“Out,” Capo said, holding out his hand.
I set mine in his, and the lights from Macchiavello’s caught all of my jewelry, making the diamonds and sapphires glisten against my skin. My heels tapped against the pavement in a pretty melody. This time, instead of the dumpster assaulting my nose, his cologne and my perfume seemed to float in the air, caressing it. The smell of steak came on stronger the closer we got to the door. My stomach growled, ready to maul something.
“Are you sure I don’t have to sell a kidney for this?” I joked.
He lifted my arm and placed a firm kiss on my wrist. “I believe you’ve sold enough. You’re off the market, Mariposa. You belong to me. No one will be touching you, least of all something as valuable as a kidney.”
At the door, a man waited, decked out in the finest suit, holding it open. “Mr. Mac.” He nodded. “It is a pleasure to see you tonight.”
“Sylvester.” Capo nodded, then pulled me forward, trading my hand for my lower back. His touch was warm, soothing, and as firm as his kiss. “My wife,” he said. “Mariposa Macchiavello.”
The man took my hand and shook it lightly. He congratulated me, called me Mrs. Macchiavello, and then led us away from the door.
“Sylvester is the night manager,” Capo said.
As we walked, Capo and Sylvester spoke in Italian, and I was able to pick up on a few things. Their conversation was about the restaurant. Business matters. But I couldn’t help but notice how all of the staff were looking at me—with nervous glances. The patrons were different. They looked at me with open curiosity.
Who was this normal chick walking next to the force of a man?
Instead of concentrating on the shit going on around me, I decide to savor the experience. I remembered how much I wanted this,the steak, and decided to make my first visit the best.
The restaurant was as classy as I figured it would be, but it was also romantic. Some walls exposed what I guessed was the original brick, while others were painted a deep red. The chairs and tables were black, and the bronze chandeliers held real flickering candles. Each table held a single white rose in a crystal vase.
The bar was on the other side, an entirely different section of the building. From what I could see, the shelves were packed with hundreds of uniquely shaped, shiny bottles. The area reminded me of the old speakeasies Pops used to tell me stories about. That entire side had brick walls, mirroring the ones in the restaurant. The floor was black and white striped marble. A few tables were set up around a small dance floor.
Men and women in expensive clothing sat along the bar in vintage leather chairs. Some of them were turned to each other, conversation flowing, laughter rising over soft music. A man dressed in black tie sat at a grand piano in the corner, playing the instrument and crooning.
The smells…my mouth watered. It wasn’t just steak either. Rich sauces and wines lingered in the air. Below the surface, something sweet circulated. I sniffed harder. Chocolate, and it reminded me of the scent at The Club.
Sylvester stopped at a door that didn’t really look like a door at all. It was brick, matching the wall, and only a golden ring stuck out. He pulled it open, revealing a humongous room. A table that probably could seat forty sat in the middle of it.
The room smelled really sweet, like chocolate again, but even stronger, and the candles made the room feel warmer. Richer. Sexier. The diamonds on my hands and wrists softened when we walked in. So did the dress. The chiffon seemed to shimmer, the light catching the silver and sparking.
This room reflected the restaurant, but on a smaller scale. It was intimate. The music tinkled in here, carried through a speaker somewhere in the room. What caught my eye next made me walk further in to look out. It wasn’t a window, but more like a square piece of glass. I could see the entire restaurant.
“We can see out, but they can’t see in,” Capo said, walking up behind me, looking out at his world.
“The mirror?” I guessed. I had noticed it when we first walked in, but I really didn’t think anything of it. It was fancy, bronze detailing around it, but it was just a mirror. Apparently not. It was a way for him to watch without anyone knowing.
“You’re perceptive,” he said.
“Not really. If I hadn’t seen this room, I would’ve probably made sure my lipstick still looked fresh when I passed it.”
He laughed, real soft, and his breath fanned over my skin, making goosebumps rise on my arms. His chest pressed against my back, and I had the urge to lean back and rest my head against him.
“What do you use this room for?”
“Private parties, but it’s exclusive.”
“Exclusive,” I repeated. “Like for the Faustis?”
“Yes.” He turned me toward the table, and then pulled out a chair for me. It was next to the chair at the head of the table. His spot. He sat, looking at me after he did. “So what do you think, Mariposa? Does it live up to the hype?”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But I need that steak first to say for sure.”
He smiled at me, his eyes a deeper blue in this light. Sapphire, the same color as the ones on my wrist.
“It must be nice to be you.” I sighed dramatically. “You own one of the nicest restaurants in New York.”
