CHAPTER FIVE
CAPONE
A while back I asked Maverick if I could borrow one of his kids to pass off to my Nonna as my own. His seventeen-year-old daughter was not who I had in mind, and since we’re clearing the air, I want to remind everyone that when I suggested he keep a close eye on her after that little douchebag cheated on her, I didn’t mean my eyes— eyes that are known to wander where they’re not supposed to. And while today’s outfit is a little less revealing than what she had on the night we rescued her from that cheating prick, my eyes still don’t seem to comprehend that she’s jailbait.
It's becoming a real fucking problem and the number one reason why I’ve been such a dick to her.
I should’ve let her walk out of the restaurant. Maverick would think I suck at my job, and he’d put somebody else on her.
But no. I had to taunt and tease.
Get under her skin like she’s gotten under mine.
Now she’s all riled up and I have no idea what to do with her.
“Put your money away,” I growl, stabbing a piece of my peanut butter waffle. Without looking at Tara, I pop it into my mouth and chew.
“I can pay for my own waffles,” she sasses, pushing the money toward me. I pause mid chew and stare at her pretty face. She’s not wearing much makeup today, revealing patches of freckles I didn’t know she had. I also didn’t realize how long her eyelashes were or that there were flecks of gold and the subtle hints of jade in her brown eyes.
When I got her to sit back in the booth, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t look at her.
I didn’t even last two minutes and now here I am finding miniscule pops of color in her eyes.
It’s safe to say I’ve lost my mind.
I swallow the piece of waffle in my mouth and slap my hand over the bills, sliding them back to her.
“Did I say you couldn’t?” She opens her mouth to snap at me, but I hold up a hand, halting whatever smart remark she’s about to deliver. She’s feisty as fuck, and I like it a little too much. “Your father would kill me if I let you pay for your own meal.”
He’d string me by the balls if he knew the thoughts racing through my mind, but I digress.
“You can fight me on a lot of things, and I might even enjoy it, but this one is on me.” I eye her plate. She’s only taken a few bites of her waffle, and I didn’t really give her a chance to touch the side of sausage she ordered. I fucking crushed that shit, right after I finished devouring her friend’s food.
“Besides, you’ve hardly eaten anything. It would be criminal of me.”
She glances at the barely touched food on her plate, and I take the opportunity to stare at the freckles that dot the bridge of her nose.
I wonder how many there are.
It’s got to be at least a dozen, and that nose ring—I like that too.
Lifting her eyes back to mine, her pouty little mouth twists into a scowl as she crosses her arms against her chest.
“I’m not really hungry.”
I shrug and reach for her plate. “Your loss. If you ain’t gonna eat, I am.”
“Go for it, but I’m taking your chocolate milk.”
“Oh, no.” I press a hand to my heart. “Not my chocolate milk.”
Ignoring me, she grabs the glass of chocolate milk Wendy brought me. I watch as she searches her backpack for a moment, then she pulls out a bunch of straws.
“You carry your own straws with you?” I ask, mildly amused.
“Don’t judge me,” she says. “I don’t like the taste of paper in my mouth.”
She drops the straw into the glass and takes a sip. My eyes betray me, and I stare at her lips for a little too long. When I finally snap out of it, I start attacking her waffle. A comfortable silence settles between us as I eat, but it only lasts about a minute.
“So you and the waitress…”
“What about it?”
She plays with the straw, twirling it around in the glass of ice, avoiding eye contact with me as she worries her lower lip between her teeth. Then her eyes slowly find mine, and I can’t fucking help but smile at the way her cheeks flush.
I like the fire, but I think I like this too.
Pushing her limits, seeing what she’ll give me—it’s a power play.
“You seem close,” she hedges.
I bark out a laugh which causes her cheeks to flame even more, and her eyes flit to mine, narrowing slightly. She’s cute as fuck when she’s mad.
“Why is that funny?”
I push the plates away from me and drop my forearms onto the table.
“If you have a question, ask it.”
“I was just making an observation.”
She quickly looks away, and I react instinctively, reaching across the table to cup her chin. I turn her head slightly, forcing her eyes to lock with mine.
“No, you made an observation because you were too chicken shit to ask what you were thinking.”
Her dainty little fingers wrap around my wrist, and she pulls my hand away from her chin.
“Okay, well, since you seem to know everything, tell me what I was thinking.”
“You were wondering if I fucked her.”
She cocks her head to the side and raises an eyebrow.
“Did you?”
Impressed with her bluntness, I give her the truth.
“Once.”
To her credit, she doesn’t react. She holds my gaze for another moment, then takes another sip of my chocolate milk.
“Was that so hard?” I press.
“Was what so hard?”
“Asking what was on your mind.”
Hesitating, she diverts her eyes.
“No,” she huffs. “I guess not.”
“Try it again.”
Her gaze snaps back to me.
“You want me to ask you another question?”
I nod.
“Make it a good one.”
She sighs, the pink in her cheeks fading only slightly as she leans her back against the booth and works her lower lip between her teeth. I’m a sucker for a lip biter.
“Do you uh…want to do it again? You know…with her. Is that why you came here?”
“I came here because you and your little friend decided to be a bunch of rebels and it’s my job to follow you around, but I’m not particularly interested in a repeat with Wendy.”
That answer must surprise her because her eyes widen.
“How come?” she asks. “I mean…it seems like she’d be totally game.”
I glance over at the counter where Wendy is pretending to refill the syrup bottles. Our eyes lock, and she gives me that flirty smile of hers.
“Oh, she’d jump on my cock. All I have to do is say the word. No questions asked.” I’m not trying to sound arrogant either. That shit is a fact. I bring my attention back to Tara. “Getting her off my cock once it’s over—now, that’s the problem.”
It took three weeks after we fucked for Wendy to realize it was a one and done type of situation.
I shudder at the memory. She popped up everywhere—Sally’s, the clubhouse, even Booker & Mann. No place was off limits to her. I’m glad I never took her back to my apartment. I probably would’ve found her camped out in the hallway.
“No one ever talks to me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m not the president’s daughter.”
Well, fuck. I guess I crossed a line there, didn’t I? The thing is, I forgot she was Maverick’s daughter for a moment. For a brief pause she was just a girl, and I was a guy who couldn’t ignore her any longer.
I lift my hand and scrub the side of my face.
“I guess I’m not like everyone else.”
A fact I’m starting to think might get me killed.
My phone rings and I reach into my kutte for it, groaning when I see it’s my mom. I silence it and set it down on the table. I’m sure she’ll leave a message.
“My turn,” I say, lifting my gaze back to Tara. “You got to ask me questions—some of them very personal. Now, I get to ask a few.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not that interesting and even if I was, I’m not telling you anything.”
“Why not?”
“Mainly because I don’t trust you not to tell my parents.”
“What makes you think I won’t tell them I caught you cutting out of school?”
She shrugs. “You just told me you fucked the waitress. I highly doubt my dad would appreciate you having that kind of discussion with me.”
Amused, I cluck my tongue against the roof of my mouth. There’s the little spitfire from the other night.
“Are you blackmailing me, princess?”
She opens her mouth to respond, but gets distracted by my phone that lights up, alerting me of a voicemail.
“Aren’t you going to listen to that?”
I glance at the phone and tap the play button on the screen. Instead of hearing my mom’s voice, I hear my niece Sophia giggle.
“Uncle G, it’s me, Sophia. Grandma says you don’t love her anymore and don’t answer her calls so I’m calling you to…why am I calling him grandma?”
My moms voice sounds. “To tell him to come to your birthday.”
“That’s right,” Sophia says. “Don’t forget my birthday party is…grandma when is it?”
The corners of my lips curve, and I glance at Tara to see her smiling too.
“Friday,” my mom whispers.
“It’s Friday. Be there. And get me gift. Okay. Bye. Love you.”
The voicemail ends and I laugh, shoving the phone back inside my kutte.
“The Capizzone family takes birthdays very seriously,” I explain. “My mother especially. The woman has no chill whatsoever. My oldest nephew’s birthday is the day before Christmas Eve and last year she rented a fucking donkey to parade around the yard. The kid still thinks Dominic the Donkey climbed the hills of Italy just to be at his birthday party.”
Tara throws her head back and laughs. It rattles me for a moment, and all I can do is watch her.
The sound of her laughter…well, it’s nice.
Even if it’s at my expense.
And the smile that follows—that’s even nicer.
“I’m sorry,” she says. A blush stains her cheeks as she sobers up. “So, wait a minute…your real name starts with a G? Is It George?”
I’m not sure how we got here, but I’m not mad about it.
I shake my head. “Definitely not George.”
“It’s Garrett, isn’t it? Or maybe Grayson.”
I know I’m going to regret this, probably in more ways than one, but I feel compelled to share. I’m just not sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that she looks genuinely comfortable for the first time since she sat in the booth with me. Or maybe I just want to keep the excitement in her eyes. Either way, I decide to throw her a bone.
“My real name is Gianluca.”
Her eyes light up at the revelation and she smirks.
“That’s quite the mouthful.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. If she were any other girl, I’d tell her my name isn’t the only thing I’ve got that’s a mouthful.
“It is,” I agree. “That’s why the only people who call me that are my parents and my sisters. The kids call me Uncle G.”
“What should I call you?”
“Master,” I deadpan.
“Never happening.”
“Capone. You call me Capone.”
“I don’t know,” she singsongs. “I kinda like the sound of Gianluca.”
“Tara,” I warn.
“Oh, so I’m not princess , anymore?”
I sigh. “You’re a pain in the ass is what you are.”
Just then the bell rings, drawing my attention to the front door. A group of teens enter, but only one is familiar. My jaw tightens and my fists clench on top of the table as Mark slings an arm around some girl’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side.
He lifts his head, and spots me, his face instantly paling.
I tip my chin. “How’s your car?”
It isn’t until Tara mutters a curse, that I finally snap out of it, and turn my attention back to her.
“That was you? ”
“If you’re referring to the four flats, yeah, that was me.”
Laughter bursts free and my brows pinch together in confusion.
“Christ,” I hiss. “What the hell is so funny about that?”
“Mark’s parents are the most uptight people I’ve ever met. They’re pretentious, and all about appearances. I’m just picturing Mark’s face—panicked and full of torment, explaining those four flats to his dad.”
Her laughter dies and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth once again as her gaze swings toward the group of cackling teens. The longer she stares at them, the more her expression transfixes. I can’t tell if she’s angry or just plain sad, but I know I don’t like it.
“Are you done?”
Her eyes snap back to me, and that’s when I notice they’re full of unshed tears.
Gritting my teeth, I slap my hands against my thighs. Fuck this place and fuck those little cunts. We’re out of here.
“You’re done.”
Sliding out of the booth, I reach into my back pocket and drop enough bills on the table to cover both checks. This time she doesn’t argue. She just grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, eager to make a quick escape.
“Let’s roll,” I say gruffly, extending my hand toward her.
She quirks a brow, glancing down at my hand before lifting her eyes back to mine. “I’m not holding your hand.”
I lean into her, my lips unintentionally brushing her ear when she turns her head slightly.
“Put a pin in the tantrum, princess. We got eyes on us. Now we can either give dickface and his friends something to laugh about or we can give them something to talk about, your call.”
Pressing her hand to my chest, she shoves me back a step. I wait for the sass to spill from her pretty little lips, but she surprises me by sliding her hand into mine.
I don’t bother to say goodbye to Wendy as I hold the door for Tara. I don’t even turn around to give Mark another glare.
Once we’re outside, I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her toward my Harley. I secure her bag to the back of my bike and hand her my helmet.
Her eyes latch with mine, and our fingers brush as she takes it from me.
“What’s the difference?”
“Huh?”
“Between giving them something to laugh about verses giving them something to talk about?”
“You’ll see.”
She pulls the elastic tie from her hair and the messy bun falls free. Once again I find myself staring. It’s like I got front row tickets to a show I didn’t realize I was dying to see.
She shakes out her hair, and fits my helmet to her head, expertly snapping the chin strap into place.
I take a step forward, checking her work, my fingers grazing the side of her cheek as I tighten the strap just a little—every bit aware that I’m about to put precious cargo on the back of my bike.
When I’m satisfied the helmet is secure, I drop my hand away from her face and turn to my Harley. Throwing my leg over the seat, I grip the handlebars and wait for her to climb on. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath, until I feel her arms come around my middle and her tits press against my back.
Fuck.
“You good?” I ask, my tone sounds a lot gruffer than I intend.
She rests her chin on my shoulder, her breath tickling my ear.
“I’m good.”
My grip tightens around the handlebars as my engine roars to life. No girl… no fucking woman has ever been on the back of my bike. That knowledge causes my pulse to pound. I glance back at the restaurant, easily spotting Mark through the window.
Fuck him.
Throttling the engine, I peel away from the Waffle House.
But not before lifting my middle finger to the fool who gave me the chance to carry his girl on the back of my bike.