Page 88 of A Dangerous Kind of Love

“Steak.”

“Side?”

“A big fat baked potato,” she says, smiling, completely unpolished. I fucking love it.

“You heard the woman,” I say to the server. “I’ll take the same.”

“How do you want that cooked?” the server says.

“Medium,” Katie pipes in.

“I’ll do the same,” I say passing the menu off.

She nods and leaves. I take a drink, set the glass back down, and let my eyes move across the room once before coming back to her.

“What is this place? I’ve never heard of it.” she says.

“Dominico’s. It’s not exactly on Yelp.”

She snorts, and I laugh with her before I think about it. It carries just enough. Heads turn. Michael Amato, mafia don, laughing in public. I feel it settle across the room but choose to ignore it.

“I swear,” she says.

“What?”

“You take me somewhere suddenly people are watching. The hotel, now this. It’s not normal.”

I don’t react.

She watches me with a smile on her face. “Are you part of the mafia?”

“Doll,” I say, taking a drink. “I’m just really rich.”

Chapter 33

Katie

The server sets our plates down, and the steak in front of me looks like heaven. I look up, and Michael’s leaned back in his chair, whiskey in his hand, watching me the same way he has been all night. He’s relaxed and comfortable.

Something is off though. No one is staring outright, but I can feel it anyway. The way people look over and quickly look away. The way the staff moves around him like they don’t want to be the one who gets something wrong. I get that he’s the CEO of Amato Operations. I understand that, but this is more than that.

What are they so worried about? What’s he going to do if someone messes up? Not tip them? The thought almost makes me smile, but I remember the conservatory. His hand in my dress. The way Michael yelled at his employee. The entire room shifted around it. Then last night him telling me he’d kill the man from the bar. It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact.

Then I think about how he was with my mom today, how he didn’t hesitate, and made everything easier. I think about everything he does when it comes to me. He holds me so gently when I sleep. He was so open with me about his childhood, and then today how he made everything so much easier with my mom. That’s the version of him I know. That’s the one that matters. Not whatever this is.

He reaches across the table and takes my hand, his thumb brushing once over my knuckles.

“My other driver, Sal, is picking us up,” he says. “I’ve got someone taking your car back to your place.”

“Michael—“

“I’m drinking tonight,” he cuts me off, his eyes still on mine. “And I’m assuming you’ll want to when we get to the club.”

He’s not wrong.

“Okay,” I say.

“Good girl,” he says.