Page 38 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

“Isn’t it, like, a general rule of thumb that mafia men gouge out the eyes of anyone who dares look at their lady?” I tease, though the staring is making me a little shifty.

Enzo suddenly turns his six-foot-four frame toward me, towering over me. I stop abruptly and crane my neck to meet his gaze as he pulls me against him. My hands go to his chest on instinct as he lowers his mouth near mine.

“Are you?” he asks, his eyes flicking between mine.

“Am I what?” I whisper back, the room suddenly stifling.

“My lady?” His mouth is a millimeter away from mine. So close, but not actually touching.

I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. I don’t know.

“Hmm.” He looks disappointed. Then he leans to the side and kisses my cheek. He lingers a moment, and I realize, from this angle, it looks like we’re locked in a passionate kiss—a public claiming. He pulls away, and the cold of the room wraps around me tightly. “They’re just curious.”

Enzo puts my hand in the crook of his arm and escorts me the rest of the way into the dining room. Looking out the windows that surround us, I spot the river behind the building and the beautiful sunset casting the sky in golden hues.

“Curious why?”

“Because I’ve never brought a woman out with me in public.” Then he looks me dead in the eye. “Ever.”

Well. Isn’t that something.

With a deep breath, I stand taller and let their gazes slide over me. They’re trying to figure out how I fit into this godforsaken mess. But I need other things out of tonight, and I’ve got to find a way into the conversations to get what I want.

The host leads us to our table and removes a marble table marker etched with the name Vincenzi. It’s secluded from the rest of the room, but not by much—we have the lay of the land from here and can see every table.

Looks flick our way, linger a second, then dart off as if they were never here. I can already tell this is going to be one of those dinners where the air is thick with cigars, secrets, and lies.

Enzo pulls out my chair for me and slides it back gracefully. For someone who’s never graced the public with a woman on his arm before, he’s pulling it off perfectly.

He sits across from me, the setting sun’s last light flickering over his dark hair and the deep wood paneling that surrounds us. There’s something about him in this place—the way he belongs here. He’s surrounded by people who respect him. Hell, they’ve practically kissed his feet as he walked by, but I can see the lines of tension in his jaw. The tightness in his shoulders. The darkness in his eyes as he casts them around the room.

“You own this place, don’t you?” I ask quietly, noting the grin he quickly wipes away. “Like, actually own this town—not just the members club. It’s yours?”

“You’ve always been perceptive. I own this club. I own this town and everything around it.”

He nods once at the waiter, who scurries over. Enzo speaks low into his ear, and I narrow my eyes at him.

“I knew it.” I rest my chin in my hand, elbow on the table. “You took those turns too comfortably for someone who doesn’t own everything in this valley.”

He takes my hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “Not everything, apparently.”

I take my hand from his and smooth my dress over my thighs, suddenly nervous with my back to the room. It seems Enzo can sense my unease because he leans closer and lowers his voice. “Give me your hand again.”

“Enzo.”

“I just want to show you something.”

I hold my hand out, and he guides me beneath the table. “What? Are you showing me your gum collection you’ve been sticking under here since you were a little mafia baby?”

He actually chuckles, and I think I might pass out.

My fingers run along something metal and cold fixed to the underside of the table. I gasp when I realize what it is. It’s a gun in the perfect spot for him to grab quickly should he need to.

“Now,” he says, releasing my hand and straightening himself. “Feel under your side of the table. Jax made a visit earlier to make sure the place was ready for our visit. Just in case.”

“I don’t want to touch a gun. What if I shoot my vagina off?” I whisper, one hundred percent serious.

This time, he straight-up throws his head back and laughs. The poor waiter looks like he’s going to have a stroke, witnessing the rarest event on Earth right here alongside me.

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