Black

by K. L. Grayson

  “Does he know that?”

  “As a matter of fact, he does.”

  “Then what are you doing? If you’re not dating the guy what’re you—” JJ’s words trail off when I give him a come-on-JJ-put-the-pieces-together look, and he starts shaking his head. “What’re you getting yourself into?”

  “I’m having fun. I’m doing what you do.”

  “Yes, but I’m a one-night-stand kind of guy. You are most definitely not a one-night-stand kind of girl.”

  Frustrated that his words are hitting close to home, I cross my arms over my chest. He holds up his hands in surrender.

  “I don’t mean anything bad by it. It’s just that you’re an emotional person. You wear your heart on your sleeve, even if you like to think you don’t, and you get invested in people when you swear you won’t. Do you really think you can have sex with this guy and not get emotionally attached?”

  I shrug. “I can try.”

  “Trying and doing are two different things. What happens if you fail? What happens if you end up falling for the guy?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that absolutely will not happen—I won’t let it—when the buzzer on the intercom goes off. It has to be Rex. I press the button and tell him I’ll be right down.

  “He’s not coming up here to get you? What kind of asshole doesn’t come to the door to pick up his date?”

  I kiss JJ on the cheek and open the door. “And that is exactly why I told him I’d meet him downstairs. And to answer your question, if I fall—which I won’t, so that’s a big if—I’ll pick up the pieces because I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. Gotta go.”

  “Your usual table?” the hostess asks, giving Rex a perfect, blinding-white smile.

  He nods. “Thank you, Stella.”

  Stella? He knows her by name? How often does he come here? Better yet, how many women has he brought here?

  With a hand pressed to the small of my back, Rex guides me through the restaurant. Several employees greet him by name, each one taking the time to look me over.

  “I assume you come here often.”

  We approach a table tucked in the corner, lit up with the glow of three candles. Rex pulls out my chair, which I promptly take, and he sits down next to me.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Stella hands each of us a menu. “Is this your first time at Ambrosi’s?” she asks me.

  “It is.”

  “Well, you came with the right person.” She winks at Rex. “Your usual, Mr. Ambrosi?”

  I gasp, and Rex grins, but doesn’t look at me.

  “Not tonight, Stella, but thank you. For now, I’ll have water.”

  “And for you, ma’am?”

  I scan the drink menu for the most expensive glass of wine. Rex deserves that for not telling me he owns the damn place. But before I get the chance to order, Rex clears his throat.

  “She’ll have a water as well.”

  “Very well. I’ll be right back.”

  Stella struts off, and I raise an eyebrow when Rex turns to me.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Ambrosi? What are you, the boss?”

  “No, that would be my father.”

  Funny, my father was a boss too. But of a much different variety, and one we most certainly will not be discussing.

  “I can’t believe I never bothered to ask your last name.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I don’t know yours.”

  “It’s Black. Now, do you want to tell me why you felt the need to order me a water instead of a glass of wine?”

  “Because you won’t be drinking alcohol tonight.”

  The finality of Rex’s words makes my insides clench. I should hate it. I should be mad that he’s trying to tell me what I can and cannot drink, but how can I be mad when I know my reward will be him?

  “Fair enough.” Picking up the menu, I scan my options. “What’s good here?”

  “It’s all good.”

  A couple of minutes later, Stella returns with our water and takes our order. I choose the pasta three-way, and Rex orders a steak. I wait for her to walk away and then lower my head and whisper, “Everyone is staring at us.”

  “No, Shae, they’re staring at you.”

  I sit up straight, squirming a bit in my seat. “I should’ve worn a nicer dress.”

  “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “You look amazing. Plus…” He scoots his chair as close to me as he can get. “It’s driving me insane wondering what you’re wearing underneath.”

  Lifting the glass to my lips, I take a sip of my water, never breaking eye contact. “I’m not wearing anything.”

  Rex’s eyes widen, and a second later his hand lands on my thigh under the table.

  “No, sir.” I remove his hand, but he doesn’t let me go. He intertwines our fingers and brings our hands to rest in his lap. “Dinner first, then dessert.”

  “Are you teasing me, Shae?”

  Fuck no, I’m teasing myself because I want him to touch me. The thought of him dipping his hand under my dress in the middle of the restaurant is making me hotter than I’ve ever been.

  “I’m heightening your anticipation,” I say, using his words from the weekend.

  “Well played.”

  “Thank you. I have my moments.” I smile playfully. “Now, tell me why your staff is staring at me like I’m some sort of alien.” They’re not just glancing in my direction; a few are craning their necks, trying to get a better look.

  “Because I don’t bring women here.”

  “Ever?”

  “No. They’ve only ever seen me here with my parents, my brother, or Liza.”

  “Liza?” I vaguely remember him mentioning her the other night when we were dancing. “The woman from your office?” There’s an unintentional bite to my voice, and Rex doesn’t miss it.

  Tightening his grip on my hand, he looks amused. “Jealous?”

  “What? Me? No, absolutely not. I don’t get jealous.”

  He studies me, clearly not believing my lies, and my body heats under the weight of his gaze. Good Lord, this man is potent.

  “Good, because you have nothing to be jealous of. Like I said before, Liza and I are just friends. Our parents go way back.”

  “So you two have never—” I let my words hang in the air, hoping he won’t make me say them.

  “Never what, Shae? If you’ve got something to ask, ask it.”

  “I’m not blind. I saw the way she looked at you. There’s more to your friendship than you’re letting on. Either that or she has a major crush and you’re completely oblivious to it.”

  “Are you sure you want to have this conversation?”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Why not? It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”

  “Right.” Rex takes a drink of his water and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “Yes, we’ve had sex. But she wanted more, and I let her know up front it wasn’t a possibility.”

  “She fell for you.” The same thing JJ swears is going to happen to me.

  This is a stark reminder of why I can’t let myself fall for Rex. He’s used to flings. He can walk away without feelings, and I need to keep that in the forefront of my mind.

  “We’ll never be more than friends,” he says.

  I wonder if he feels that way about all women, or just Liza. If the right woman came along, would he want more?

  No. No.

  I’m not going there. Rex is an amazing distraction, but that’s all I can allow. I’ve got too much on my plate, too much at stake, and my heart isn’t whole. No one wants a broken heart.

  Whatever this is between us, it’s purely physical.

  “Good. Then I don’t feel so bad doing this.” Leaning forward, I capture his lips, deepening the kiss enough to be considered PDA but stopping before it gets out of hand.

  Rex runs the pad of his finger over my bottom lip. “You can do that anytime you want.
”

  The waitress appears with our food, and my stomach growls.

  Rex and I both laugh. “Hungry?” he asks.

  “You have no idea.” I unroll my silverware and twirl my fork in the pasta, bringing it to my mouth. “Oh my God,” I mumble, completely unladylike. “This is amazing. Here, try it.” I scoop up another bite and lift it to Rex.

  His lips take the fork, and he moans as the saucy pasta hits his mouth. Nodding, he swallows and says, “The pasta three-way is one of my favorites.”

  “I can see why.” I take another bite.

  The next hour passes as we relax into easy conversation. Rex feeds me bites of his steak and vegetables while I feed him bites of my pasta, and we laugh and talk. I tell him how I lost my job back home and ended up back here in Chicago with Erin and JJ. He tells me about this restaurant and how it’s been passed from his grandfather to his father and will someday drop into the hands of him and his brother, Dante.

  I’m able to direct most of the conversation away from my life, which is imperative. I don’t know Rex well enough to tell him about my childhood and growing up in Chicago. He’s so easy to talk to, and we’re getting along great, so I could see myself confiding in him about my past, which is something I cannot do. If my identity is discovered by the wrong person, the consequences could be deadly.

  Rex seems fine talking about his family rather than mine, although I noticed right away that he doesn’t dive into too many details about his father—only surface stuff, which I can respect. But he does enjoy talking about his mother and brother.

  “Can I remove these plates for you?” Stella asks.

  “Please.” I place my napkin on the plate before she takes it. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Did you enjoy your meal?” she asks, smiling as she stacks the plates on top of each other.

  “It was delicious.”

  “You should have Rex cook for you sometime,” she says, laughing when he scoffs at her. “We feel lucky when we can get him in the kitchen.”

  I turn toward Rex. “You cook?” I love that he’s blushing for a change.

  He shrugs, watching as our waitress walks away. “A little bit.”

  “I think that’s great. Who taught you?”

  He brings his eyes back to mine. “My mother. She’s a great cook. A true Italian.”

  Hearing Rex mention his mother causes my heart to ache. Without thinking too much about it, I say, “My mother was a great cook too.”

  And God, does it feel good to say that—to talk about her, even if it’s just the tiniest piece of information. The Blacks didn’t like it when I talked about my parents, and eventually I just stopped. It was easier that way.

  I want to tell Rex more, like how she had this song she would sing as she pranced around the kitchen, and how she would let me pour the ingredients into the bowl even though I spilled more than I actually got inside.

  “Did she teach you mad cooking skills?” he asks.

  I smile wistfully and shake my head, looking down. “No, she didn’t get a chance.”

  He doesn’t probe, just waits silently for me to give him more or change the subject. For whatever reason, I decide to give him more.

  “She died when I was seven,” I say, looking up.

  His face twists in pain, and he reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. I couldn’t imagine losing my mom at such a young age. What happened to her?”

  “Car accident.” I have vague memories of my dad telling my uncle it wasn’t an accident, and he’d make the other guy pay, but everything after that is a blur.

  “You were raised by your father?”

  “Umm…” My hands grow damp as I try to dig myself out of this hole. I decide to stay as close to the truth as I can without giving anything away. The truth is he did raise me after my mother’s death. It was only two years, but he did a damn good job. “He did.”

  Rex smiles. “It takes a strong man to raise a daughter by himself.”

  “Especially one like me,” I say, winking. “I had one hell of a mouth on me growing up, and I knew how to push his buttons.”

  Rex grins, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to speak just as the waitress returns. She glances between us before settling her eyes on Rex.

  “Your father would like to talk to you for a minute. He’s in the back.”

  Rex’s entire demeanor changes. His body tightens. With a flick of a wrist, he yanks the napkin from his lap and slaps it on the table.

  “I thought he was out of town,” he says, releasing my hand for the first time.

  “He got back this morning.”

  “Tell him I’m busy and I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  Stella looks uncomfortable. “He said if you don’t come back there, he’ll come out here.”

  “Fuck,” Rex hisses, giving me an apologetic look.

  “Go talk to your dad,” I tell him. “Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Rex stands. “Stella, would you get Ms. Black a glass of our finest red wine?”

  She nods and walks away as he turns toward me.

  With one hand on the table and the other on the back of my chair, he looms above me, all strong and demanding. “One glass. That’s all you get, and you better have it gone by the time I get back because I’m taking you to my place and finishing what I started Saturday night.” His eyes eat me up from top to bottom as though I’m his favorite dessert.

  I swallow past the lump of desire lodged in my throat, and when I squeeze my thighs together, Rex’s eyes darken. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I’m helpless against it.

  Stella sets the glass on the table, seemingly oblivious to the moment Rex and I are having.

  To show him just how ready I am, I grab the goblet, tip my head back, and drain half the contents in one giant gulp. “Hurry back.”

  Taking the glass from my hand, he leans forward and places his lips against mine, softly. A low, moan rumbles from his chest. It’s masculine, sexy as hell, and my blood runs hot with desire.

  “Wine never tasted as good as it does from your lips,” he says. “Makes me wonder what it’ll taste like on the rest of your body.”

  My lips part, hoping he’ll either come back for seconds, or decide to say screw his father and carry me out of here, straight to his bed—or the to the nearest bathroom, wall, or balcony. I’m really not picky at this point.

  With a gleam in his eye, he turns and walks away, leaving me in a pile of hormones at the table, counting the seconds until he gets back.

  “What the fuck do you want?”

  I plow through the door of my father’s office. It’s not really an office, more like a large room hidden in the back of the restaurant where he and his buddies smoke cigars, talk business, and play poker. I typically try to avoid it at all costs.

  “That’s no way to talk to your father,” he sneers, puffing on the cigar between his fingers. “No respect these days,” he says to his friends gathered around the table.

  They’ve all got a glass of liquor in hand as well as cigars—no doubt the finest from Cuba if I know my father—and a few of them have half-naked women sitting on their knees. I wish I could say this wasn’t the norm, except it is.

  “Who’s the girl?” he asks me.

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  The chair screeches as he stands up. I get my height from my father. Toe to toe we’re the same build, although he manages to tower an inch or two over me.

  “It is my business. Every fucking person who walks through those doors,” he says, pointing toward the front of the restaurant, “is my goddamn business. Every girl who wets your dick is my business.”

  “She’s a friend.”

  “You mean code word for whore. When are you gonna settle down?”

  My blood boils to the point of explosion, and I clench my hands into fists to prevent myself from jacking him right in the jaw. “She’s not a whore. There are many things that set us
apart, Father, and our taste in women is only one of them.”

  His thick lips stretch into a wide smile, a laugh ripping from his throat. “He’s got balls, this one,” he says to his friends before turning back to me. “You’re more like me than you know. You give any more thought to my offer?”

  It’s not something I’m proud of, but my father, Sal Ambrosi, is a powerful man—much more powerful than most people are aware of. He grew up in poverty and fell into a life of crime, following in the footsteps of his own father. He began working for Joseph Salamanca and became one of the biggest earners and most trusted members of the Salamanca crime family. By the time my father was thirty, he had risen to prominence, becoming the underboss to Joseph Salamanca, and eventually he took over as active boss upon Joseph’s death.

  My father wants me to become a “made” member of the Mafia. In other words, he wants me committed to a life of crime. It pains me to admit that as a young child, I idolized my father and was eager to follow in his footsteps. He was my hero, strong and respected with power and prestige. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.

  I was young and foolish.

  It wasn’t until I saw him murder a man in cold blood that I started second-guessing my desire to be a part of the Family. The aftermath of that day ultimately pushed me over the edge, the lives hurt because of his action—because of my actions.

  I’ll never forget the part I played that horrible morning in May, fourteen years ago, and I’ll never forget the look of fear in her eyes.

  Bianca DiMarco.

  A stranger who has no idea she inadvertently saved my life.

  All I have to do is conjure up the memory of that scared little girl, not much younger than I was, to remind myself why I’m choosing to live a life without crime.

  “I already told you the answer is no. I’ll do my part, run the club the way you want it run, and eventually I’ll take over Ambrosi’s, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go. You know I’m trying to keep my hands clean.”

  “You’re a fucking Ambrosi.” His voice booms through the room. “Ambrosis don’t know what clean hands look like.”

  “This one does.”

  He waves me off, dismissing everything I’m saying. “You’ll change your mind. Once you get a taste of it, you’ll be begging for more.”