Page 91 of My Broken Bodyguard 2: Ritchie & Tori

As we approached, the maître D opened the door for us with a polite smile. "Welcome, my name is Woody," he greeted us.

I gave him the name under which I made the reservation. Brock strode past us to inspect the restaurant.

"Sir?" Woody called after him.

“Woody, don’t worry about him,” I said. “I already talked to the chef. He’s aware my bodyguard will sweep the premises. He said whatever the grandson of Nico Pitucco wants, he gets.” I flashed a grin.

Terror filled his eyes. "Understood, Mr. Toscano," he managed to respond with a smile.

The mafia underworld ran a little different than the drug underworld. Our mob ties ran deep in Las Vegas and Hollywood. Mentioning you were the grandson of Nico Pitucco in this town got you respect.

My uncle Nickalas made sure grandfather’s name lived on. He named his youngest son after his father.

Woody knew not to ask again what Brock was doing.

He seated Tori and me in a corner booth in a dimly lit section of the restaurant.

I had a good view of the kitchen. The front door wasn’t a major concern to me because I knew Brock would keep an eye out.

Woody placed the menus in front of us.

“The server will be right with you,” he said.

“Thank you,” I stated before he walked away.

I squeezed Tori’s thigh under the table. Fuck, she looked gorgeous in the tiny, gold shimmery dress. I couldn’t wait to get her out of it later. But for now, I’d have my fun under the tablecloth.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TORI

THE VEGAS RESTAURANT WITH MOB TIES

Ritchie’s gaze swept over the romantic atmosphere of the restaurant. The patrons were immersed in their dinners, and the pianist in the center of the room commanded everyone’s attention. Finally, we had some alone time to enjoy each other’s company. Don’t get me wrong, I loved spending time with our friends, but it was nice to have Ritchie all to myself. It was frustrating that he tried to hide his injury from me. He slept naked, so there was no way I wouldn’t have noticed the bandage on his arm later tonight.

Was it scary leaving Catch and Ritchie behind to go up against another crazed mafia man? Absolutely. But if any two guys could come back from a war, it was Ritchie and Catch.

I hated that my panic attacks played such a role in our relationship. However, in time, I’d plow right through my demons.

Ritchie’s large hand slid up my thigh under the table, and I placed my hand on top of his. He picked up the menu and began studying it intently.

“Go ahead and open your menu,” he commanded.

“Ritchie, why?” I asked, already content with looking at his menu.

He gave me a playful look. “Just do it,” he ordered.

I smacked my lips but complied. Sometimes this man and his orders. I wasn’t used to being told what to do, but I was getting past my tough girl ways when it came to men.

I opened my menu and perused the elegant font and descriptions of dishes.

Ritchie’s hand moved under my short dress and into my panties in one swift motion.

His fingers stroked my clit with deliberate slow ease, taking my breath away.

If I didn’t close my mouth, I’d start drooling. I glanced up through my false lashes and combed the faces of the people around the restaurant. Are they looking at us? Do they know my boyfriend is playing with my pussy under the table?

I palmed the table with one hand to keep myself from bucking my pussy against his hand.

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