Conquered by the Mafia Boss

“Fuck work.”

He smirks at that. “Ask Tommy if you can cut out early. I’ll wait.”

“You better.”

As I slide from his lap, I feel his hands on my ass. There are people watching us as he gives me a rough squeeze and then slaps me, sending me on my way. He winks at me when I turn around, and I feel like shrinking on the spot.

The men jeer after me as I enter the back and look for Tommy. He’s on the phone, a mess of paperwork scattered on his desk. He’s frowning.

“All right, I’ll-yeah. Thanks, Vince.”

At the mention of his name, fear stabs my chest. The high from successfully asking out Tony pops like a soap bubble, and a chill creeps up my arms.

Vincent. There’s only one that Tommy and I know.

He hangs up the phone and folds his hands into steeples, looking unhappy. “Listen, Vince just found out that one of his men was detained for resisting arrest. He doesn’t know why, but he wants one of us to bail him out. Whatever you’re going to do, you better do it fast.”

My face drains of color. “Thanks-I was going to leave with Tony. Is that all right?”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops himself. “Yeah, okay.”

Shit. He’s getting bailed out a lot sooner than I thought.

I gather my things and head out, fixing a smile when I rejoin Tony at the bar. The sooner I ask him, the better. The tension in his face dissolves somewhat when I take his hand. A dark, searching look descends over him as he squeezes my fingers.

“Are you hungry? I was going to take that girl to dinner.”

Surprised, I look up at his expressionless face. “Yeah, a little.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

He leads me out of the bar, holding the door open for me with a self-assured smile. God, the man exudes confidence. All of Dad’s men seemed like that, at first. It took a few months for me to realize the difference between confidence and cocky assholes flying off the handle at every perceived slight.

“So what kind of food do you like?”

“Oh, anything is fine. Really.”

We walk down the streets as I cling to his hand for warmth. He keeps giving me meaningful looks as we pause for the lights, and then we finally stop in front of a restaurant. Tapeo.

“Hope you like Spanish.”

There’s a line inside the restaurant. The foyer is completely packed, but Tony calmly pushes to the front where the hostess recognizes him.

“There’s no way we’ll get a table!” I shout over the din.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

He gives me a secretive smile and nods toward the hostess. “Table for two,” he says in his deep voice.

“Right this way, Mr. Vidal.”

My jaw drops as he turns around to give me a wink.

Of course. Johnny must have all the restaurants in the city in his pocket.

The hostess takes the heavy coat from my shoulders, and I feel oddly vulnerable without it. I’m dressed in a flowing tank top and jeans, and he’s in a suit. Discomfort rattles against my ribs.

It’s a nice restaurant, low lit and moody. The golden tone of the lights complements the steel-blue walls nicely. Tony’s strong hand wraps around my waist and a flash of desire trails up my thighs. I forgot what it was like to be excited for a date, to have his hands around my waist, and for that small, yet powerfully intimate touch to send a thrill to my heart.

But it’s not a date.

No, I’m here to ask Tony for a favor.

The hostess leads us to a table with two white, round candles. The rustic decor in the restaurant gives the place a trendy vibe. There are no tablecloths. Tony pulls my chair out and pushes me in when I sit down.

It’s kind of startling to see how well mannered he is. I didn’t expect it because he talks like a goddamn jerk.

Here we go.

My nerves fire up as he sits across from me and orders a bottle of wine. The sommelier whisks back with the bottle, pouring two glasses for us. I take the delicate stem in my hands and swallow a small gulp, shuddering as it spreads heat over my chest. Tony looks vaguely content, his eyes relaxed, but with the occasional glance toward the door.

I wish I could just sit here and enjoy the night like a normal person.

“When was the last time you’ve been on a date?” I ask him.

“I go on dates all the time, I just don’t go on second dates.”

“Why not?”

He lifts his shoulder in an elegant shrug as a complicated look flashes over his face. “What’s the point?”

What’s the point?

“Oh, I don’t know. Friendship? Love?”

He smiles at me. “I don’t know if I care about any of that.”

Wow.

“What do you care about?”

He grins like a devil. “Pussy. Money. Those are my two loves.”

It’s like a wrench inside my chest. This is going to go so badly. A man like this will never agree to a marriage of convenience.

“Aren’t you a charmer,” I say in a very dry voice, sipping more wine.

“I never pretended to be.”