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“Partially,” Boyd chuckles. “It was Leo’s idea, a long time ago, but he doesn’t know shit about running a restaurant. He wanted Rowan to run it, but Massimo had bigger plans for him.”

The limousine comes to a stop and Boyd doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door. He drags his massive frame out into the night and extends his hand for mine. I take it and when my expensive heels touch the pavement, I see an alleyway in front of us.

“Great, the Mafia guy is taking me into a dark alley on our first date,” I tease.

“Nobody gets rid of bodies in an alley unless they want to get caught,” he mutters, taking my hand. “Come on.”

We step into the alleyway and Boyd stops after a few feet, knocking on the wall.

It looks solid, and I’m about to question his sanity when the wall slides open.

It’s a door. A door to a dimly lit restaurant and when Boyd leads me inside, I see a sign.

Otto Nero . I checked out restaurants in Las Vegas during my second visit. Never saw any mention of this one.

We’re taken to our table immediately. There’s already scotch waiting in front of Boyd’s seat and a green drink in front of mine. Mine looks freshly poured. I’m not sure about Boyd’s.

“What’s this exactly?” I ask, letting Boyd help me into my chair.

“Tequila, pineapples, lime, cucumbers,” Boyd answers as he walks around the table and sits down. “Some other stuff. Oh, and jalapenos, but they said the fruit is the dominant flavor. If you don’t like it, you can pick something else.”

“Jalapeno peppers?” My eyes get wide. “Okay, I’ll try it.”

I lift the drink, sniff it, and the pineapple is what I smell most, along with the unmistakable aroma of tequila. I take a cautious sip, then another, not really tasting the heat, but it lingers on my tongue after I swallow.

“That’s much better than I expected,” I say, nodding and smiling. “And not as strong as that cherry-whatever.”

“Cherry Vyssinatha,” Boyd replies. “It’s got a kick.”

I take another sip and look for the menu. There’s one for drinks, sitting right in front of me, but it appears to be the only one.

“Are they going to bring us a menu so we can order dinner?” I ask.

“Not here,” Boyd explains. “Chef Karfakis doesn’t believe in menus, but you’ll get plenty to choose from. If nothing looks good, we’ll find somewhere else to eat. Plenty of restaurants in Las Vegas.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I shrug a shoulder. “I’m not very picky.”

“Me either,” he chuckles, sipping his scotch. “But the food here is usually great. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself while we wait, Sarah. Or do you just want to ask more questions about me?”

“What do you want to know?” I question.

“Everything,” he says. “You mentioned your mom… dad. Assuming no other siblings? Any other family you’re close with?”

“I see my grandparents sometimes, but they live in Florida and they’re a bit crazy.

” I roll my eyes a little. “My mom’s parents.

My dad’s parents didn’t keep in contact after the trial.

He’s got a brother who checks in us sometimes and a couple of cousins I’m friends with on Facebook, but I haven’t seen them in years. ”

“Family can be like that sometimes.” Boyd nods. “What about friends? I know you’re close with Lea.”

“Yeah, I always have been.” I look down and smile. “There are a few others. I’ve met up with Cadence a couple of times since everything happened with Erica.”

“The hacker, yeah,” Boyd says. “Did you know her before everything happened?”

“Not really,” I admit. “I’d seen her name on the true crime message boards a lot, but never spoke to her until I started looking for information about the Morandi family.”

“Ah,” Boyd says. “Another Mafia fangirl.”

“Is that a problem?” I laugh.

“There’s one Mafia fangirl I’m growing fond of,” Boyd grins.

We continue making small talk while we wait on our food.

I tell Boyd about my family, growing up in Pine Grove, and how much of a struggle it was after everything happened with my father.

How the kids at school treated me, except for Lea.

I overshare. Open up more than I usually do.

But it seems easier with Boyd. He doesn’t judge.

Doesn’t seem fazed by the things that usually make others blink.

Boyd opens up as well. As open as it gets with a guy in the Mafia.

I know there are things he can’t share, and I’d never push for those details, unless he was giving me something I could use on my podcast. But I get to hear more about his childhood.

Growing up in The Gutter. Hanging out with Massimo, his brothers, and Rowan.

I can see the pain in his eyes when he talks about his sister, so I just let him talk.

“Food is here,” Boyd announces, gesturing toward a server who is rolling a cart filled with our dinner options.

“Oh, my,” I say, my eyes getting wide. “So, what do we do? Just pick something?”

“Take everything you like, ma’am,” the server chimes in.

“Even if you just think you’ll have a bite,” Boyd insists.

The server leaves the cart beside our table, refills our drinks, and leaves us with our selection.

The cart has lobster, steak, lamb, lots of different vegetables, and even a few salads.

It’s like having our own personal buffet right next to our table, except everything is prepared by a gourmet chef.

“There’s way more than I could ever eat,” I say, moving a few things onto my plate. “Hope you’ve got a big appetite.”

“I do, but I’m more interested in dessert,” Boyd says as he prepares his plate.

“Are the desserts here good?” I ask, glancing over and picking at a couple of things.

“No idea. Never tried them,” he growls. “I was talking about you.”

“Boyd!” I blush and laugh under my breath before I regain my composure. “You really think I’m the kind of girl that is going to let you take advantage of me on the first date?”

“I sure as fuck hope so,” he says, a faint smile tugging the edges of his lips.

I try to suppress a giggle, but I’m not very successful.

We continue our conversation over dinner.

The food is absolutely delicious. I find myself trying several new things and liking them all.

It’s nice to talk to Boyd without him being so closed off.

Makes him seem more human, instead of a mountain of a man who could intimidate most people with a glare or a throaty growl.

When we finally leave Otto Nero, I’ve got a nice buzz, and I feel a lot closer to Boyd. I hope it’s not just the alcohol making me feel that way.

“So, what’s next?” I ask, pulling my vape out of my purse and taking a puff that I exhale into the darkness.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Boyd asks, lighting a cigarette.

“No,” I say. “Well, I’ve flown a few times and never had any issues. Why? Are you taking me on a helicopter tour or something?”

“No,” he says, taking my hand. “Let’s walk. It’ll be nice to stretch our legs after that meal.”

I lean against Big Boyd as we walk.

Despite everything that is going on, I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.