Page 9 of The Mafia's Property

“You won’t be wearing any,” I said.

She was either too shocked or too disoriented with lust to say anything but nod at my words. My gaze caught the clock on the wall and suddenly I remembered the reason she was here and the place we need to be getting to instead of fooling around.

“Eat,” I said as I stuffed the ripped fabric into my pocket. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I ordered everything.”

She frowned as her gaze went to the food. “You really turn on a dime with no warning.”

“I’ve heard similar sentiments from many people. Are you going to eat or what?”

She shook her head, got down from the counter and picked a croissant, a rash of bacon and coffee. Same breakfast choice that Rico had. Not that it meant anything, of course. Different people made similar breakfast choices all the time. I grabbed a few of the pancakes and piled them high on my plate before drizzling syrup on top.

In no time, we were done eating and on our way to the car.

“You never told me where we were going,” she said as she got into the passenger seat.

“Isn’t it more fun when it’s a surprise?”

Freya

HIS SURPRISES WERE weird. Nico took me pretty much nowhere and everywhere. We went from club to club, doing what I gather to be five to ten-minute rounds. I never went inside, but remained in the car each time he parked in the alley of some of the more famous and exclusive clubs in this city. Sometimes a man would stand by the door, ready to receive him. And if there wasn’t one, he rarely waited too long before the door was opened. At one stop, he came out with a duffel bag and threw it in the trunk. At one stop, he took out the bag and went inside the club with him. Was it drugs? Money? Guns. Heads of his enemies? The bag looked dry and didn’t smell, so maybe it wasn’t the last one.

That was the last round. Now we were driving out of the city, and I was afraid to ask where we were going. My wild mind kept jumping to the conclusion that he found me out and was taking me to the desert and burying there. He was driving a little too fast, and it only raised my worries to a hundred. He, on the other hand was sitting calmly, his attention on the road and barely acknowledged my presence.

“Where are we going?” I asked after an hour of silence.

“I told you,” he said without turning his attention away from the road. “It’s a surprise.”

“A pleasant surprise, I hope.”

He turned to me and flashed a grin. “I’m not going to bury you in the desert, if that’s what you’re worried about. “

I felt my cheeks redden. Am I that obviously scared? I looked down. My hands were gripping the seat. I let go.

“What do you like?” he asked a little while later. My mind raced, wondering what he meant by the question and what my response should be. Was he asking about hobbies or sex stuff? Or sex related hobbies? “Like?” Better to ask for clarification than look the fool.

“Like to do. You know, interests.” Oh. So he was asking about hobbies and shit. I swear I couldn’t get a handle on him. One moment he was mauling me in the kitchen intending to fuck me, the next we were eating breakfast with my underwear in his pockets. Then we went from what I’m pretty sure were drug pickups to now asking me about my hobbies. Hobbies?

“Uh, I enjoy watching shows.”

He nods as if he was already aware of this. “What else?” He momentarily spares a glance at me, taking his eyes off the road.

“Is that all?” I felt like I had been put on the spot. It’s not as if I get a lot of time off work and when I do, I usually go to shows, and maybe the movies. There are so many shows in this town one can’t watch them all. Most of them are repetitive and geared for an audience that’s only watching them once and going back home, but I love the repetitive nature. It is comforting.

“What do you like to do on a date?” he added.

“Date?” Was this what it was? “Whatever you like to do.” He shook his head. “Nah, that’s not going to work on me.”

“I don’t know.” I not a serial dater or anything close to that. My dating history is sparse and usually went nowhere after one night at a restaurant. The only other person I’ve ever been with consistently was my high school boyfriend, and all of those ‘dates’ were mostly us going to parties.

I was at a loss for words. I felt like I was taking a test on a subject I don’t know but have to pass. My brain scrambled for the appropriate response. Lying to him somehow felt wrong. Nico, for all his playfulness, struck me as someone who hated being lied to. It’s going to be hard because I intend on lying to him, but on this I could be honest. “I’ve never been on a serious one before,” I said.

He chuckled. “That’s not going to work on me either,”

I shrugged. “Take it how you want it. I’ve just never been on a lot of dates.”

“But that doesn’t have anything to do with what type of date you’d enjoy.”

“Are you planning on taking me somewhere? You could have asked before we got out. “

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