Page 4 of Sexting the Don

And just like that I’m alone, my family’s future hinging on whatever the hell it is that I'm supposed to do next.

I ease out of the chair, trying to play it cool as I clean up the table, bringing the empty wine glass over to the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Enzo takes his seat. Kurt approaches him with a smile. Enzo’s face is impassive as he orders his drink.I can’t hear the precise words, but his voice is low, deep enough that I can feel it in my bones.

The sight of him makes my pussy clench and makes me wet right then and there. His moves are slow and deliberate as if the world is moving in his time. Enzo reaches into his leather bag and takes out a silver laptop. He places it on the bar and opens it.

There’s no one in my section yet, so I study him for a moment from a distance.

I step behind the bar and watch him. There’s something about him that is undeniably attractive. He’s wealthy, no doubt about that, but he doesn’t wear his wealth on his sleeve. His overall demeanor communicates his status more than any kind of ostentatious display would.

I take a position behind a wall at the bar. Kurt comes over to prepare Enzo’s drink.

“Hey!” I hiss.

Kurt cocks his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Come here for a second.”

“Uh, sure. Let me just make this Manhattan.”

I can’t help but smile. Of course,a guy like Enzo would want a classic drink like that. Kurt makes the drink and takes it to Enzo before coming back.

“What’s up?” he asks, tossing his bar towel over his shoulder.

“That guy, what do you know about him?”

Kurt shrugs. “Not much. He’s an easy customer and a good tipper. He comes in every Thursday around this time and orderstwo Manhattans and a plate of mussels. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “That’s not a good idea. He’s always working when he’s here. He’s polite, but I don’t get the impression that he wants to be bothered. He always asks for me because he knows I won’t talk his ear off.”

“Okay, thanks.”

With that, I hurry out of the bar and into the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, my reflection reveals a petite but curvy woman with long brown hair and big brown eyes. I’m wearing my server outfit, which consists of a black button-down shirt and a black pencil skirt that clings to my curves. I smooth my hands down my clothes, hoping I don’t look as nervous as I feel.

I know what I'm about to do is risky, but as I look into my own eyes, I remind myself of the stakes. Enzo Martelli is the kind of man who could change everything for my family, and this might be my only chance to talk to him.

I reach into my apron and take out a pen and my check pad. After ripping off a sheet, I take a moment and then write my note.

It doesn’t say anything special, just my name and a few sentences hoping to make my case, along with the dollar amount Jimmy told me to make sure I included.

After I’m satisfied with what I wrote, I hurry to the manager’s office and grab an empty envelope. I write “Mr. Enzo Martelli” on the front, then I head back to the main floor, my head spinning.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back toward the door, ready to make my move. The way he’s working on his computer, pausing only to take a sip of his drink or spear a mussel, the guy could be any one of the other finance or entertainment bigwigs who come to eat here.

But as I continue to look at him, I get the feeling he’s different in a way I can’t quite put my finger on. Sure, I already know he’s different based on what Jimmy told me about him, but those hands, those big, rough hands … what has he done with them? Has he killed someone with them?

Nervousness is beginning to well in the pit of my stomach. The longer I stand here thinking it over, the more likely it is that I’ll talk myself out of going through with the whole thing.

Before I can make my move, however, Tommy, the manager on duty, comes over.

“Hey, Mandy,” he says. “It’s looking like kind of a slow night. Want to punch out early? You can pick up a lunch shift this weekend if you want to make up the time.”

Most nights, I’d be frustrated at missing out on the money. But tonight, with my unwanted task in front of me, I’m eager to do the deed and get out of here.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Tommy.”

He nods and heads out. Just then, Enzo pops the last mussel into his mouth, giving me my cue. I hurry behind the bar, swooping in front of him and taking the plate with the effortless grace that comes with being a seasoned server.

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