Page 58 of Mafia King: Matteo
I turn my head to face her. My hand cradles her face.
“It goes both ways, my love.”
Her blue eyes bore into mine, turning a paler shade of blue. What does this mean? I make a note to discover the secrets behind her pretty eyes. I’ve never known someone’s eyes to change different colors, and I assume it might be connected to moods. I have to learn more about the Angel who brings a smile to my lips.
“Fine,” she replies as if she’s put out. However, I catch a tiny smirk on her face. She got what she wanted, and for some reason, she wants me.
I slip my finger over her lips and into her mouth. My cock twitches. Damn, she’s so fuckable.
Gio pulls up to the restaurant and comes to a stop. I pull my hand away hesitantly. I have half a mind to fuck her, but it’s my restaurant, and it would be awkward to arrive later when we’ve already pulled up to the curb. I exit the vehicle and turn, extending my hand to Alena.
She places her hand in mine and joins me on the sidewalk. She straightens her dress under her coat and stands next to me. I tuck her arm through mine and lead her into La Cucina del Padrino. My staff opens the doors, and the maître d’ greets me by name and seats us immediately.
Alena is surprised at the speed at which the staff moves and is stymied by how all the staff nod at us. The head manager swings by our table and expresses his wish that our evening is a pleasant experience.
CHAPTER 20
ALENA
The restaurant is elegant. There are numerous dining rooms, all of which are themed. One has a Greek fountain in the middle of the room. We walk past another room with Roman columns that adorn the walls and separate the tables.
The guests are dressed like they are dining in Vegas, and the women’s hairdos are spectacular. There is a quaint piano bar, where a man plays the piano and a couple appears to be on their first date.
I find it entertaining that the woman sitting across from the piano player is overdressed. Her date is wearing a dated suit. She has diamonds dangling from her ears, and her choker looks like an heirloom piece made of pearls. It’s as if each is trying to make a statement to the other, but I can’t figure out what it is. Are they trying to prove they have money, or is it an arranged date to appease mutual friends? They don’t appear to have a spark between them. I guess we’ve all been there.
I’m underdressed. I should have gone home and changed into a cocktail dress. However, when we entered, heads turned. No one seemed to mind that I was dressed for work. Do these people have jobs, or is this their evening entertainment?
We are immediately escorted to a table large enough for four. It sits toward the back of the main room. Matteo steers me toward the chair opposite him so he will sit where he can see the front door. I wonder why.
After we’re seated, I turn my head to the left and check out the unusual circular room built of glass that obstructs my view of the piano room. I have a minute to observe the colossal wine room. Judging from the air-tight door, it’s refrigerated.
The gorgeous glass spiral is filled with bottles of wine and champagne. The 360-degree staircase amazes me as I watch a man climb it. He effortlessly swings his body to swing the stairs until he secures the bottle he needs with his hand and returns to the bottom of the room. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Everybody tiptoes around as if they will be yelled at if they aren’t efficient. Their white dress shirts are starched, and they all wear black slacks. The waiter at the table next to us announces the evening’s specials and answers questions for the couple before he calmly walks away to obtain their drink order.
“What is the name of this restaurant? I looked at the sign, but it was in Italian. Is the word ‘kitchen’ in the name?” I slide the cloth napkin onto my lap out of habit.
“Yes, it’s called The Godfather’s Kitchen.”
I gulp my saliva down my throat. “You’re not a godfather, are you?” I whisper.
“It’s a title, my brothers, and I thought it was funny when we decided we wanted to open a restaurant here. We’re from Sicily, so it is a joke to us. Well, part joke and part a tribute to Sicily.”
“Oh,” I sigh in relief, but he never said if he wasn’t the Godfather. I know there are other mafia families from Italy here, so there’s no longer one man at the helm who controls them all.
“So, you own this?”
“Yes. My brothers are partners.”
“Is that why everyone is scurrying around, and our waitress looks like she’s waiting on God?”
“Probably.” His voice is sexy as hell. He has a deep, confident voice that makes me want to come in my panties.
“They are afraid to look at you,” I comment.
“Perhaps, but they’ll get used to us being here. Tonight, we need to celebrate our engagement,” he says as if it’s important to him.
I don’t know why he thinks we need to celebrate. It’s a done deal, and I have to honor it.
