Once we’re finished with the salads and appetizers, I sit back and stare at him. My second glass of wine disappears. He fills up my third.
“If I’m going to consider this insanity, I want to know about you first.”
He runs a finger along his clean fork. “There’s not much to say.”
“I doubt it. I want the full story. You can start at birth.”
“Well, I don’t remember coming out very well.”
“You may skip ahead if that helps.”
Stellan tells me about his early life. He talks about being born in South Philadelphia to a Swiss mother and an Italian father. Hismother ran off with their car mechanic when he was still little. He talks about coming up in the family business, though he’s purposefully vague about it. He mentions a mentor who showed him the ropes and taught him everything he needed to know. Our duck arrives when he mentions his father’s passing. It’s fantastic. The duck, not the dead dad.
I listen intently, surprised that he’s being so open about his life, but I notice the gaps in the story. He leans on generalizations and doesn’t go into detail. He talks aboutwork, about learning how tooperate, but he doesn’t tell me what any of that means. When I ask, he gives me a hard stare and moves on.
But the implication is clear.
This man is a straight-up criminal.
My heart’s pattering and I can’t finish my meal. He seems satisfied when the waitress brings out a slice of cheesecake to split. “Have as much as you want,” he murmurs.
I can’t bring myself to take a single bite. “What do we do now?” I ask, feeling too amped up to go back home. We’ve barely been out for two hours, and I don’t want Gem to be awake when I get back. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I have to look her in the eye and talk to her about this date, knowing that I could marry Stellan and change her life for the better tomorrow.
“I know a place nearby. We could go there.”
“What kind of place?”
“Somewhere loud and dark.”
“Perfect.” I finish my third glass of wine. “Take me.”
KIRA
He seems amused as he pays the bill with a thick black metal credit card and leaves an absurdly large tip in cash. Back outside, he waves the car off and tells the driver to follow as we walk around the corner. I hesitate when he offers his arm, but I relent and allow myself to touch his bicep.
It’s thick and warm. He’s tall and walks with a purposeful stride. I have to hurry to keep up. I’m feeling a little tipsy from the alcohol, but not drunk yet.
The club is close. I’m chilly by the time the line appears around the corner. I slow, thinking we’ll have to wait, but Stellan keeps on going. He approaches the bouncer, who immediately opens the rope for him. I’m aware of a dozen young people, some staring with shock and others with frustrated hostility.
“Glad you’re back, Mr. Corsetti,” the bouncer says. “Should we prepare your table?”
“Yes, please. And have them send up a bottle.”
“Right away.”
I hesitate, glancing over my shoulder. I can’t remember the last time I went to a club like this—the music’s bleeding out through the stone walls—and I’ve never skipped a line before. A strange, giddy thrill runs into my stomach.
I know this guy is rich. I can tell he’s powerful. But who the hell is he, really?
We’re led into an upscale club. There’s a dance floor with a DJ at one end and a massive bar complex on the other. The space is filled with people, some grinding and dancing, while others sprawl on couches drinking fancy cocktails. Men prowl and women laugh in groups. I’m overwhelmed at first, at least until Stellan’s hand slips into mine as he draws me across the building toward a set of stairs.
There’s a second level that overlooks the first. It’s quieter up top. The people here are more subdued. Women sprawl in laps. One couple is violently making out in a corner, and I’m pretty sure she’s giving the guy a handjob under the table. We’re taken to a private area in the corner where more wine is already waiting.
“This place doesn’t really feel like your scene,” I say, leaning in close so he can hear me.
He pours two glasses. “I don’t come here often.”
“You’re making an exception for me?”
