“Be back shortly, folks.” Our server hustles away.
“Come here often?” I ask Kane when the silence between us grows awkward.
“Most weeks, yeah.”
“You need to be careful.”
His brow quirks up in confusion. “Why?”
I smirk. “Eating too much fatty food will make you fat.”
He scoffs and lifts his tee. “See any fat here, kitten?”
I peer over the table and inspect his abs. Holy shit. The man has zero percent body fat.
“Um, I hate to break it to you, bud, but that looks like the beginnings of a dad bod to me. How old are you anyway? Like forty?”
He growls. “I’m thirty, three years older than Angelo.”
That shuts me up for a second. I thought Angelo was way older. He sure acts older.
“Still old enough to be my sugar daddy.” I wink, and he laughs just as the redhead brings our drinks.
“Wow,” she marvels, passing me a chocolate shake with cream, sprinkles, and lashings of chocolate sauce. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh.”
Kane grabs his soda and rolls his eyes. “Not much to laugh about in my line of work, Janice,” he deadpans.
My stomach feels full to bursting, and I could do with a nap. In fact, on reflection, I might soak in the tub and then have an early night.
Kane steers the car through Angelo’s huge metal gates with our two stooges close behind. Aside from some surface-level chat while we ate, he’s not said much, although I’ve caught him staring at me a few times.
“Thanks,” I say when we stop outside the house and he switches the engine off. Thanking that man for anything feels wrong given he’s fifty percent of the reason I’m here, but I can’t deny it wasn’t nice to sit in a diner for a short while and eat good, plain food.
A pleasant vacation from my shit-show of a life.
“You’re welcome, kitten,” he replies. His usual smirk is missing, and I’m not sure why. He went quiet after Janice commented about never hearing him laugh. What’s that about? He has a sense of humor. I heard him laugh when I behaved badly at the gala.
“Do you kill people for Angelo?” The throwaway comment about his line of work being nothing to laugh about has stuck in my head like an irritating pop tune.
His hand freezes on the door handle. “Why? Would it bother you if I did?”
I think about that for a moment and am surprised when I realize it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.
“Not if they’re bad people,” I admit.
His lip quirks up. “There are no good or bad people in our world, Chiara. Only shades of gray.”
“So that would make you morally gray?” I like books with morally gray MMCs. Which says a lot about me and my fucked-up head.
“Been reading mafia romances, kitten?” Kane winks, and I blush. He must have seen my latest reading material on the nightstand. Fina dropped off some books the other day. All of them filthy as fuck.
“I prefer smutty cowboy romances. Can’t beat a sexy dude in Wranglers and cowboy boots.”
“I see,” Kane says while trying not to laugh. “Did you meet many sexy cowboys when you landed in Texas?”
Now it’s my turn to smirk. “I met lots of sexy cowboys, Kane. Sometimes two at a time.” Aside from the bull rider, I met precisely zero sexy cowboys, but it’s amusing to let Kane think otherwise. He might tell Angelo, who will then lose his shit.
“Two at a time, eh?” To my surprise, Kane’s eyes darken and he leans in. “Color me shocked.”
