Page 36 of Wicked Roses

The longer he drones on, the more Salvatore creeps into my thoughts. If I were dining with him tonight, the moment would be completely different. We wouldn’t be sitting here discussing the tannins in wine and Salvatore wouldn’t insist I try the swordfish. He wouldn’t give a damn what I ordered. In fact, he’d probably find it sexy if I ordered a huge, bloody steak with whipped potatoes.

There would be no awkward pauses in conversation and I wouldn’t feel like I had to be on my best behavior, like if I’m less than perfect I’ll be judged. If anything, Salvatore would find it amusing if I wanted to let loose. I wouldn’t have to think carefully about what I do and say. I could be myself, whatever that means in the moment.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight, Delphi,” Chadwick says. He winks at me and picks up his wine glass by the stem. “You have no idea how difficult it’s been finding the right woman, even in a big city like Easton. So many career women, but few you want to take seriously if you know what I mean. It’s why I’ve never given up on you. You’re the whole package. Beautiful, intelligent, well-mannered.”

My left brow arches. “Thank you, but I’m sure those women were great too.”

He chuckles. “I’ve known you how many years? None of them are wifey material like you are.”

“I’d rather you not compare me to them.”

“Delphi, it’s a compliment.”

My breathing shortens as agitation rises up inside me. I push it down and focus on my glass of wine. Chadwick said the tannins were too potent and bitter-tasting, but suddenly, I’m craving the whole glass. I swallow a mouthful and remind myself to stay calm.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be a serious date; tonight was me dipping my toes in the waters of a social life. I chose Chadwick because he’s safe and predictable. I knew what to expect.

Until I can make it more than a day without the potential for panic to cripple me at any given time, I need this. It’ll ease me into a normal life again.

Our entrées arrive—I wound up ordering the swordfish Chadwick has raved about—and our discussion turns to work. Chadwick tells me about a case he’s handling in Easton that he believes will help him toward his ambitions for district attorney. I halfheartedly listen and offer the occasional one-word inputs.

This dinner feels more like a job interview than a date.

“You have an impressive resume going,” he says, his smile proud. “First the Giorgio Belini trial. I’m sure a big win convicting Frausto will be next. Polk can’t compete with that. DA will be yours to lose.”

I humor him with another urbane smile. “I should hire you as my campaign manager.”

“Such a role should be beneath me. But on the bright side, we’d have plenty of time together.” He winks and reaches out for a playful touch of my shoulder. “All those late-night campaign events. Sign me up.”

Before I can scold him for touching me, I feel the burn of someone’s glare from the doorway of our private dining room. I gasp when I glance over and meet his furious, narrowed eyes.

Salvatore stalks toward our table, looking every bit the fearsome, murderous mafia boss he is. His stride is fluid and fast, like a lion in the wild closing in on his prey. I can do nothing but stare in shock, a deep flutter in my stomach.

“Delphine, what are you—” Chadwick knocks over his wine glass by mistake the second he spots Salvatore. The berry-hued liquid spills everywhere, though neither of us move to clean it up.

Yet another growing pain of living with your mafia ex-boyfriend—he’s liable to show up at random when you’re out to dinner with other men.

11. salvatore

“Mind if I join you?”My death glare slides from Delphine to Ernest Jr. Though my words may sound like a question, that couldn’t be further from the case—I’m not asking. I’mtelling.

I snatch hold of a chair at the empty table next to theirs and slam it down in between where Delphine sits across from him.

She mentioned nothing about going out tonight. Earlier in the morning when I’d asked about her plans for after work, she’d said TV with the cats. Yet when I arrived home in the evening to change before heading out for a night managing Nirvana, I found the loft vacant.

Stitches told me all about how Delphine had dolled herself up and snuck out without her security detail. Luckily, he’d caught on quick enough to follow her and report to me where she was going.

Dinner with a so-called “friend”.

Chadwick fucking Thomas with his pocket squares and corny jokes. Son of a tech CEO, he’s a prosecutor in Easton, and the type of guy who’d weep if he got mud on his designer loafers.

The servers at Ostra tried to stop me as I stormed into the private dining room. Two of my men intercepted them with intimidating stares and generous tips.

I came to the door just as Ernest Jr. put his hand on Delphine. He reached out and palmed her shoulder, leaning closer with some over-confident smile pasted on his face. He fuckingwinkedat her!

My glare became lethal, the tick in my cheek sharp. He needed to get his hands off her if he liked having two of them.

I won’t hesitate to make good on that threat.

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