly laid over the backs?”

I laugh since I can’t picture him like that at all. But he pulls out his phone and unlocks it. He taps a couple things before he pulls up a photo of his entire family there watching a soccer game. Maria and Carlotta— I think she’s his aunt —both have their hands out in front of Gabriele.

“He lost a lot of money to them that day. Everyone else was way more conservative with their bets. He took a gamble betting against them. We warned him.”

“Are they avid soccer fans?”

“Maria played in college and even on a co-ed team during med school. Auntie Carlotta coached Maria’s high school team to state championships the four years she played varsity along with the two before and one after. So yeah, they’re fans.”

“Wow.”

“Did you play sports?”

“Yes. Laura and I both swam. Michelle dove. All three of us played water polo.”

“Your sister really is more competitive than she comes across, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She can make Laura and me look like pussycats. She hides her claws until a second before she sinks them in.”

He presses his lips behind my ear, his warm breath making me shiver when he whispers to me.

“I intend to make you purr, little one. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Mmmhmm.”

It was more of a moan than a hum to confirm. Just as I’m about to turn my head to kiss him, the car rolls to a stop. I glance out the window and realize we’ve gotten to my place. Why couldn’t we just be at a stoplight? Or better yet, why didn’t we get stuck in any traffic on the bridge? Oh, that’s right. It’s eleven o’clock at night. There’s never traffic when you need it.

“Come on, piccolina.”

He places me beside him, then opens the door. He steps onto the sidewalk and offers me his hand. When I get out, I’m prepared to say goodnight, but he puts his hand on one of my favorite spots. My lower back. I don’t know why it does this thing to me where my pussy aches, but it does. I lead the way in, and we’re quiet until we get to my door. He doesn’t invite himself in, but I can tell he’s sweeping every inch of my apartment that he can see.

“Would you like to come in?”

I want him to, and it seems like the polite thing to do. But he hesitates. And that crushes my soul.

“Beth, would I be coming in as your friend or something else?”

“I— I —my friend.” I guess.

“You said you want to keep things to the club.”

“I do.”

I rush to answer because I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to say. But it’s not what I mean. Not what I want.

---