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The Mobster’s Mistress

Page 67

by Morgan Jane Mitchell

Maybe I should buy another cat and accept my fate.

Friday evening arrives, and I decide I'm going to have a good time if it kills me.

Although considering how my dating life has been going, perhaps that's not the best choice of words.

I stand in front of my bedroom mirror wearing a black dress that hugs my curves without requiring industrial-strength shapewear. I've done my hair, applied makeup, and even shaved my legs. If that doesn't demonstrate optimism, I don't know what does.

Darcy watches from the bed while Poe sits on my dresser, looking like a tiny furry undertaker.

"What do you think?" I ask them. "Too much? Not enough? Do I look like a woman who's desperate to prove she can date somebody who isn't a married mobster?"

Darcy yawns.

"Thanks. Your support means everything."

Daniel is nice. He's funny, handsome, and seems genuinely interested in getting to know me. He doesn't live in a penthouse, work for a man with a horse ranch, or belong to a criminal empire. As far as I know, he drives himself to work and pays his taxes like a normal person.

That's exactly what I need.

So why am I standing here wishing I were getting ready for another date with Enzo?

My phone buzzes on the dresser. My heart leaps before I can stop it, and for one pathetic second, I hope it's him.

It's not.

Looking forward to tonight. I'll see you at seven. Daniel.

I type back.

Looking forward to it too. Fair warning, I haven't been on a normal date in a while.

His response comes almost immediately.

Then I'll do my best to make it a good one.

I smile at the screen. That's nice. Normal. No mysterious Italian pet names or men announcing they intend to claim me for the rest of my natural life.

I can handle normal.

A knock sounds at my apartment door.

I glance at the clock.

Six forty-five.

"Well, somebody's early." I planned to meet Daniel, but I guess he decided I needed a police escort.

I grab my purse and give myself one last look in the mirror. "Okay, boys. Wish me luck. Mommy's going to try dating a man who doesn't have an entire police department investigating his family."

Murder Mittens flicks his tail.

"Love you too, asshole."

I walk toward the door, smiling despite my nerves, but the smile disappears when I look through the peephole.

The man outside isn't Daniel.

He's broad-shouldered, with short dark hair and a black jacket. Something about him seems vaguely familiar, although I can't place where I've seen him.