Page 25 of My Mafia King

I’ve never been in one of those.

My stomach clenches as a different thought swirls in my head, and Tina comes to mind.

I fear these flashbacks.

I’m not superstitious, but they’re never good.

Sweat lines my palm as I feel my way around my purse.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, swiftly noticing that I struggle.

“Yes.”

He pulls the chair out for me, flicking his chin toward my purse.

“What’s in your bag?” he asks before signaling the servers to bring the food.

The man multitasks with ease.

“Open it up,” he says as I fail to answer. “Toss the contents on the table,” he continues, and I look at him a bit baffled before moving my focus to the pristine tablecloth, buoyant floral arrangement, and the light hitting everything at a flattering angle.

More than ever, I’m convinced this is a wedding room.

It’s nicely decorated even now, although we are the only two people here, except for the servers.

The tablecloth is done in a faint shade of lavender, and white lilies sit on the table.

They pair up well.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes.”

He slides into his seat across from me and shrugs out of his suit jacket.

His sleek vest fits him perfectly, highlighting his hard torso, muscular neck, broad shoulders, chiseled arms, and white shirt that runs smoothly over his flat abdomen.

His eyes hold a fascinating mix of coldness and interest, and his gaze stalls on me, expressing sincere admiration as if he’s suddenly discovered something of significance in me that he has missed before.

I become more acutely aware of his presence as I pull my shoulders back, straighten my spine, and reach for my purse.

“Slowly…” he says, hinting it might be a joke, although nothing with him is.

His eyes relay that, slightly narrowed and glinting with a perfectly concealed smile behind the rim of his glass as he takes a swig of hard liquor.

I don’t know what he means by that, but I put him at ease, fulfilling his request.

I pick up my purse, turn it upside down, and‘slowly’unzip it. The few things I have are falling onto the table one by one.

My shabby cheap wallet, burner phone, car keys, lip gloss, and mascara.

“That’s it?” he asks, setting his phone down.

“Yes.”

“Why a burner phone?” he asks, not spending too much time studying my cell phone.

“Uh…”

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