Page 43

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Vinny

M assio steps forward and takes hold of my elbow when I step out of the SUV. “Was that really necessary?” he hisses in my ear, and I glare down to his grasp before slicing my gaze up toward his.

He pales and swallows thickly, dropping his hand in the process. “I’m not interested in your girl, Vinny.” His eye implore mine.

“I know that. Just making sure she knows who owns her.” I smirk and breeze past him to round the vehicle to unclip her.

The blush that creeps over her face as she steps out is adorable, and the way she lowers her eyes when her hand slips into mine is simply perfect. “Good girl,” I whisper next to her ear, and she shudders.

Stepping inside the restaurant, I march toward the private room reserved solely for us and throw a venomous glare in the server’s direction when he attempts to pull out Gracie’s chair. Taking it from him, I hold it out for her, then she slips onto the seat, and I slide her beneath the table.

When the server hands us the menus, I watch in fascination as Gracie scans over it; her eyes bounce all over the page, and heat creeps up over her neck. She looks on the verge of a panic attack.

“What’s wrong?”

She rolls her lip into her mouth but doesn’t lift her face to answer me. It’s almost like she’s shutting down. Does she have an eating disorder? Hazel mentioned she barely eats.

For the first time since meeting her, I look at her in a new light. She’s petite, slim build, almost fragile. My teeth ache, and I realize I’m clenching them.

She clears her throat. “May I have some fruit please?”

Her soft voice is clouded with uncertainty, but I decide to test the boundaries. “What about pancakes with the fruit?”

“They do pancakes?”

I glance down at the menu, suddenly unsure. They will create anything I order; I do, after all, own the damn place. Sure enough, there are pancakes.

“Page two, bottom of the page.”

She flips the page over and squints, then quickly places the menu down. “Can I have buttermilk ones please?”

“Do you want chocolate chips?”

She nods coyly, with her hair acting as a curtain to hide her features, but my focus remains on her. She’s skittish, a nervousness about her I haven’t witnessed before. Alarm bells ring in my head, telling me something is off, but what, I’m unsure.

“What fruit would you like?”

She blinks, then clears her throat. “Apple?”

My eyes ping-pong over her face. “Apple?”

She nods.

Just a fucking apple?

“Look at the menu and tell me what else you’d would like.” I gesture toward the menu, but she doesn’t make a move to look at it. She needs more than a fucking apple, and I’d like to get her diet right, given the fact she could be carrying my baby.

“Apple is good.”

My temper flares; she’s evading my instructions, and it pisses me off. “Gracie.” A growl emits from me, and I lean forward with a menacing glare. “Look at the menu and tell me what other fruit you’d like.”

Tears fill her eyes, and her bottom lip wobbles, but she does as I ask and picks up the menu.

“Orange, please.” The way she says please so delicately and full of uncertainty has a need to comfort her coursing through me.

My hands have balled into fists, and I exhale, knowing I’m about to trip her up like the bastard I am.

Something tells me there’s more to this.

“Anything else?” There’s an abundance of other exotic and rare fruits available, and I’m sure she’d love to try them.

Her lips part. “No.”

“No?” I crook an eyebrow.

The server arrives back at the table, and I watch her with fascination, relieved that she doesn’t give the server any more attention than necessary, but she appears very uncomfortable as she fidgets from side to side.

Knowing she needs reassurance, I lean over the table and entwine our hands. “Tell him exactly what you’d like, and he’ll bring it.” I lock eyes with hers, hoping she can sense the truth behind my words. “Anything,” I breathe out. Any-damn-thing. More than a fucking apple with a few pancakes.

She shuffles in her chair and straightens her shoulders. “May I order buttermilk pancakes and an apple please?”

“Yes, Miss.” He nods, then turns toward me. “Sir?”

“Bring her a platter of every fruit you have. I’ll have pastries and coffee. Gracie, orange juice?”

“Yes please,” she squeaks.

When the server leaves, she glances around the empty room.

“It’s my private room. This is my restaurant.”

Her eyes light up, and a slow smile spreads over her pretty face. My chest puffs out with pride, knowing I put that smile there. “It’s very nice.”

My lip twitches. “Come sit on my lap.” I push the chair back and make room for her.

She steps around the table, and as soon as she’s within reach, I tug her onto my lap and band an arm around her to hold her in place.

“That’s better.” I nuzzle into her hair and kiss her neck just below her collar, and her body relaxes against me, almost like we’ve become one.

“I’m worried you have an eating disorder,” I state, and she tenses.

“Shh, it’s okay.” I deliver my words with kisses of reassurance while stroking her back up and down.

“I know you’re keeping something from me, Gracie.

” She freezes, and I hate it because she just gave herself away, and I also hate the fact she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me her secrets.

“I don’t have an eating disorder,” she shoots back.

“You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

“I trust you,” she says, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.

This earns her a deep ironic chuckle. “I’m a criminal, Gracie.” Her body becomes taut, and I wish I could take the words back, but ultimately, she needs to hear them. “I’m not a good man.”

“You’re good to me. You’re a good man to Bonnie, and you’re good to your family.” I love the fact she’s fighting for my honor against even me.

I shake my head solemnly. “I haven’t been a good father to my sons, Gracie,” I admit, hating the way it stings my tongue on the way out.

Her breathing becomes rapid, and I can sense her wanting to slip off my lap, so I tighten my hold on her.

“And the worst part is, I wouldn’t change that.

” A shallow whimper escapes her, and she blinks away the tears threatening to spill from her bright-blue eyes.

I hate the emotion stuck there, like it’s trapped.

Like my words have instilled some horror inside her.

But I need her to know what I am. What I truly am.

“I trust you,” she repeats, almost brokenly, as though convincing herself.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, Little Pet.” I nuzzle into her stiff form. “Maybe you signed your life away to be caged for eternity with a savage.”

“Maybe eternity is my cage, and the savage is my life.”

My heart skips a beat at the thought of her choosing to be with me. Be damned with my age, the Mafia life, and the obstacles that might arise from all of it. “You don’t mean that, little one.” I press delicate kisses to her neck and over her shoulder.

“Yes, I do, Daddy.”