STELLA
The mirror is my friend tonight. After Lex and Lane scurry out of my room, I stare at the makeup and hair they’ve done. A smokey eye that accentuates the flecks of green and gold in my hazel eyes, a warm gingery lip, glowing, flawless skin, and soft chestnut curls trailing down just past my shoulders. Now for the final touch— in my opinion, the most important— the clothes.
What’s one thing I can’t leave the house without? Something custom by one of my many favorite designers. I would say that if I was interviewing with Vogue. Doubt Gran would let them in our home, though. Too many secrets to keep and not enough security to hide the fact that we’re hiding our business everywhere you look.
I want to feel sexy, powerful. So, I cross to my bathroom and then into my walk-in closet, heading to the back corner dominated by every black item of clothing I own. This silky Prada cropped top with my black Gucci suit really sticks out to me. I want the shoes to be something heavy and boot-like, but not boots. I find my chunky Prada platform loafers with diamonds spelling out Prada, and I know this is it. They look perfect.
I slip it on carefully, not wanting to mess up my long black nails that I got done just yesterday on my flight to Massachusetts. I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror at the center of the closet. Beautiful, just as I suspected. But something is missing. My diamond hairpins pinned back on either side of my hair parted perfectly down the middle. I head over to one of the accessory drawers to my right, thumbing through the velvet jewelry cases until I see them.
Back at the mirror, I fiddle with them a bit, making sure they are perfectly lined with my brushed-up brows. I take one last look at myself before grabbing my black Prada Saffiano Leather Mini Bag with a custom silver chain and details before slipping out of my room and back down the elevator. I'm followed by at least three bodyguards, but I barely notice them. My nerves are setting in, even though I feel as though I could punch someone out in this look.
“Stunning,mio piccolo amore.” Gran greets me at the door, Mother close behind her.
“Thanks, Gran.” I give her a sincere smile. I know I look good, but Gran’s approval always gives me a new sense of confidence. She’s very particular. Always has been. It’s what makes her good in our business. Helps her stand up to the male dominance so prevalent in Mafia families. I look up to her in many ways. Don’t love the whole setting-me-up-with-assholes-against-my-will thing, but details, details.
I wave my goodbye’s as I shuffle out the front door, walking with security to the white G-wagon I requested for tonight. I hate always having to drive around in all-black cars with tinted windows so dark it might be illegal. It also seems a little obvious, don’t you think? If I saw a big black SUV with rims shinier than the average woman’s engagement ring,, I’d have some assumptions about the kind of work they do.
We load into the car and I request to sit in the front next to Alk. They all let me because I think deep down in their muscular tough guy hearts, they feel for me. Control is something of a nuance in my world, and any semblance of it I can ask for, I do, and any inch I can take, I will.
The drive is long, about two hours in LA traffic. We left at six, but I still think we’ll be late. It’s insane that to drive one mile, it takes twenty minutes. I could never live in LA. Not with the smog, crusty city living, and bumper-to-bumper traffic every day of the week. Not to mention parking. I won’t even get started on that. It’s far too stressful, even for someone who doesn’t drive. But let’s just say that getting to the restaurant wasn’t even the hardest part about arriving.
After circling many blocks and already being thirty minutes late, I let out a huff. Alk looks over at me, taking a break from his angry swerving around stuffed lots full of cars.
“Would you like me to drop you off, Princess?” He softly asks, though he’s already turning back to the restaurant, and I know he’ll do this anyway. It’s sweet that he wanted to give me a choice— or make me think that I have one anyway.
“Sure.” I play along, smiling slightly. We stop in front of the building and the entire car loads out except for Alk.
“Good luck!” He calls as I give him one last smile before closing the door and crossing in front of the car to the restaurant. Each step I take closer to the door is harder than the previous one. I don’t know why, but my body is being so fucking annoying. It’s as if it is attempting to stop me from doing my duty, sticking to my end of this annoying deal that isn’t even a deal at all but coercion.
I open the door in defiance, with every fiber of my being telling me to quit while I’m at it, and run back to the car. My security holds the door open for me, and I step inside unaccompanied for half a second. I like the feeling that half-second gives me, and I let it rush through my body like a battery charge as I search the crowded restaurant for Antonio. It’s not clear why I do it because he could stand me up again. But at least this time, I won’t leave alone because the bartender in the center of the restaurant is hotter than a photoshopped male model. I watch him for a second before a host approaches me.
“Party name?” She smiles before dropping it slightly when she sees the company flanking me on both sides.
“San Giovanni?” I say, and she guides a finger down her iPad before looking back up and tilting her head for me to follow. We weave through the tables and back to a smaller area, more private, by the windows. A rounded booth with its own chandelier rests in the corner, and I see him as we approach. I clench my jaw at the sight of him. If he worked here, he would definitely take all the tips away from that bartender I mentioned earlier. Bright green eyes I can see from here, thick wavy hair that's not too long and falls messily around his face in all directions. Those chiseled features could make a supermodel jealous.
Well, fuck. I force myself to swallow, even though my mouth’s gone dry.
Upon seeing me, he slides out of the booth and stands to his feet, taking my hand as he looks me up and down. A grin turns up the edges of his perfectly white smile as he leans in to kiss both cheeks. I can smell the alcohol on him already, but I continue to force a smile.
“Wow. You smell incredible.” He notes, sliding back into the booth with an open palm, beckoning me to join him. My security sits at the booth to our side, and I like it, them being out of my sight.
“Thank you. Yves Saint Laurent,Mon Paris Eau de Parfum.” I note, stupidly, I might add, because why did I just do that? He lets out a chuckle at my matter-of-factness. I can tell now that he’s drunk already, and I wasn’t that late for our dinner. I narrow my eyes at him judgingly without really noticing until he catches me.
“See something you don’t like?” He snarks, downing the rest of his whisky.
“Oh. No. I just wondered, what’s the occasion?” He furrows his brows.
“Occasion?”
“Well, yes. I figure there must be some occasion for you to be celebrating to get drunk before our date has even begun.” I take a sip of my water.
“Less celebrating, more forgetting.” He holds eye contact so intensely that it makes my stomach tie itself in knots. His piercing green eyes bore holes through me, and even though he’s drunk, he can tell their effect on me. A grin twitches at the corners of his pink lips, lifting a freckle just above his upper lip.
Shit. I’m looking at his lips too long. I flick back up to his eyes, and they’re mischievous now.
“Well, I don’t assume you care to know my disinterest in this date.” I turn my nose up, looking at the waitress headed straight for the table. He’s about to say something when he notices her too, and we wait for her arrival in silence.
“What can I get started for you?” She smiles between us, and Antonio nods for me to go first. I glance between him and the menu for a second before lifting my chin to her.