“You’ll see.”
The server brings wine and pours me a sample. After tasting, I nod in approval, and he leaves the bottle for me. I own the catering company, and whoever is at my table gets the perks. I serve my customers, of course. “Bring more, please,” I tell the server.
The mobsters stare at the bottles of red wine. “Allow me,” I say.
They smirk because they think they’re all big alpha males who don’t serve drinks. Wait and see what happens. I know what I’m doing. I pour a glass for Kaya first. She’s a lady guest who’s not mine at the table, and this is Etiquette 101. Her smile splits her face, and the brute beside her is giving me a death stare. Vanessa next and then everyone else.
Kaya downs the half glass I poured. She’s pregnant, and I hear pregnant women can have a full glass. I take five and observe her brute for signs he’ll acknowledge that his wife is in need of a refill. But no. Oblivious.
When Kaya starts to stand and bend over the table, I hold my tie near my body and reach for the bottle. “Allow me.”
“Thank you, Blake. You’re so attentive. Any lady would be lucky to have you.” She smiles at Nessa.
Excellent. My lady blushes and smiles back. Mmhm.
The brute might jab me with a fork. Because he’s sat his big ass near me, I lean in and whisper, “Nice ring.” That one time he thought I wanted to steal his wife, he beat the shit out of me. Yes, he did. I’m not too proud to admit losing to the giant because let’s be realistic here. He’s the brute. But I did give him facial swellings and a split lip, so not bad for a suit guy who doesn’t get to fight mobsters too often. Or ever, before that incident.
Once the fight was over, and because I realized he was hopeless when it came to the needs of women, I suggested he buy his wife a ring. You know, like normal men do.
And he has. A very fine ring she wore at our photo shoot, further marketing my cologne for the rest of her natural life.
“Nice choice for a ring,” I rephrase, because he’s ignoring my snark.
He eyes me sideways, then smiles, showing a healthy set of nice teeth. “We haven’t met,” the motherfucker (I cursed again) says and extends a hand toward my lady. He introduces himself, all charm and twinkle eyes.
I glare.
Vanessa clasps his hand, and he shakes it as brutes do, nearly ripping her arm off. Brute, please. He doesn’t stand a chance of competing with me around all things women. I don’t rip ladies’ arms off.
I glance at Hudson, who’s openly staring at the Italian’s woman. The girl’s maybe eighteen to nineteen years old to his Italian’s sixty-some. Before the Italian orders a kill on my brother, I break my plans with Nessa and tell Hudson, “We’ll meet tomorrow at nine.”
My brother finally peels his eyes off the girl and says, “You’re late. I found something else to do.”
“I’m never late,” I bite out.
“You are now.”
“What are you doing?” I grit from between clenched teeth.
My brother pulls out an envelope, same one as I got from Nessa. He opens it, scribbles on it, and passes it over to the Italian. The man accepts and whispers into the girl’s ear. She looks like she’s about to have an anxiety attack. Vinnie nudges her, and the girl, as if on strings, stands, then proceeds to sit next to my brother.
What happened there? Are the Italians selling hymens to every billionaire in town?
“I’ll be right back,” Nessa says and walks to the girl. They leave for the bathroom. I lunge out of my chair and plop next to Hudson to hiss in his ear, “What was that?”
“I bought a bride,” he says flatly.
“Virginity, you mean.”
“A bride.”
I feel robbed. I turn to the Italian. “You sold me only a hymen.”
The old man nods. “We saw more potential, so now we’re doing brides.”
I cannot believe I’m saying this. “I should’ve waited.”
Vinnie nods. “Yours would’ve agreed. Brides are going for two mil. That’s my daughter, so more.” He points in the direction of the bathroom.
