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Meet me for dinner.
He names la Castellano, a restaurant at the quiet end of a marina on Seaview Avenue.
What’s this, we’re making formal invitations now? Dinner rezzos? We need to have words. Deep in my gut, there’s a knot tightening. Something is very definitely going amiss and awry here.
Another text makes my phone chime.
This one is not from Alessio.
Donna Fortuna, Thank you so much for the opportunity of the money you gave me. After I thought about it, I decided to drop the performing arts degree I was chasing. I hope you’ll forgive me changing my plans. I’m going to do something useful that I’m actually good at. (I’m a terrible dancer. The men in the club don’t care, but it hurt my soul night after night). One time I was a junior sharpshooter champ and an ROTC instructor told me I had an eye, so I’m taking marksmanship and sniper training. An instructor on the rangeI helped me get a membership card. It’s going amazingly well and I really love it, so thank you again. I promise you that I will pay you back the money. And, if you ever need a dead shot, I’m your woman.
Catlin
It’s good to know that she’s taken the wheel, grabbed control of her own life. I saw something of a spark there. It makes me feel good to see the hunch I had about her play out. I hope it turns out well for her.
To keep my mind off the worries I have about Alessio, and from speculating about Don Pucci, I call Bruno. I want to find out how the boys’ field trip to the casinos panned out.
Bruno’s phone goes straight to voicemail.
I call Carlo.
Same. I get an immediate divert to voicemail.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The moment I step through the wide glass door of the restaurant la Castellano, the faultless maître d’recognizes me, greets me by name. Tall and immaculately suited, Stephano smiles and opens his hands as he steps toward me and tells me I’m looking ‘marvelous.’ I know it’s his professional courtesy, but he says it with such a sincere breath that he lifts my mood.
All the tables in the bright, airy restaurant are set with white linen and silver knives and forks. Each seat has a fantastic view of the sunny marina, with boats bobbing under puffy clouds, in the hazy, dappled sunlight.
And every chair is empty.
It’s the peak of the after-work trade, mid week, and there are no diners. As I glance around, I give Stephano a quizzical look. He tells me that Alessio insisted the restaurant be empty.
He guides me toward the private table, in a small area in the back, with a view of the whole restaurant. In the shadows, I see Alessio. He’s already at the table waiting. Immediately, that sets me on my guard even more.
He never arrives at a restaurant before me. He is always late. In all the time I’ve known him, this has never happened before. Everything about this makes me dread whatever is coming.
My breath is tight under an electric fizz of apprehension and hyper-vigilance. It’s still only a part of what makes me so hot and squirmy wet the instant his eyes lift up into mine.
My Alessio. As I walk toward him, he gets up. My pulse races.
Elegant, powerful and chivalrous to the very tips of his fingers. A trace of a smile on his lips makes me want to jump at him. Wrap myself around him. Right now. Straight away, before he starts to talk and ruins it all.
My breath flutters in my chest. Is that why he wanted the restaurant cleared?
He opens his arms for a formal, public embrace. His hands clasp my shoulders with sure, tender strength, but although our kisses blow in the air, where our bodies meet, the contact is searing hot.
Hip-cauldron to thrumming hot engine.
I want us to stay like this. Melt into each other. I want to tell him, Alessio, whatever it is, just forget it. Fuck me now. Let’s shove all the crap away. So far away that it can’t come back.
He looks into my eye. My cheeks tighten. A voice inside me pleads, almost screams at him, Come on, Alessio. This is us. Whatever it is, let go of it. Hold on to us. We’re all that matters. you and me and Bruno and Carlo.
I move to sit, he slides my chair in like a royal courtier, seating an empress.
He snaps his fingers to order me a glass of Italian wine, even though I tell him I won’t drink it.
He urges me to have the sea bass. I tell him I’m not hungry. I want to hear what he has to tell me and I don’t want to get indigestion waiting for it.
