Page 19 of Contracted

He smiled down at me. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

I didn’t have time to query him, not when he grabbed my hand and drew me with him toward the elevator. “Let’s not be late,” he added.

I pulled free of his grip and hurried to the kitchen counter to retrieve my clutch bag, which matched my shoes perfectly, before I stepped into the elevator with him.

It wasn’t until I was sitting in the back of the sedan driven by Emilio that I asked, “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Don’t you like surprises?”

I shook my head. “I like to be in control of my destiny.”

“Of course you do,” he murmured, almost to himself. He reached for my hand and kissed the back of my knuckles. “We’re going to watch a Broadway theater performance starring my sister, Isabelle.”

I gaped. “Are you telling me I met someone famous and I didn’t even know it?”

He grinned. “She recently exploded onto the theater scene, thanks to not only her talent, but her husband’s investment into her career. She and Salvatore are a formidable team.”

“They looked very much in love,” I confessed. “As did Ethan and Sabrina.”

Salvatore nodded. “Valentino was equally as lucky with Chantilly. Though whether any of us deserve to be loved is another matter entirely.”

I blinked at him, neon lights flashing across his face as Emilio drove down yet another street as he headed toward the theater district. “Everyone deserves love.”

“Everyone?” he repeated huskily.

“Yes, everyone.” I lifted my hand and ran my fingertips down the side of his bristled face. “You might have done a lot of things I don’t condone, but I don’t doubt for a second you’ve done a lot of good things too.”

He pushed his head further into my hand, like a cat seeking comfort. “You say all the right things.”

We sat in companionable silence for the rest of the short ride, getting out in front of a theater where a huge billboard flashed Isabella, and the name of the show. “Florence,” I said, more than a little awed. I’d heard of the critically acclaimed show. “I’m impressed.”

Serafino’s smile glinted, his hair sliding forward as he nodded. “Me too.”

He clasped my hand before we stepped into the foyer where a well-dressed crowd mingled. Many of them stopped and stared, and I wasn’t sure if it was because Serafino’s reputation preceded him or if it was because we made such a striking couple. Or perhaps it was simply because he’d brought a date to the theater with him.

I decided it was all three.

Then I noticed Salvatore on the other side of the room, his platinum-blond hair eye-catching even from a distance, as was his height that had him towering over everyone except Serafino. Though the Costa boss was surrounded by suited men vying for his attention, he lifted his hand, acknowledging us with a smile.

I smiled back, even as I wondered if the suits were mafia or theater men. People tended to gravitate or be repelled by men like Serafino and Salvatore.

Serafino nodded at him before guiding me through the crowd towards the bar. “Whiskey?”

“I’d love one, thank you.”

It was oddly comforting when he handed me a drink, then drew me closer with one arm encircling my waist as we sipped our drinks on the rocks. Acquaintances soon approached him and made small talk. He mostly nodded and stayed silent, his interest blatantly focused on me.

It wasn’t until we’d nearly finished our drinks that I noticed a middle-aged man staring our way. My stomach dropped. Charlie. He’d been a client from when I was with a different agency.

He bent and said something to the brunette woman he was with. She frowned, clearly irritated, but followed him as he strode toward me.

“Delilah,” he greeted enthusiastically, his stare drinking me in like he was a man parched. “How wonderful to see you again.” He dragged his gaze from me to Serafino, whose arm was locked around me. “And who is the lucky man?”

The woman with Charlie narrowed her burning eyes, and I cleared my throat and said, “This is my friend, Serafino.”

“Friend?” Serafino’s arm tightened fractionally before he inclined his head and said, “And you are?”

“I’m Charlie.” He stuck his arm out. When Serafino pointedly ignored it, he dropped it back to his side and cleared his throat. “This is my date, Greta.”

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