I look away and run my hand down the dress.
“I’m surprised he’s taken an interest in you. You’re young for the women he typically dates.”
“Whoa.” I raise my hand. “I am not one of Cristian’s women. He’s doing me a favor and letting me stay here.”
She blinks at me. “A favor?”
I nod.
“My brother doesn’t do favors without a price, Natalia.” Her voice softens as she squeezes my shoulder. “What’s the price for you?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek while racking my brain for a response.
How much does Cristian share with Helena?
I decide to go with honesty. “Information.”
She sighs again, worry creasing her forehead. “That’s not his price with you, Natalia. I know my brother. He wants more than information from you.”
“I have nothing else to give him.”
Helena wrinkles her nose.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, smacking her arm. “I’m not sleeping with my best friend’s father.”
She eyes me skeptically. “I will pray for your soul, Natalia, because my brother will crush it with his bare hands.”
Helena’s words haunt me after she leaves.
What’s Cristian’s play here?
He’s up to something.
Just as he said, his favors aren’t free.
Everything with Cristian comes at a price.
What’s my price?
My next visitor for my dinner makeover is Carmela. Her dress is shorter than mine, her heels higher. Unlike Helena, there’s no kindness. I have no idea whether she’s part of this family, but she seems to fit into this world.
She’s in charge of hair and makeup, but her job doesn’t last long. When she yanks a brush through my hair, assaulting my poor scalp, I stop her.
“I can do this,” I say, pressing my hand over the brush.
She jerks away from me, mutters, “Thank God,” under her breath, and throws her supplies back into her bag. She doesn’t say another word to me before leaving the bedroom.
Carmela is not a Natalia fan.
I roll my eyes and steal a straightener from Gigi’s bathroom to finish my hair. My winged eyeliner takes me three attempts to perfect, thanks to my shaky hands. I finish my makeup with cherry-red lipstick and pucker my lips into the mirror.
This isn’t the first time I’ve gone to dinner with a man in the Mafia.
But it’s the first time the man isn’t my boyfriend.
I shiver, wishing I knew how terrible Cristian’s intentions are.
At eight o’clock sharp, there’s a knock on the door. Dario is waiting for me when I open it. His gaze travels down and back up my body, his smile building shrewder by the second.
I snap my fingers in his face.
Dario shuffles backward. “Mr. Marchetti requests you meet him in the car.”
Of course.
The monster doesn’t come to you.
You go to him.
I follow Dario downstairs, and he stops to wave me out the door. The humidity is sticky when I walk out. My hair will be a hot mess by the end of the night.
An aged man is standing in front of a black SUV, waiting for me.
No sign of Cristian.
“Miss Natalia,” the man says, waving me over.
He opens the door when I reach him and assists me into the back seat, where Cristian already is. His attention is on his phone, and he doesn’t pay me a glance as I make myself comfortable.
I’ve had shared rides with Uber riders who acknowledged me better. He’s the one who asked—no, demanded—my presence for dinner, yet he’s acting like my company is a nuisance.
The only sound during the drive to who knows where is the classical music flowing through the SUV’s speakers. Cristian types on his phone and periodically speaks to the driver in Italian—a language I wish I’d picked up on, so I could eavesdrop on their little conversation.
I clutch the door handle, ready to barrel-roll out of the SUV, when the driver pulls into the busy parking lot of L’ultima Cena.
If you want authentic Italian food, you go to L’ultima Cena. That is, if you have deep pockets, an influential last name, or you’re a man the public is terrified of. Otherwise, it takes months to book a reservation. It’s also Vinny’s favorite and most frequented restaurant.
L’ultima Cena translates to the last supper. It’s an appropriate name for a restaurant that caters to men in the crime world. They’ll easily book a private room and then clean it up if there’s a murder—for an extra fee, of course. This restaurant is known for serving many men their last supper.
“I can’t go in there,” I frantically tell Cristian while smacking my hand against the seat in front of me.
He ignores my panic and calmly adjusts the collar of his shirt. “You have no choice.”
“This is the Lombardis’ favorite restaurant.”
“It’s also my favorite.” His smirk chills me to the bone.
Without another word, Cristian opens the door and steps out of the SUV. I’m shocked when he holds out his hand to me. I cross my arms and refuse to take it. My heart clutches in my chest, warning me to stay in the vehicle if I know what’s best for me.
Cristian can dine alone for all I care.
This city is too small.
I’ve dined here with Vinny countless times.
If people see me with Cristian, there will be talk.
Vinny will receive a text within five minutes and know where I am.
Then, I will join the list of victims who had their last supper at L’ultima Cena.
“We can do this one of two ways, Natalia,” Cristian says, his voice and face tight. “Either you get out of this car willingly or I drag you out of it.”
“Drag me out, then.” I have more confidence than I should, arguing with a mob boss.
But I might win this one.
Cristian is a man who maintains a low profile.
Dragging a woman from his car isn’t low profile.
Neither is bringing Vinny Lombardi’s ex-girlfriend to his favorite restaurant.
Shit, maybe I won’t win this one.
Cristian slams the door so hard that the car shakes, and he storms around the SUV. I yelp when he swings my door open.
His face burns as he climbs into the back seat and invades my space. “Natalia, do not fucking test me.”
We’re so close that I breathe in the cinnamon on his breath—can practically taste it. I shiver when his chilly hand clamps around my bare thigh. His palm is rough but soft—a man who gets his hands dirty but makes sure to moisturize after.
“And dragging you out in this dress will give me a delightful view of your pussy.” He gives my thigh a firm squeeze that will definitely leave a bruise. “Your choice, sweet Natalia. You have five seconds.”
My head buzzes at everything going on around me—Cristian so close, his touch, the car beeping from Cristian having the door open. All of it is too much.
I hate being at his mercy.
There’s nowhere for me to run or hide.
“Five.” His face hardens.
He stretches farther into the seat, closer to me, and moves his hand from my thigh to my face. I can’t stop myself from shivering with desire.
“Four.” His strong fingers close around my chin. The grip is so tight that I’m unable to break from his hold.