Her smile widened, causing the skin around her eyes to crinkle. “Sure. That would be great.”
Taking her uninjured hand in mine, I gently tugged her to her feet. The moment we both reached our full heights, Rory gasped and took a giant step backward.
All I could think about was how much time and money I’d wasted on a disguise my wife had seen right through and wondered how in the hell I was going to cart her out of here without making a scene.
Chapter 2
Rory
Icursedmyinvoluntaryinstinct to cower, especially since the stranger had been so helpful and kind, but it wasn’t something I could control. Tall men—those easily over six feet—had made me nervous ever since I’d gone on the run from my husband.
Seven years was long enough for me to stop looking over my shoulder everywhere I went, but apparently not long enough that I wasn’t triggered at the sight of a man who towered over my petite five-one frame.
Greenish gold eyes peered back at me from beneath lowered eyebrows. “Problem, Ro?”
I blinked at him. “H-how did you know my name?”
When he reached toward me, I flinched, and he dropped his hand, a look of chagrin on his face. “Sorry. It’s just that your nametag kinda gave it away.” He gestured to the rectangular pin affixed to my shirt.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Oh, right.”
Get it together, Rory. It’s a damn miracle you’ve survived this long on your own if you’re freaking out over a guy pointing out that obviously your name would be visible when working in the service industry.
The man standing opposite me ran a hand through his chin-length dark brown hair, the action causing his tattooed bicep to bunch. Damn, now that I got a good look at him, he had defined muscleseverywhere. And while his rugged appearance was enticing, it was the glasses and neatly trimmed beard that really had my mouth watering. He gave off the vibes of being both strong and smart, and I swiped a hand over my mouth to make sure my tongue hadn’t lolled out.
“I’m John,” he offered.
John. I took comfort in the Anglo-Saxon name. It was a far cry from some of the more ethnic ones you found within organized crime families—my own included, considering I was the daughter of a Seamus O’Malley and the wife of a Giovanni Bellini.
A shiver rolled down my spine just thinking of Gio and what he would do to me when he discovered my location. I was living on borrowed time because, if I knew my husband at all, he would never stop searching. The head of the Bellini Mafia was a prideful man, and my unauthorized departure would have been a direct hit to his ego.
“John.” I gave the man a curt nod. “While it was nice running into you—”
A bark of laughter cut off my polite attempt at a getaway.
Pressing a hand to his chest when his amusement tapered off, John flashed me with a brilliant smile. Damn, his teeth were amazingly white. “You made a joke.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Figured it would help lighten the mood.”
He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It worked.”
“I’m glad, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to let the kitchen know we need a refire on the entire table.”
When I turned to leave, he called out to my back, “Wait.”
Halting my steps, I fought against a sigh as I peeked over my shoulder. “Yes?”
Sheepishly, John dropped his gaze to the floor, which was extra colorful, courtesy of the eight dropped entrees. “You’re going to have to pay for this, aren’t you?”
“It’s fine.” I waved him off, even though he was right and I’d be in the hole over a hundred bucks on my next paycheck.
Whipping out his wallet, he pulled out several bills. “Hopefully, this is enough to cover it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You really don’t have to—”
He shoved the money into my hand. “I insist. And I’m going to leave my number at the hostess stand. If you end up needing stitches, please reach out so I can cover your medical expenses as well.”
Almost as if on cue, a sharp stinging sensation roared to life where my skin had been sliced open. Glancing at the injury, I saw that while the cut stretched across the entire length of my palm, it wasn’t very deep.
