Page 24 of Mafia King's Surprise Baby

“You know him?’

I blink out of my thoughts and glance at Ardian. “Hmm?”

He frowns. “The man who sent the champagne.”

I swallow reflexively, forcing a detached composure again in front of him. “That’s Leo, my brother’s best friend.”

“You know him well?”

As well as a woman can know a man.

I shove the thought away and nod, smiling. “Yes. His father is a friend of ours.”

If he knows our lingo, he’ll understand I just told him my father and Leo’s father are allies. A friend of mine is a third party a mafioso vouches for. A friend of ours is a made member of the syndicate.

He nods, gaze going to the champagne before he snaps his fingers calling the waiter.

How gauche—I cringe inside. My father’s marrying me off to a philistine.

“Throw it away,” he cursorily snarls.

As the bottle is being taken away, I pull in a breath. Something’s not right. Is it the fact his ego is pricked by someone sending him a more expensive bottle than the one he ordered, showing this person has more money and can be more careless with it? Or is it more? I haven’t felt this level of tension in Ardian ever. He must know something is afoot with Leo. Or if not, that he’s a threat. Well, anyone in their right mind would know this and bear it in mind at all time. Leo’s his father’s heir, and he’ll be a Don one day when hispadredies. All families, like mine, have a boss at the head. Not all of them have a Don, though.

Suddenly, I can see it so clearly. I tangled with the wrong man. Leo can mean trouble both for me and this alliance. What did I think? That he’d just blip out our time together and get on with his life? I’m not that naïve usually, but this time, I was.

I have to make this right. Smooth everything over, at least.

And this means having a talk with Leo Pellegrini.

I get up and place my napkin in a soft fold on my chair. “Please excuse me.”

At least he understands this means I’m heading to the ladies’ room and doesn’t question my movement.

Here’s the thing about the Richmond Club. Two sides of the restaurant, one single hallway leading off in the middle to the rest rooms. Many a tryst has been had in these stalls, which are almost double the size of regular ones in the ladies’ corner to allow for ease of movement, should a person not find themselves alone in there.

But that’s not my destination. The same blind spot that allows one to take this corridor unnoticed permits sneaking into the other half of the dining hall.

In this bastion of male presence and occasionally ballsy women dining alone, fashioned like a gentleman’s country club in the elite areas of London, it doesn’t take me long to zero in on my target.

Leo Pellegrini is seated on a chesterfield three-seater near an unlit fireplace, one leg casually draped over the other, a lit cigar in his hand, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

His heated gaze tracks me as I make my way to him, stopping a few paces short near the low coffee table on which I place my purse.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hiss in a low tone.

He peruses me from head to toe with a slow, languorous glance. I can feel heat start to burn in my cheeks, my nipples pebbling against the silk of my bra, my core tightening with need.

For God’s sake, woman! Get a grip!

“I asked you a question,” I state.

He shrugs. “Thought you’d enjoy the champagne.”

“Ardian returned it.”

“He’s even more of a fool than I imagined.”

Frustration is rising in me. Is this a game to him? It’s not to me, to anyone in our world. Why can’t he grasp this?

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