Page 47 of That Time I Accidentally Took Over the Mafia

The intimacy of his proximity shifts something inside me—his presence a steady anchor, even as my mind races with the revelation I’ve just uncovered. This new, relaxed demeanor of his could be addicting if I let myself slip into it.

I grab a spear of burrata con pomodorini e basilico—the delicate cheese paired with fresh basil and sweet cherry tomatoes. Using my teeth, I slide the tomato from its skewer, savoring its burst of flavor, ripe and tangy against the rich olive oil and aromatic herbs. A nostalgia creeps in—a fleeting warmth in my chest as I remember similar meals at my family home.

The feeling turns cold as memories of myself eating alone at long, empty tables flash through my mind. The comfort of this food—simple yet exquisite—stirs a sadness hidden deep within me.

“So, that first old fogey that fondled me...” I begin, casting a teasing glance toward Enzo. The smile that pulls at my lips is sharper now as I pull a piece of burrata from the skewer and take a bite, savoring it.

Enzo’s eyes darken immediately. His hand, which had been lightly brushing the edge of his glass, clenches the crystal a little tighter as his lips press into a thin line.

“Is your ass already missing the palm of my hand, Ms. Caputo?” he murmurs, his voice low, sending a shiver of heat through me. The lethal edge in his tone almost makes me forget my playful teasing.

“Don’t send me on a murder spree before we’ve had the main course. I ordered you lobster risotto, and I know for a fact you’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you miss out on the club’s risotto,” he adds, his eyes softening just enough to show that underlying affection.

My heart skips a beat as his words linger in my mind. Lobster risotto? It’s practically part of my DNA. I close my eyes, imagining the dish—the creamy risotto with tender lobster, the subtle flavor of saffron, and a hint of lemon. A dream in a bowl.

“Enzo, if you could slather me in risotto and eat it off my body, I’d die happy,” I say, letting the words roll off my tongue with an ease I don’t usually allow.

“Fuck, Delaney,” he growls, draining his whiskey in one go. His gaze shifts toward the ceiling as he quickly signals for another drink. “Just get back to your news.”

I grin—the playful energy between us undeniable—but I push the teasing aside, remembering what I’d learned.

“Right. Mr. Moretti,” I start, but then pause as I take a bite of honeyed melon wrapped in melt-in-my-fucking-mouth prosciutto, moaning my appreciation.

The small grin pulling at the corner of Enzo’s lips makes me pause.

“You like watching me here? In your club, wearing your dress, eating your food.” I take another bite.

“I do.” He refills my wine glass, setting it back on the table. “I enjoy bringing you the best things the world has to offer and laying them at your feet. I won’t deny that.”

Dammit.Cue my purring kitty once again.

Despite the heaviness of the reasons that forced us to reunite and brought us out tonight, I’m having a good time. The opulence and dancing, definitely the bathroom fucking—that is at the top of the list of highlights for the night.

Now, this amazing food and an incredibly romantic Enzo looking at me like I’m a goddess he was born to worship...

It pulls a chord within me that makes me feel weightless and heavy all at once.

I take his face in my hand, and he closes his eyes at my gentle touch. Leaning forward, I kiss him with a tender swipe of my tongue against his lips.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight.” I rub the tip of my nose against his. “I’m having a good time.”

He kisses me back, quickly but reciprocating my affection with a display of his own.

“You don’t have to thank me, angel. I’ll bring you the world if you wish it.”

I clear my thoughts with a drink of wine, then continue.

"Moretti is a piece of shit. I had a nice bathroom chat with his second wife." I pause, my eyes twinkling with mischief. “Apparently, his first wife was a whack job because he fucked something up.”

Enzo’s laugh is quiet, but his smile deepens with amusement. He leans back, shaking his head slightly, as if accepting the truth in my words.

“Moretti would fuck up a one-man job at a deli,” Enzo says with a small smirk, his voice casual but tinged with disdain.

I can’t help but laugh at that. "Did you just make a joke?"

Enzo's smile is brief, but it lingers in his eyes as he looks at me, unabashedly satisfied with himself. “Don’t get used to it.”

I lean closer, my body naturally gravitating toward him. I pull him closer by his necktie, my lips inches from his ear. We lock eyes for a second, a silent understanding passing between us.

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