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Nico was off his bike and leaning against it, smoking a cigarette, when I walked over to him. He looked like a fucking God, with his long hair, arms covered in tattoos, and the black leather cut over his white T. So fucking hot. The smoldering heat in his gaze, though, as his eyes trailed leisurely over my body, had my pussy clenchingwith need. How the hell was I going to sit through dinner with his man?

“Hi,” I murmured, feeling shy, as I slowed my steps.

“Hot damn, Little Dreamer.” Nico stood up, tossed his smoke into the road, and pulled my body into his. “You gonna slap me if I ruin this lipstick?”

“It’s smudge-proof.” I smirked.

“Sounds like a challenge.” The words were uttered in a deep growl, before he grabbed my jaw with his finger and thumb, tilting my face to claim my lips in a bruising kiss.

Dinner alone with Nico was a magical thing. He took me to a dimly lit and very romantic Italian restaurant on the border of Mourningside and Creekton. Sera’s was close to my house, and one of those places that had a waiting list that was booked out for months. It was also the kind of place with a dress code, and was frowned upon to show up in leather and denim.

And yet, Nico walked right in, dressed in his Devil’s Psychos cut and acted like he owned the place. He said a few words to the Maître D, and then we were escorted to one of those coveted tables near the window, overlooking the Evermore River and the beautiful sunset that painted the sky.

It was the most unexpected and romantic dinner of my life, and I was sharing it with a long haired, rough and tumble biker, that had a devious smile and trouble on his mind. “How?”

Nico laughed and held my hand across the table. “It’s my cousin’s restaurant.”

My mouth dropped open. “Your cousin is Leonardo Seratelli?”

Nico nodded and shrugged. “My mother’s maiden name is Seratelli. My mother and Leo’s father are siblings.”

I closed my mouth slowly, as what that really meant dawned on me. “Nico, is your uncle the Mo—”

Nico’s smile slid from his face, but he was saved from answering when their waiter, an older Italian gentleman with a cultured and smooth accent greeted them and asked for their drinks.

I dropped the subject, but the thought was never far from my mind. The Seratelli family was a notorious in Creekton. Some said they were Mafia, others refused to speak about them, but everyone knew not to cross them.

They owned a handful of businesses in and around both Creekton and Mourningside, and were said to have their hands involved in City Hall and the mayor’s office, but the most notable of their business dealings was the river boat casino they owned and operated out of: Stella’s. Located on the Evermore River, not far from the restaurant we sat in, Stella’s was conveniently placed right on the border in the area known as The Edges, where jurisdiction lines were blurry. Not quite Creekton, and not quite Mourningside,but on the edge of both. It had been common knowledge growing up in, that even someone as far removed from that life as me, still knew it to be true.

After we finished our meal—the most decadent tasting pasta I’d ever had—we chatted quietly, holding hands and sipping on cocktails. A hushed murmuring around the room garnered my attention and had me looking around for the source of the activity, only to be surprised when a man around Nico’s age and dressed in chef’s whites walked over, carrying two plates of what looked to be tiramisu.

My mouth dropped open in shock, as the Chef stopped by our table and smiled brightly at us. “May I offer you both my famous tiramisu?”

“Yes, please!” I grinned, pulling my hand out of Nico’s grasp and sitting up straight to make room on the table for the Chef to set down the plates.

“You slick bastard.” Nico chuckled.

“Coming from the biker that name dropped to score a fancy meal for a first date?” The Chef shot back, raising an eyebrow. He had black hair and was deeply tanned, with the same bright blue eyes as Nico. He had a very stereotypical look about him, but when his eyes crinkled in the corners and he smiled broadly at Nico, I could see their family resemblance.

“It’s not a first date,” Nico countered.

“It is a first date,” I shot back.

The Chef laughed and held out a hand to me. “Leonardo Seratelli. This bastard’s cousin.”

“Maya Henderson. This bastard’s date.” I beamed and shook Leonardo’s hand.

Leonardo laughed. “I like her, Nic. It’s nice to meet someone who keeps him in check.” Leonardo squeezed my fingers gently before he dropped my hand.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Leonardo. You have a beautiful restaurant. Everything was delicious.”

“It’s Leo, please.” He smiled easily. “I’m glad you enjoyed everything. It’s always a pleasure to receive a compliment from a beautiful lady.”

Nico shook his head, smile plastered on his face. “Thanks, cousin.”

Leo laughed and clapped Nico on the shoulder. “It’s been too long, cousin. You should come to dinner, Sunday. You know the family misses you.”

Nico’s smile slipped a just enough for me to wonder why, but when he just shrugged a shoulder and said, “We’ll see. I’ll have to check my calendar.” I knew the family dinner was the last place Nico planned on being.