Page 106 of Savage Don

“What if I made a scene?”

“You mean, more of a scene than you’re already making?”

“Sure.”

“Then you’d see just how powerful I truly am.”

Ray is still having fun with me, but his words are sobering.

“What do you mean?” I gulp.

“Look around,” he says, taking another sip from his glass. This time, I don’t bother keeping up with him. My glass stays put as I follow his gaze around the high-end restaurant. “This place is filled with CEOs, politicians, the upper crust of doctors and lawyers. People who are used to getting their way. They don’t put up with shit that they don’t want to put up with. Anywhere else, they might have already kicked you out. But here? You could take a shit on their plates and they would thank you for the honor.”

“Why?” I ask. My head is still swimming, but there’s an intense focus cutting through it all.

“Because you’re with me. Because I own the place, and everyone in it.”

That rips my focus off of him. With my head on a swivel, I scan the sophisticated floor. Every person has the same look on their faces.

Fear.

They’re all so desperate to keep their eyes away from our table, that some are staring directly into their meals, frozen.

For some reason, I find the sight darkly hilarious.

“What? Did you fill up the place with your lackeys before we got here? Why? Are you trying to impress me?”

Twirling his wine glass between his fingers, Ray looks completely unbothered by my accusation. In fact, he appears almost amused by it. “Is it working?”

Yes.

No matter how hard I try to fight against it, the idea of having that kind of power makes me… well, it makes me feel drunk.

How wonderful it would be to actually be in control, and to such an extent that you could have people talking to their turkey dinners before they would dare look at you and your date.

Date.

Fuck. I sober up a little more at that thought.

This isn’t some interrogation. Hell, it’s hardly even a real test.

I’m being wined and dined. Literally. The Great Don. The man who everyone here is afraid to disrespect. He’s trying to impress me.

I’m almost flattered.

“Pour me some more wine,” I demand, shoving my still half-full glass across the table.

“Don’t fill yourself up on that, kitten,” Ray smirks. “The main course is still on its way.”

“You couldn’t fill me up if you tried,” I taunt him.

That familiar old mischievous glint blazes back behind Ray’s rich brown eyes. It nearly makes me forget about the beast in him.

“Oh, would you like to bet?” he says, leaning forward.

“What do I win if you can’t?”

“Whatever you want.”