Page 92 of Immoral

Gianni's body stiffens. He breaks our kiss, turns his head, and looks up at Sandro. Concern laces his voice, but he keeps it calm. "What's going on?"

Sandro's forehead wrinkles. He has his hand near his gun, which he keeps under his sport coat. "Manny called and said we need to leave now. There are visitors in the building."

"Let's go, tesoro." Gianni jumps up, helps me out of the booth, and tosses cash on the table. He glances around the room then circles his arm around my waist.

Goose bumps break out on my arms. The damp cold from the cellar the Abruzzos held me captive in hits me, digging into my bones. I shudder then try to push the memory out of my mind.

Sandro steps behind me. Gianni whisks me through the bustling restaurant, keeping me close to his side. He pulls his phone out, swipes at the screen, then says, "Is it clear outside?"

There's a pause then Gianni nods to Sandro. We step out of the building, and the cold wind whips us so fiercely, it would push me backward if Gianni weren't holding me so tightly.

Manny is waiting at the curb with the SUV. We all get in, and he pulls out into traffic the moment the door closes.

Gianni rolls the divider window down. "Who was inside?"

"Jacopo, his top three men, and their families," Manny replies.

"I didn't see any of them," Gianni comments.

Sandro turns in his seat. "They had the private room. From what I gathered, it was Jacopo's daughter's birthday."

Gianni releases a deep breath and tugs me tight to his chest. "Keep a close eye and make sure no one is following us."

"Got it, boss," Manny replies.

Gianni puts the divider window up. He kisses the top of my head. "Are you okay?"

I tilt my head up. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, Cara."

"It's okay. It's not your fault," I try to assure him.

His fingers caress my biceps. "My job is to protect you. Putting you in a room with a bunch of Abruzzos isn't going to keep you safe."

"You didn't know."

"I should have."

"How would you do that? You can't get the reservation list for every restaurant in the city. Nor can you control if we're out and they show up," I point out.

His eyes darken. He studies me for a moment then sniffs hard. He turns and stares out the window.

I count to twenty. He still doesn't take his eyes off the glass. I straddle him, turn his face toward mine, and place both hands on his cheeks. "Let's not let the Abruzzos ruin our night."

Hatred swirls in Gianni's orbs. "You didn't even get to finish your dinner."

I shrug. "Isn't that why we have a five-star Michelin chef?"

"I wanted tonight to be special for you," he admits.

"It was and still can be."

He sighs. "You didn't get to finish your manicotti or have dessert."

I sit back on his lap then pull his phone out of his pocket. I hold it in front of him and say, "You're a man who makes things happen. Call the chef and have him recreate our dinner. We'll eat in our suite."

He slides his hand through my hair, pulling me closer to him and resting his palm on my skull. His lips are inches from mine, and he questions, "How did I get so lucky to marry you?"

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