Page 66 of Dark Breaker

We spend the rest of the evening together. Still, I’m almost dreading when it comes time to meet Fabio for our date. I’ve convinced myself it’s going to go badly.

Not bothering to change, I drive there on my Vespa. I’m aware that the restaurant has a dress code, so it’s possible they won’t let me in. Though if Fabio really wants to have a date we can go somewhere less pretentious.

Sure enough, when I arrive the self-righteous hostess immediately looks at me with disdain and says: “I’m sorry, we can’t let you in like that.”

A man, presumably the manager, steps forward. He stands behind a rope. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes,” I say, but I’m already turning back.

“Last name?” he asks.

I almost say Moretti on reflex. “D’Alimonte.”

He stiffens. “Welcome,signora. You may enter immediately.” He removes the rope and beckons for me to pass.

“But look at how she’s dressed!” the hostess comments in disbelief.

The manager whispers in her ear urgently. I catch a few words. “Powerful.” “Mafia.”

The hostess pales. “I’ll take you to your table.”

She leads me between tables covered in beautiful cloths and silverware, with equally beautiful and well-dressed clientele. Eyes follow me. Mostly in disdain. Guess they don’t like what I’m wearing.

Fuck ‘em.

Background piano music drifts across the patrons, blending in with their chatter. It’s live—I spot the pianist in the corner of the room.

Fabio is waiting in a black suit and tie at our table. He gets up immediately and offers me a chair.

“You look beautiful,” he says as I sit down.

I look away shyly. “Thank you.” He’s looking gorgeous himself, but I hold that back.

When he sits across from me I get the usual defiant urge inside me and tell him: “No disparaging comments about my outfit tonight?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

I purse my lips. “Good response.”

The waiter arrives and Fabio orders one of the more expensive wines.

“So why are we here?” I ask when the waiter is gone.

“I meant what I said in my text message,” he tells me. “I want to have a real date with you. I want to get to know you.”

“Why?” I ask. “I thought we agreed that’s a bad idea.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to turn around and ‘rip your heart out,’ as you put it. Even if we never actually fall in love, there’s no reason we can’t be friends as far as I see it. Marriage is about cooperation. I think it’ll be a lot easier if we’re on friendly terms.”

Friends. Yeah. I was hoping for more. But looks like I was right when I told Michela that we’d never actually fall in love. Still, I remember her words.

Be open to him. Give him a chance.

I sigh. I’ll try.

I study him. I realize I don’t see any of the usual contempt in his eyes tonight. Only curiosity. Well, that and hunger. I’m almost tempted to drag him to the bathroom so we can fuck and get it out of our systems. But no, tonight we’re here to talk, not fuck.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “So where should we start? I’m not really good at dates.”