Page 6 of Above ’N’ Beyond

“Hey, I like dogs,” she countered. “No, I love dogs. This guy was a misogynistic beast.”

Tony stared at the dark-eyed, bearded stranger. “That was fuckin’ ballsy.”

The stranger shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not really.”

Bella had to agree. Whoever Satan was, he looked strong enough to pound Smarmy’s head through the wall with the merest flick of his finger.

Satan held Tony’s gaze rock steady, something most people in this town didn’t do, knowing who her cousin really was.

Tony grinned and held out his arms. “Come here, Fist.”

Bella widened her eyes as Tony and the stranger embraced in a manly hug tight enough to squeeze the air from a buffalo’s lungs.

“About time you showed up.” Tony clapped the man now known as Fist heartily on the back. Mobsters were big on nicknames, so…

Tony rubbed Fist’s back in a seemingly affectionate gesture Bella had seen her cousin and his crew use many times before. There may indeed be some affection there, but mostly her cousin was doing it for an entirely different reason. He was checking for recording devices. Was there anything nice anyone in her family did without a hidden agenda?

No. She’d learned that firsthand.

“Bella, this is Jimmy ‘The Fist’ Santoro. He’s the guy who saved my ass in prison.”

Ah. That guy.

Tony had regaled her and Paola with the story, practically a local legend at this point, of how someone had tried knifing him in prison, and if it hadn’t been for another inmate stepping in, he’d be dead.

Jimmy Santoro turned that piercing brown gaze solely on her. For a stupidly and embarrassingly long moment, she couldn’t utter a single word, so mesmerizing were his eyes. She shook her head and blinked twice before realizing a very large, very tanned hand was extended in her direction.

“Nice to meet you,” Jimmy said, his deep voice sending a not terribly unpleasant shiver racing up her spine.

“Um. You, too.” She placed her hand in his, and when his fingers closed around hers, her entire hand seemed to disappear. His smile deepened a fraction, and the corners of his eyes crinkled just a hair, like he’d found something amusing but was being polite and keeping his mouth shut. And speaking of his mouth, those lips were—

Nope. Don’t go there. Any friend of Tony’s is a mobster. I don’t do mobsters. Not even ones with incredible eyes, lips, and sexy, bulging muscles.

A corner of his mouth lifted higher, making her wonder what he really looked like beneath all that satanic facial hair.

“Thank you for helping out,” she managed to say when her brain blinked back on. “Lunch is on the house. I’ll start you off with bruschetta, tomato caprese, and arancini.” The last of which was her absolute fave appetizer, one she’d sworn off until her aunt got off her back about losing that weight. Those yummy little fried balls of rice, ham, and cheese had a tendency to go straight to her ass—both cheeks. Arancini ass.

“Grazie.”

“Do you speak Italian?” Not everyone with a vowel at the end of their last name actually did.

“Not really.” He smiled fully, revealing a nice set of white teeth. “But I do speak Italian food.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place.” Turning to leave, she realized she couldn’t. Their hands were still firmly clasped. Heat flamed her face, trekking at light speed down her neck to her breasts. If only she weren’t wearing a thin silk blouse. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

When he released her hand, she spun and got a faceful of ficus, the same one she’d barely missed face-planting into when she’d first glimpsed Jimmy Santoro in the doorway.

Uttering an audible groan, she straightened, wishing and pretending a restaurant full of customers hadn’t just witnessed her tragic collision with a plant.

As Bella flew past the bar to fetch the appetizers, Sierra grinned as she filled water glasses. “He’s hot.” Her grin broadened.

“He’s a mobster,” Bella shot back quietly over her shoulder. Okay, so he was a hot mobster. Hot, cold, tepid…still a mobster.

A few minutes later, she returned to the dining room with the appetizers. She set the plates in front of Jimmy, noting the sour look on Marco’s face as he glared at the other man from across the table. “Have you decided on an entrée?”

Jimmy looked up at her, only slightly. Even sitting, his eyes were practically level with hers. The same attractive smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “What’s good today?”

She parked a hand on her hip. This guy was about to regret his question. “Do you really think I would serve something in my restaurant that wasn’t good?”