Page 40 of Shackled By the Mafia Boss

Our food arrives and I help the waitress set the plates on the table. When we’re done, she whispers, “Thank you.”

My gaze follows her as she leaves before I drag my attention to my food. I orderedPasta Alla Gricia.I decided on that since Marcus brought me to an Italian restaurant.

Marcus is havingPasta Puttanesca.It looks good, even better than mine. I’m salivating as I watch him roll the pasta inhis fork and carry it to his mouth. He tries to keep a blank face, but he groans a little and I know the food is good.

I give into the temptation to dig my fork in his food and take a forkful. Rather than being upset like I expected, he smiles as I bring the fork to my mouth. It tastes good. So good.

Now I want his food and I haven’t even tasted mine.

I pick on the chicken in my pasta, I know it will be good, but I want Marcus’s.

“You can have mine,” he says, pushing my plate of food aside and replacing it with his.

I wave at him. “No. No. It’s fine. Mine tastes good too. Please eat.”

“Take it. I can just order another one.”

I shake my head, my cheeks red with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have eaten from yours to begin with. I’m sorry.”

My hair falls over my face and he gently tucks it behind my ear. His thumb brushes my earlobe very lightly, sending a spark of electricity to the rest of my body.

“Why would I be mad you ate from my plate?”

“Well—”

“I’d starve the rest of my life if it means I get to watch you eat,” he says in the calmest tone and with the blankest face ever. “Eat.”

Butterflies awaken in my stomach and my breath hitches.

Jesus. I can’t breathe. I’m too flustered to breathe.

I begin to eat, shifting my attention to the food so I don’t melt under the intensity of his gaze. I think I’ve found a new favorite restaurant to visit when I need to treat myself to a good meal.

Marcus watches me eat, passing a napkin and water to me when I need them. He eats a bite or two from my plate and that is all.

I finish eating and he rings the bell in the center of the table. I’m wiping my lips when she comes in with the bill.

I reach for my bag and bring out my purse. I want to pay my share since I ate most of the food anyway, but my jaw drops when I see the amount on it. The two plates of pasta and water we had is twice my monthly paycheck.

New favorite restaurant, my ass.

I’d be in debt and homeless if I ate here even once. How can food be this expensive?

My mouth is still hanging open when Marcus settles the bill. The waitress clears the table and disappears.

I lean over the table, tugging on the sleeve of his suit. “That was fucking expensive,” I whisper, as if we aren’t the only people in the room.

“That is the cheapest meal I’ve ever had. I only brought you here because I didn’t want to go very far from your office.”

Now my jaw is not only hanging open, but my eyes are bulging from their sockets. “Cheapest? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’ll take you somewhere better next time.”

“No. I’d rather grab French fries and drumsticks from KFC. It’s a lot cheaper.”

Marcus laughs, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal as often as I can. You don’t have to grab a bite from KFC unless you’re craving it.”

He stands up and stretches out a hand to me. I take it and he leads us out the restaurant, opens the passenger door of his Porsche and waits for me to get in before closing it.

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