Page 46 of The Bonventi Hitman
Gabriel smiles. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"No, I told the bartender I needed a special drink for the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Okay there, Mr. Smooth."
"Try it. If you don't like it, I'll get you something else."
"Okay," I say, holding up my glass. "Well, here's to?—"
"Us," Gabriel says and clinks my glass.
I catch myself feeling warm and turning red from embarrassment. I pray the dim light doesn't allow him to notice.
I take a sip. “Wow, this is good," I say, laughing.
"Of course. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, after all."
I feel my giddy nerves rising, so I search my thoughts for something to say to change the direction of our conversation.
"So, what's the deal with this place?" I ask with an inquisitive face, taking pride in myself for coming up with something good to steer the question away from my emotional pull.
Gabriel takes a sip of his whiskey, and I see the lights reflecting in his eyes.
"This place has seen its fair share of history," he says, gesturing around the room. "They say Chicago's history was shaped from this very spot."
"Really?"
"Yes, and with all the secret rooms and tunnels, it just adds to the lore."
"Really? Secret rooms?"
Gabriel laughs. "Yes, see that door over there?" he asks me, and I turn to see a large painting of a man sitting on a garden bench in what looks like Paris.
"No."
"Bella, really look."
I study the painting again, and then I see it—the man's cane resting beside him on the bench is a handle. "Ah, another secret door."
He nods.
"Interesting."
Gabriel leans into me, and I turn back to find his eyes. "You know, there's something about you that I can't figure out. Ever since we first met, you seem different to me than most women," he finally says.
His words give me goosebumps, and I'm flooded with an uneasy feeling. The irony of his statement catches me off guard and slams into my chest like a blow from a gun.
"Gabriel," I say, my voice slow and steady, "I'm just a girl that's had to look out for herself. You know better than most the dangers lurking in this world. Women need to always be ready."
He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek, and the scent of sweetness from his whiskey fills my nose. “I see,” he says but I feel like he’s unsure.
"Take what you do, for example.”
"Sometimes," he says slowly, "the line between good and bad is not as clear-cut as it seems."
His large hands envelop mine, and I feel that familiar protective quality he gives me. "I may have to play the devil sometimes, but you’ll never know me as that."
