Page 9 of Ruthless Mafia Heir

"Oh, I think that’s more down to the beans we get in than me," I reply, waving a hand. He cocks an eyebrow at me.

"You have a hard time taking a compliment, don’t you?"

His words catch me off guard. He’s more perceptive than I would have credited someone like him of being capable of. My lips part in surprise, and he chuckles.

"I’m joking," he assures me as we reach the door to Flagrantes. "Come in. It’s too cold out today."

I step inside Flagrantes, and my eyebrows shoot up as I take the place in. With the prices they were charging, I knew this place had to be nice, but this is amazing. Burgundy leather booths line the walls, each with an art deco lamp that looks like it could have come straight from a flapper bar. Low music fills the air, and the immaculately dressed bartender greets Blake with a nod.

Blake approaches the bar, and the bartender is already making his drink by the time he arrives.

"Damon’s here, by the way," she remarks, nodding across to one of the booths toward the back. Blake glances around and grins when he lays eyes on another man around his age. A crop of blond hair frames his sharp blue eyes.

"What do you want?" the bartender asks me. I hesitate as I look at the menu above the bar. It’s all so expensive. I feel like I would be rude to ask for anything. Blake seems to sense my discomfort, though, and he reaches out to touch the small of my back.

"I’m paying."

His touch stills me for a moment as though the whole world has dropped away and the only things that matter are his fingertips brushing my skin. I swallow hard and force myself to pick something.

"I’ll have a white Russian, then," I reply. I’ve never actually tried one before, but I’ve heard of them, and it sounds fancy enough. A few moments later, the bartender has stirred up our drinks for us, and I follow Blake to the booth his friend is sitting in.

Damon—that was his name, right?—eyes me for a long moment, and I shift, slightly uncomfortable beneath his gaze. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that seems to lodge beneath my skin, and I don’t like it. I always feel so exposed in places like this, as though, at any moment, they’re going to figure out that I don’t belong here.

"Damon, this is Sophia," Blake introduces us. "Sophia, Damon."

A grin spreads across Damon’s face.

"Good to meet you properly," he replies, extending his hand. I take it, a little confused.

"Properly...?"

"I’ve seen you working at the coffee shop," he replies, his eyes darting to Blake, like he’s testing the ground on how much he can say.

"Oh, okay," I mutter, lowering my gaze to my drink. There’s something unspoken in the air right now, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. I don’t know how to make sense of all of this.

"She’s looking for a new job, actually," Blake explains. He’s sitting next to me at the booth, and I can feel his leg grazing mine beneath the table. Is he aware of it? Does he even care? I don’t know. I can feel a tingle rushing along my thigh at the feel of him so close to me, some part of me responding to him in a way I can’t quite make sense of.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, Blake said he’d help me get set up with one of the places he knows in the city," I reply. I don’t know if it’s actually going to turn into anything useful, but I need all the help I can get right now, even from someone like him.

To my surprise, Damon snorts with amusement.

"You’ll be working for him?" he remarks.

"Not for me," Blake replies, shooting his friend a look. "Some place where I know the owners."

"Right, of course," Damon replies, grinning. "Good luck with that, Sophia."

"What do you mean?"

Silence falls over the table. Blake is glowering at Damon, signaling to him to shut up. I can tell that, even from where I’m sitting.

"Nothing," Damon mutters as he takes a sip of his wine. "Forget I said anything."

But I can’t forget it. Not when there seems to be so much more going on under the surface than I’m privy to. And not when I’m relying on this guy to get me out of the bind I currently find myself in.

I take another sip of my drink and pray that I haven’t just gotten myself into more of a mess than I can handle.

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