Page 2 of The One Night Match (Mafia Matchmaker #1)

TWO

CRUZ

I can’t help but be impressed by the five-foot nothing firecracker standing beside me at the bar.

Her auburn hair looks so soft. My fingers itch to brush it from her cheeks, and her vibrant blue eyes make it hard to look away.

A shock of annoyance shoots through me.

Just another thing I’m giving up tomorrow.

But this is what I signed up for.

I need a wife. I need an heir. And I need my mother to stop badgering me about getting those two things.

I’ll admit, I’m slightly more amenable to the wife than I am to the kids, but that’s what’s expected of you when you’re the boss.

Someone has to take the reins down the track, and there’s no one you can trust like you can your own spawn.

Allegedly.

After all, I did overthrow my father. But he was an asshole who beat on my mom my whole life, so he had it coming.

Unfortunately, the other thing that comes from killing the man who raised you is the lack of trust in the family. Something I hate to admit I need.

I can’t effectively grow our business if every capo thinks they’ll be the next person I kill, and that means I’m more susceptible to being overthrown myself.

So I finally relented to my mother’s pressure to settle down and signed myself up for the Mafia Matchmaker.

I have to admit, it was a surprisingly easy process to navigate, and being able to strengthen our relationship with one of the two Mafia families in San Francisco was the icing on the cake.

Plus, having a wife won’t be the worst thing in the world.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to read her file, because a part of me would rather learn things from her directly. We’re already missing all the traditional parts of becoming a couple. The least I can do is get to know her the old-fashioned way.

Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

My sister, Lexi, thinks I’m burying my head in the sand until the last second, and I hate to admit it, but she might be right.

I take a long drink of my whiskey and revel in how my chest burns on its way down.

I’m not sure what brought me out tonight. I gave up my party days when Dad died and I took over the family. There was no time for anything but work.

But the niggling need to get out of the house weighed on me until I stopped trying to ignore it.

I watch as the girl beside me takes a long pull of her drink before her eyes meet mine, mischief dancing behind the startling blue.

It’s rare for a woman to affect me like this, and I find myself inching closer subconsciously. When I was in my early twenties, I’d fuck just about any girl you put in front of me, but I’ve been out of that life for a long time.

In fact, when was the last time I had sex?

“You look like you’re trying to solve world hunger or something,” the girl smirks as she finishes her drink and eyes the bartender as if she’s considering whether she should have another.

“Or something.” I chuckle.

If only she knew how far from the truth that is.

“So, what brings you out tonight, Mr. Mysterious?”

“Mr. Mysterious?” I scoff.

“You’ve got that whole broody, serious thing going on. You’re either a tortured artist, or you kill people in your spare time.” She shrugs, dragging her eyes off me before my face can give me away.

It takes me a second to recover, my mind wheeling with how it’s possible this innocent-looking woman could so easily figure me out.

It’s possible she’s read about my family in the papers, but it’s rare they manage to get a clear photo of me, and I go out of my way to avoid the paparazzi when I attend events for the legitimate side of our business.

“That’s very perceptive of you,” I say evenly, forcing any remaining surprise from my voice. “What about you? I bet you spend your days caring for sick kittens or something.”

A startled laugh falls from her pouty lips, and I can’t help but stare at them. Fuck. I bet they’d look so pretty wrapped around my cock.

You’re getting married tomorrow, asshole. Keep it in your pants.

But my own internal reprimand does little to calm my hardening dick.

At least it’s dark enough in here that she won’t see it. Small mercies.

“I’ve been known to volunteer at a shelter or two,” she admits.

“I knew it!” I wave the bartender over, and I rattle off the same thing we each ordered before, with the addition of an extra tequila shot.

“They say you shouldn’t mix your liquors,” she says conversationally as we wait.

“Tequila and vodka,” I challenge.

She cuts me an amused glare. “Vodka and tequila are basically the same thing.”

“They absolutely are not.” I shake my head, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

When was the last time I smiled like this?

God, it must have been years. Back before I had the burden of the family business resting on my shoulders. Before my father forced my hand and made ending his reign my only option.

“Besides, I can’t let a pretty girl do a shot by herself.”

She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks heat slightly at the compliment.

I slip another hundred from my pocket and slide it across the bar once the bartender is finished making our drinks, and the redhead gives me a sultry smile before heading to the other end of the bar to serve another customer.

“So you never answered my question, Mr. Mysterious.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m escaping my responsibilities,” I tell her honestly.

I don’t know what it is about this stranger, but I can’t bring myself to lie to her.

She reaches for the shots and hands one to me before clinking the glasses against one another. “To escaping.”

We both swallow down our shots, and I press my eyes closed for a long moment, reveling in the way the liquor burns.

Discomfort is something most people avoid, but not me.

Being uncomfortable reminds us of how much we have to lose, and that’s something I always welcome.

When I drag my eyes open, she’s staring right at me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. Maybe she’s one of those girls who think they can change every asshole they meet.

But there’s no changing a man like me.

My soul is as black as the ink that marks my skin, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure I like it.

She reaches toward me and grasps my hand. “Let’s dance.”

I don’t get a chance to refuse her before she tugs me toward the dance floor, her tight little ass swaying to the beat.

This is the biggest test of my restraint in…ever.