VICTORIA
I WAKE UP the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing. It's the twenty-four-hour concierge for the building asking me if it's okay for a package to be delivered to my apartment.
I have no idea what it could be since I didn't order anything, but I tell Mr. Black it's okay to send it on up.
Glancing out my peephole when the doorbell rings, I see a bouquet of flowers wrapped up in plastic in the hands of a young man.
Opening the door, I find myself smiling from ear to ear when I look upon the enormous bouquet in a large, crystal vase. My first thought is maybe my father is sending them as a sort of apology for signing me up for that ridiculous and downright humiliating auction last night.
I take the heavy vase of flowers from the man's arm, thank him and kick the door shut. Carrying the flowers into the kitchen, I set the vase down on the granite countertop before I rip off the plastic, revealing a dozen red-tipped white roses.
A small, beige-colored envelope is in the center, so I pull it out and open it.
Beautiful roses for a beautiful woman.
Can't wait to see you tonight.
~Damon
My heart skips a beat in my chest as I read over the words again and again, not truly believing my eyes. I've never received flowers before in my life. Hell, I've never even been on a date before, and this really all feels like a fairy tale…or maybe a nightmare, considering I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
Feeling panicked, I grab my phone and send a text to Sophie asking for her help. Before she met her current boyfriend, she dated a lot. If anyone knows what to wear or do or say, it will be her.
-------
"WOW," SOPHIE SAYS with wide eyes when she spots the roses on my kitchen counter. "They're gorgeous!" She reads the card without asking me first if it's okay, but I don't mind. Sophie does and says what she wants, and it's hard to stop her once the ball gets rolling.
She puts the card down and turns to me. "Tell me everything," she begs.
We sit down in the living room as I proceed to tell her everything that happened at the gala. She stays silent throughout the story, but she's practically busting by the time I'm finished.
"Oh my god, this is how all great love stories start out — with a cute meetup. I bet you'll be telling your grandchildren this story," she says with a wink.
I dismiss her with a wave of my hand. "Stop talking about the future…and babies especially, and help me focus on the first date. What should I wear? How should I do my hair?" I ask, flushing from the panic already setting in.
A wide grin splits across her face as she goes to retrieve the stuff she brought with her. She brings over a paper bag with the Helen’s Books and Brews logo on the front and two tall Styrofoam cups in a coffee carrier. “I figured we’d need caffeine and carbs to get through this,” she says before setting everything on the granite countertop.
“Get through what?” I ask, not quite understanding.
“Your makeover,” she says matter-of-factly as if I’m supposed to know what she’s talking about.
“My…makeover?” I say slowly.
“Yeah. Vi, you’re going out with one of the hottest guys we’ve ever seen,” she remarks before going back to the front door to retrieve a large, black duffle bag that she also brought. “This is my bag of tricks. Or should it be called bag of treats?” she wonders out loud. “Anyway,” she says with a wave of her hand, “we’re going to get you all dolled up so that he’s completely smitten and wants to take you out again.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Soph, because I sure as hell don’t,” I groan.
Sophie pats the duffle bag gently. "Oh, Vi, by the time I'm finished with you, you won't have anything to worry about."
CHAPTER 8
DAMON
I ARRIVE AT Victoria’s apartment building at seven on the dot. I'm never late. If anything, I'm always early, but I wanted to keep her waiting up until the very last second.
Anticipation is everything, and I want the upper hand at every possible opportunity.
Control is something I demand in every aspect of my life. Always.
The doorman opens one of the tall, double doors to allow me access to the building. And then it's off to the front desk where the concierge takes my name before calling Victoria to let her know I've arrived.
I glance around the lobby. The place is posh. Hell, even the doorman is wearing a thousand-dollar suit.
Dear old dad obviously wanted the best for his daughter and clearly spared no expense.
Victoria has the penthouse suite on the top floor with her own rooftop terrace. I know people who work their entire lives to be able to afford such luxury and always end up short. Victoria, on the other hand, was handed the apartment on a silver fucking platter.
Yes, I imagine her life was grand after I left — violin lessons, private tutors, extravagant food and luxuries that some people only dream about. Nothing but the best for the mafia princess.
Meanwhile, I was trying to pull myself out of the gutter, living on the street and feeding off scraps I found in the fucking garbage. She forgot all about the boy who only had eyes for her and dreamed of a future with them together.
I had no home to return to. No family. Nothing.
I was all alone in the world at the ripe old age of ten years old.
Her father destroyed my family that horrific night without even so much as a blink of an eye.
And just the thought of Giorgio Ciccone has my hands clenching into fists at my sides as all kinds of thoughts travel through my mind, all of them ending up the same exact way — with him dead and his blood on my hands.
"First date?" the concierge asks while glancing down at my fists.
Immediately, I loosen my hands and flash him a fake smile. "Is it that obvious?" I ask lightheartedly as if I wasn't just committing fifty different ways of homicide in my head.
He chuckles softly and gives me a nod.
I make my fake smile even bigger before turning away from him and staring at the elevators, willing Victoria to show her face.
I don’t know much about her life before she moved back to Manhattan. I didn’t have the funds or resources back then to keep tabs on her. I know she recently graduated college with a business degree, but she doesn’t even have a job. She would rather live off her daddy’s blood money, I suppose, than go out into the working world and try to make a name for herself instead of riding someone else’s coattails.
Although I don’t know that I wouldn’t do the same exact thing if my father had more money than God…
The elevator doors sliding open pulls me from my thoughts. And even though I watched her getting ready on the camera feed earlier and tried to mentally prepare myself for hours before this date, I find myself not even the least bit prepared when my eyes find Victoria stepping out of the elevator.
Unlike last night when she was all dolled up for the gala, she’s wearing a sexy and short little black dress and heels. Her long hair is down tonight and draped over one shoulder in dark, cascading waves. Her makeup is dark and smoky, just like last night, which really accentuates those dark blue eyes of hers, making them look even more violet than usual.
I can’t help but watch her sexy, olive-skinned legs move towards me in those fuck-me heels. Instantly, blood rushes straight to my cock as I stare at her flawless, beautiful skin and imagine what she looks like without a scrap of fabric covering her gorgeous body. My cock roars to life, threatening to burst right out of the zipper of my five-hundred-dollar tailored pants.
She stops walking and has a bewildered look on her face as she asks, “Do I look…okay?” She seems suddenly shy and unsure, and I must admit it’s fucking adorable.
I clear my throat, having trouble even forming words right now. “You look perfect, Victoria,” I say confidently.
Her pout morphs into a breathtaking smile, and I have to glance away from her for a moment. She’s so fucking beautiful that it actually hurts to lo
ok at her.
I always had a tough time looking at her for too long growing up as well. She was the mafia princess, off-limits and unattainable in my eyes. But she always sought me out. Always wanted me to be her friend. Always wanted me in her life.
We were best friends back then, but I always imagined what it would be like to grow up and marry her one day.
Closing my eyes, I force those thoughts back down into the deep, dark depths of my soul where they fucking belong. Then, I shake off the first-date jitters and remind myself what my purpose is here. What my ultimate goal is.
I will destroy Victoria and her father for my revenge, so I can’t allow myself to fall for her, no matter how alluring this temptress is.
Victoria has a long, black coat draped over her arm, and I hiss out a relieved sigh when she dons it, covering most of her beautiful skin, so that I don't go crazy with lust.
“Shall we go?” she asks.
I give her a nod before leading her out of her apartment. As she follows behind me, it feels like I’m leading a lamb to slaughter.
If she only knew my true intentions, this little lamb would run far, far away from me and never look back.
Too bad she won’t find out the truth of my deception until it’s too late.
CHAPTER 9
VICTORIA
IF I SAID I was nervous about my first date with Damon…my first date ever…it would truly be the understatement of the year. Hell, probably even the century.
My heart is practically beating out of my chest with the anxiety coursing through my veins. Sophie helped me get ready, and I'm still not so sure she didn't overdo it. The look on Damon's face when he first saw me was undecipherable. I couldn't tell if it was a good or bad reaction. But when I’d asked him for his opinion, he told me I looked perfect.
Perfect.
That's what I've been striving for my whole life, I suppose. I never wanted to disappoint anyone around me, especially not my father.
Normally, I would just hire people to do my hair and makeup, like I do with all the charity galas I’ve been attending, but I wanted to look more natural for my date. And obviously Sophie did her magic and made me look good.
I press my hand against my chest, feeling the locket under the fabric of my dress. It instantly makes me feel better, like always. I like to think that Arlo is always with me, and I feel that right now in this moment more than ever before.
"Victoria," Damon says from the driver's seat, and I jump at his deep, gravelly voice. He chuckles at my response and reaches over to grasp my hand before pulling it to his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles. "Nervous?" he asks with a smirk as he glances from the road to me and then back again.
"Yes," I confess.
He looks so handsome tonight dressed in a dark three-piece suit, and his warm, woodsy scent fills my lungs with every breath I take.
"Don't worry. I am too," he says, his face turning back to serious once more.
I know he's just trying to make me feel better, because I can't believe a man like Damon Romero would ever be nervous for a first date. I'm sure he has first dates all the time with women who are way prettier than me. I wouldn't doubt that he dates mostly models.
I mentally groan at myself and try to shake my insecurities off. I've always been like this — never thinking I'm good enough or smart enough or pretty enough.
My mom used to assure me of all those things when she was alive, but I haven't had a person to act as my own personal cheerleader for a long time. And sometimes my insecurities get the better of me.
Damon gives my hand a gentle squeeze before resting my palm on his thigh. My fingers twitch against the fabric, getting a feel of his muscular thigh that feels more like a tree trunk. My mouth is dry as I glance over at this handsome man. It almost seems like a dream that he's taking me out on a date.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks.
I roll his question around in my mind for a while before I decide to answer him honestly. "I'm just wondering why you bid on this date with me last night. Why you're paying to take me out when I'm sure you have your pick of all the women in New York City."
"I don't want any of the other women in New York City," he says, glancing at me. "The moment I saw you in the coffee shop, Victoria, I knew I wanted you. Imagine my surprise when I saw you last night at the fundraiser and found out I could win a date with you.” He places his hand over mine tenderly, and I revel in the feel of his skin against mine. “I knew if I won, you couldn’t turn me down.”
Swallowing hard, I manage to smile. Damon’s words affect me way too much, causing little butterflies to take flight in my stomach any time he speaks. I want to tell him that I wouldn’t have turned him down if he’d asked me out, but I can’t even muster the courage to flirt right now. I’m hoping that the first-date jitters will wear off soon and that I can carry on a full conversation without making myself look like a complete idiot.
We arrive at La Petite Chaumière, a fancy five-star French restaurant, a short time later. Damon hands over the keys to his expensive and sleek SUV to the valet before leading me inside.
The restaurant is extremely busy for Saturday night, but the people in charge of the charity had a standing reservation made ahead of our date. The place is beautiful with fine art hanging from the walls and fancy, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings. I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been to a ton of restaurants just like it. I’m sure a bottle of wine costs more than most people’s rent, and they have a special sommelier to serve it in expensive crystal glasses.
We’re led to a table in the corner of the restaurant, and Damon pulls out my chair. I sit down, and he pushes me in before taking a seat across from me.
The menus are resting on top of the freshly-pressed, charcoal gray, linen tablecloth. I pick one up and scan over it. It’s all in French, of course. Growing up with many private tutors when I was a child, French was one of the languages I longed to learn.
And so, when the waiter comes, I tell him in perfectly accented French exactly what I want.
Damon cocks a brow at that, and I give him a confident smile. But then, when the young man turns to him, Damon spouts off the same lovely language perfectly.
The waiter nods and takes our menus before leaving us alone.
“You know French,” I say, allowing the surprise in my tone to leak through.
“As do you,” he offers.
“My father insisted that I learn three languages when I was younger. French was more of a passion than a punishment for me, though.” I can remember Mrs. Rossi teaching me how to bake and also helping me with my French lessons. She was fluent in a lot of languages, and she would make me repeat everything she said like a little parrot. She spoke the language beautifully, and I always wanted to be just like her when I grew up.
Damon looks down at the table, not meeting my eyes as he says, “My mother spoke French frequently. I don’t know it as fluently as most, but I can make ordering a meal at a place like this look cool.” He flashes me his signature smirk as he meets my gaze.
He looks so devastatingly handsome that I break our connection first, fiddling with my linen napkin on the table. He spoke of his mother in past tense. She must have died, but I don’t want to pry and ask him any details he’s not willing to give me yet. It’s too fast, too soon, and I don’t want to ruin our date with personal inquisitions.
The appetizer we ordered comes, and it looks like a green blob on the plate. Damon frowns, and I must be making the same expression on my face, because he asks, “Is that actually food?”
I laugh. “It’s supposed to be a fancy spinach dip.”
He sits back in his chair, not even attempting to try it. “I’m not used to places like this,” he confesses.
That truly surprises me. The way he dresses in three-piece tailored suits, drives an expensive SUV and drops almost a hundred grand at a charity gala like it’s nothing makes me think that he would be very used to places like this
.
“Well, where would you have taken me on our first date if you would have been able to choose?” I ask out of sheer curiosity.
He starts to speak, but quickly snaps his lips shut.
“What?” I prompt, wanting to know what he was about to say.
“It’s stupid,” he huffs with a shake of his head, causing a lock of his dark hair to fall in front of his green eyes.
“I’m sure it’s not stupid. Just tell me.”
Sighing, he says, “There’s this little place on the corner of Lexington and seventy-ninth…”
“Dino’s Pizza?” I blurt out.
I can see the look of surprise on his face, and his brows furrow as he asks, “You’ve been to Dino’s?”
“Oh yeah! They have the best pizza.” I stumbled upon the small pizza joint a few weeks after I moved back to Manhattan. It’s on the same street as the soup kitchen I volunteer at, and Dino’s has been my go-to place whenever I get a pizza craving.
The corners of his mouth lift into a smile. “I know the owner.”
“No shit!” I exclaim, which earns me a glare from a woman sitting at a neighboring table.
Damon chuckles and whispers conspiratorially, “Yeah, no shit.” Standing, Damon rebuttons his suit jacket and tells me, “Let’s go.”
I stare up at him like he’s lost his mind. “What? Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
At first I think he’s joking, but he remains standing, starting down at me expectantly. “You’re serious.”
“Very,” he says with a sexy, lopsided grin tilting the corner of his mouth.
Smiling from ear to ear, I stand and slip on my coat. “All right. Can we get our meals boxed up before we go, though?”
“Sure,” he says with a shrug.
I know he has no intention of eating his meal and neither do I, but I know just what to do with the uneaten dinners.
CHAPTER 10
DAMON
Devious: A Dark Mafia Romance (Deviant Series Book 1) Page 5
