Giulio sets his menu down immediately and straightens in his seat. The words on my own menu blur together, so there’s no point in my holding on to it, either. I glance between the two men, waiting as ice drips down my spine. Anxiety spirals in my head.
What if Don Luciani doesn’t like me? Did he want Giulio to marry his original bride? Or would any woman do? For that matter, why did Giulio have to get married in the first place?
My mind ping-pongs around, more and more questions pouring through my head at lightning speed. I’m so absorbed in them that I don’t even hear the first half of Giulio’s introduction until he settles a hand on my back and looks at me. I jerk my gaze to his, realizing he’s frowning.
Shit. What did he say? Am I supposed to say something now? My eyes return to Don Luciani. Despite the wrinkles on his face and the spots on his hands and neck, he still has a full, thick head of dark gray and silver hair. His soft brown eyes are similar to Dante’s, and they’re zeroed in. Right. On. Me.
The urge to start word vomiting rises from the depths.No! Don’t you fucking dare, I warn myself. My anxiety skyrockets.You’re fine. Just remain calm.
Unfortunately, my sweat glands don’t seem to get the message because despite the air conditioning rolling over the back of my neck and down my arms, I swear it feels like I’ve entered a million-degree sauna.
Fear? Check.
Anxiety? Check.
Nausea? Fucking Check.
A mafia boss is just like everyone else, I tell myself.
Except he’ll probably cut your voice box out and feed it to his dogs if you piss him off.The tarp flaps again.
I don’t need your negativity right now.I should’ve gagged her before I threw her into the cage.
Unable to stop from reaching out, my hand grazes Giulio’s strong, muscled thigh. Holy shit! He must work out because his thigh is just as defined beneath the black slacks he’s wearing as the muscles of his forearms.No, damn it, focus, Daisy!Out of the corner of my mouth, I hiss a question at the man next to me. “What am I supposed to fucking do?”
Giulio looks down at me, brow furrowing. “Say hello.”
“That’sit?” I squeak. “No curtsy?”
His head swivels, and the burn of his stare sears into the side of my face, but come on, it’s a valid question. There aren’t exactly manuals or how-to guides for how to meet a mafia boss. Even if there are, it’s too late now—we’re here.
Giulio inhales, his hand firming against my back and smoothing upward. Oh, I really wish he’d stop that—my insides are having a rave over his touch, and I don’t need to be turned on while meeting a man who could order my death in a heartbeat. “Papá,” Giulio says, nodding to Don Luciani withthe deference due to a man who is well respected. “This is my wife, Daisy.”
The moment of truth is here. My eyes meet Don Luciani’s; his expression is unreadable.
Should I thank him for not killing me? Should I offer my hand? Was I right about the curtsy? Should I stand? Do you curtsy to a mafia boss like you would to the queen of England? Or king now, I guess. Whatever.
Hundreds of thousands of thoughts spin through my head in a matter of no more than fifteen seconds, yet the question remains:What’s the most appropriate way to greet a mafia boss?
“Daisy?” Giulio’s voice yanks me back to the present, and without stopping to think any harder about what’s already promising to explode my brain, I just go with my gut. I stand up and walk around the table toward Don Luciani. Giulio hand falls away from my back, but both his and Dante’s eyes follow my every movement. Haughty Man scowls as I approach.
“Hello, Mr. Luciani,” I say, forcing a bright smile onto my face as I step forward. “I’m Daisy.” I lean down and throw my arms around the seated older man. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
For a moment, there’s no response. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows my sudden movement. No one speaks, and Don Luciani doesn’t move under my embrace.
You know, if there’s ever a zombie apocalypse, I think you’ll be just fine, says a voice that is annoyingly similar to my own.’Cause they eat brains and you obviously don’t have any.
Two words, I snap.Ball. Gag.
Ballgag is one word.
No, it isn’t!I could scream.Is itreallyone word?
“Daisy?”
I close my eyes at Giulio’s shocked voice. They’re definitely going to kill me now.Stupid, Daisy.I should have gone with the curtsy. You can never go wrong with a curtsy. Not that I know how to perform one, but it can’t be that hard, can it? Too late now, I suppose.
Slowly, I slip my hands back, only to stop as Don Luciani’s own arms finally come up to clasp me to him. A low rumble I recognize as a chuckle reverberates from his chest into mine, and relief swamps me. Oh, thank fuck. He’s not mad.
