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CHAPTER SIX

Santo

I didn’t regret saying it.

Even if I knew I shouldn’t have, that I really needed to keep shit professional.

She’d just gone fucking crimson when she’d said the thing about being in bed with me. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. From saying that, from imagining where else she might get all red when she was all worked up.

“Focus,” Lucky said, snapping in my face.

“Yeah, I didn’t catch any of that,” I admitted, sitting in his office at one of his pizza joints.

“What’s her name?” Lucky asked with a knowing smirk.

“Yeah… I can’t tell you that.”

“Been there,” Lucky admitted.

It was no secret that Lucky met his girl on a job. So had his brother Aurelio. And my brothers Mass and August.

That said, none of those women owed the Family money on a monthly basis. As far as I knew, shacking up with them hadn’t hurt anyone’s bottom line. If anything, they made the men work harder because they had wives and kids to worry about.

I mean, if sleeping with Dasha led to more than that, I would have another legit business to wash Family money…

Christ.

Getting a little ahead of myself, wasn’t I?

There was no indication that Dasha was interested in fucking me. I mean, what woman wanted to sleep with the guy who was extorting money from her business?

“It would be pretty hypocritical of me to tell you to play it smart,” Lucky said. “Since that’s never been how I’ve operated. But don’t let it blow up in Luca’s face too much. He’s pretty fucking lenient. But even he has limits.”

“Nothing is happening. She’s just all kinds of pretty. Will make the monthly visit to collect our bag a lot more pleasant.”

“Little help out here?” someone from the front of the pizzeria called, sounding frazzled and frustrated.

“I’m gonna go help them catch up,” Lucky said, already moving toward the door.

You had to respect a boss who wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and help out when they were in the weeds.

It was a Friday night. Lucky’s pizza places were always crazy. No matter how much staff he kept on, they could always use more hands.

I’d made up my mind to go help out too, deciding it was better than twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to come back and tell me whatever it was that I’d zoned out on earlier.

And just as I walked out, I saw a really fucking familiar face standing at the counter, looking adorably overwhelmed with all the shouting going on behind the counter—people calling out orders, telling the cooks which pizzas were getting low in the display cases, answering phones.

She stood there patiently waiting in another of those sundresses—this one a lavender color with white piping that made her look like an Easter present just begging to be unwrapped—rolling a ring on one of her fingers as her eyes darted back and forth between the girl behind the counter and Lucky, who was demanding updates on everything going on so he could take control and get things organized.

“What are we getting for you, hon?” Lucky called to her.

It was right then that she spotted me, though.

“Oh,” she said, her look of surprise morphing to pleasure as she smiled at me. “It’s you,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, moving to the counter, feeling Lucky’s curious gaze on me, but ignoring him.

“Well, I asked a few people what the best Italian place was in town. The answers were almost unanimous. So here I am.”

Alone.

On a Friday night.

Looking how she looked.

That was a fucking crime.

“They were right. And I’m not just saying that because my cousin owns it,” I said, gesturing over toward Lucky, who was still watching, even as he twirled dough around, making flour flutter down on his black shirt like snow.

“Oh, wow. Small world. Or… small town, I guess.”

“Are you in the mood for something specific, or are you open to ideas?”

“Totally open,” she said, and her face and chest went red again, making me have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “To, you know, suggestions.”

“How about you have a seat, and I’ll figure it out for you,” I said, gesturing toward the one empty table in the restaurant.

“Okay. Sure. I love surprises,” she said, turning and walking away.

“You done flirting? I want my order,” the guy behind her grumbled.

“Ey, who the fuck you talking to like that?” Lucky called.

The man’s face fell for a second before anger blotted his cheeks. “The customer’s always right, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes the customer is an asshole who can keep his opinions to himself and enjoy a world-class pie or can go have sub-par pizza somewhere else.”

The guy grumbled, but accepted his pizza and paid his bill.

“Not the best at customer service, huh?” I asked Lucky with a smirk as I wrote down an order.

“Guys like that are always giving the girls a hard time,” Lucky said, nodding toward the teen girls who were milling around the place, all smiles despite the hectic vibe in the air. “Don’t have the fucking patience for it. So, that’s her, huh?” he asked, glancing over at Dasha as he grabbed a ladle of sauce and spread it across the round dough.

What use was there in denying it?

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“You’re right. Got a lot of pretty. Hopefully, she’s worth blowing up your career. On a totally unrelated note, did you know there’s a movie in the park tonight?”

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Yeah. Overheard some customers saying they were taking their food there. On another unrelated note, Via keeps a picnic basket complete with a waterproof blanket in my trunk, in case we want to have a random picnic with the kids.”

“Yeah?” I asked, all sorts of ideas forming.

“Keys are on my desk,” he said, waving me off as he spread pepperoni over the pizza, then immediately got started on making another.

Was it a horrible idea to order a bunch of food from Lucky’s, pack it into a picnic basket, then make my way over to Dasha, intent on taking her for an impromptu date in the park?

Yeah, probably.

But I had a feeling it would be worth it.

“What’s this?” Dasha asked, looking from the picnic basket to me.

“Heard there’s a movie playing in the park tonight,” I told her. “Figured that might be a good time, if you’re interested.”

“I’m never going to turn down a movie in the park. Wait, I need to pay,” she said as I made my way to the door.

“No, you don’t.”

“You can’t just keep paying for things for me,” she insisted as we moved out onto the street, the noise of the pizza joint immediately falling away.

“Sure I can,” I countered. “It’s not far, if you just want to walk,” I told her, gesturing down the street.

“I love a walk,” she said. “Let me carry the bask—“

“Absolutely not.”

She ducked her head at that, but not before I saw the smile on her face.

“I’ve been hoping to run into you,” she said after we crossed the road.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, I need to thank you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I absolutely do,” she insisted. “You sent me a couch.”

“A housewarming gift,” I said, shrugging it off.

“You already got me the bunny lamp as a housewarming gift,” she reminded me.

“An early Easter present then.”

“I’m pretty sure the traditional Easter presents are, like, candy bunnies or marshmallow treats.”

“What can I say? I’m not a very traditional guy,” I said.

“I have a feeling that’s a very untrue statement,” she said, watching my profile. “So, what movie is playing?” she asked as we got closer to the park, both sides of the street lined with cars, the field already dappled with couples and groups of teens. No kids in sight, so not a kid movie, then.

“I have no idea,” I admitted.

“That kind of makes it more fun,” Dasha declared. “Would it be silly to go under that weeping willow?” she asked, gesturing toward the tree in question, sitting a few feet away from the bank where a small stream trickled.

It would give the illusion of more privacy.

“Sounds perfect,” I decided, making a beeline for it before someone else snatched it up.

Dasha let me spread the blanket, then sat down on it with her legs cocked to the side, her skirt tucked between her thighs so it didn’t fly up in the slight breeze.

“Oh, you remembered drinks and utensils,” she said, sounding both relieved and surprised.

“How were we supposed to eat without utensils?”

“I’m just not used to gu… people who think ahead like that,” she said.

She meant guys.

She was used to being around men who couldn’t even remember something as basic as utensils. Which made me wonder in what other ways those guys let her down, who didn’t appreciate how good they had it.

“Oh, my God. This smells amazing,” she said, taking a long sniff at the feast she’d placed between us, each dish in their separate aluminum foil containers, the plastic tops trapping a little sweat.

“I picked all the best items. Though, honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”

We’d managed to get the food mostly cut up by the time the opening credits of the movie started.

“Oh, I’d know this opening sequence anywhere,” Dasha said, smiling. “It’s You’ve Got Mail .”

“That’s a rom-com, right?”

“You’ve never seen it?” she asked, her mouth falling open.

“Nope.”

“You’re in for a treat. Rom-coms of the ‘90s were elite. Okay. I’m gonna shut up now,” she said as the song quieted on the screen.

I knew I was supposed to be watching the movie. She was going to want to discuss it afterward. But I spent just as much time watching Dasha watch the movie. And the way her tongue would slip out and lick sauce off her lip after she had a bite of ravioli, lasagna, or baked ziti.

I bet she tasted like that sauce too. Acidic with a hint of sweet and that tang of cheese.

Christ.

I needed to get a grip.

But if I stopped looking, I would miss the way her face lit up when she laughed; how her lips pouted when the characters weren’t getting along; how her eyes went all fucking swoony when the hero of the movie finally stopped being an antagonist and worked on wooing the heroine.

“Best ending,” she said, looking over after the camera panned away from the couple kissing. “I mean, even though you know it’s going to be a happy ending, it’s a great one. It’s great, right? I think I love the romance movies from the ‘90s best because they’re not all full of social media and phones. It’s all just more… organic.”

Organic.

Like her happening to be my new client.

Like running across her stranded on the side of the road.

Like happening to be at the same pizza place at the same time.

“I agree. Definitely something to be said for… organic,” I said, my gaze slipping to her lips for a second as the groups around us started to pack up and head out.

“You were right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“Everything from that place was amazing. I need to grab a menu to keep at my place. I cleaned out my uncle’s menu drawer when I learned that more than half of them were from places that shut down ages ago.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of turnover here. But I know all the good places, if you want some recommendations. Or a local guide,” I added.

“I definitely need recommendations. And maybe even a guide. I pretty much only know my way to work, home, and the grocery store. I still haven’t even made it out to the beach yet. Or the river.”

“That’s a crime. Though it is probably still a little cold for the beach,” I said, shrugging out of my jacket when said cold made her shiver a bit as the breeze kicked up.

I wrapped it around her shoulders, the movement bringing our faces close. Our eyes locked. Her pupils dilated.

“Get a room,” a teen called as they walked past, making us break apart.

Dasha busied herself with shoving all the containers back in the basket, the moment gone.

“Everyone needs to clear out,” the cop who had been hanging out by his cruiser during the movie—there only for crowd control in case some tension broke out, called. “Park is closed. Take your things with you and head out.”

With no other choice, we got up, picked up our blanket, and started walking.

“This was a lot better than my initial plan to eat pizza alone in my place while putting a bunch of items up on a bunch of free sites, hoping someone would want to take Phil’s junk off my hands. Because you know what is insanely expensive?”

“What’s that?”

“Dumpster rentals. Plus, it’s, you know, bad for the environment to throw away a bunch of stuff if someone can salvage it. Though, I’m dubious that anyone wants one of the four singing fish plaques my uncle had up on the walls in several rooms.”

“Was your uncle a shopaholic or something?”

“I think the fish were gifts. But he definitely liked to have a lot of stuff around. Or just… didn’t want to figure out how to get rid of the old stuff. I would have loved it if he’d liked buying appliances, though. I think his toaster is from the ‘80s. I’m afraid to use it. This is me,” she said when we got to her car parked on the street.

“It’s all fixed up?”

“Hopefully. Thank you for a really nice night,” she said after unlocking her door. Manually. I was pretty sure she even had hand-crank windows too.

“Anytime,” I said as she slid my jacket off her shoulders and passed it to me, the honeysuckle heavy on the fabric.

It was my chance to offer to exchange numbers.

But just for fun, I was going to do what she liked best.

Keep it organic.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” I said, stepping back to let her open her door.

She offered me a smile as she slipped inside, then let me close her door as she turned over the engine.

“Thanks again,” she said after cranking down the window.

Then she was gone.

Leaving me standing there, wondering if I’d fucked up by not making a move.