Letting go of her I say, “Then you will take my hand.” My palm is stretched out in front of her and she looks down at it, biting her lip but then her smaller hand sneaks into mine and I clasp it, tempted to give it a kiss.
She shivers, looking at me with her big eyes. Deep down she knows what this means. She just gave me her hand. Now the rest of her is going to have to follow.
We get a cab quickly and it drives us to the restaurant. Lyla is already looking out of the window with rounded eyes, a gasp coming out of her perfect mouth and it goes straight to my crotch. It feels good being the reason for why she is pleasantly surprised, be the reason for why she is suddenly glittering brighter than the New York City skyscrapers.
Shaking her head, she murmurs, “But...how did you...” She pauses, adding excitedly, “I’ve always wanted to go to this restaurant. It’s been on my top five for the longest time.”
I know because the prisoner down in my basement leaked the information. He was the one telling me she was into gourmet food. Getting out of the car, I walk to the other side to open the door for her but she’s already jumped out.
Looking like she can barely contain herself, she practically sways to the entrance and I move in after her. We’re led to our table and nobody dares glancing at her, not when they see me looming behind her and they lower their gazes.
I’ve reserved a private booth with velvet curtains separating us from the rest of the restaurant and with a small, curious smile, Lyla sits down. As much as I’d prefer to sit right next to her, I sit down on the opposite side.
Looking at the menu, her eyes sparkle with glee and she murmurs the dishes in a low voice to herself and then she gasps, exclaiming, “They even have gold white chocolate sundae!”
My mouth slightly curves and her gaze goes to the menu, before returning to me again. “Aren’t you going to see what there is to order?” she asks but I shake my head.
“I already know what I want.”Her. And truthfully, I’d rather be occupied with watching the excitement on her face than reading the menu. She is not substantially younger than me, only eleven years or so but when she is being this endearing it feels like we are decades apart.
I encourage her to have anything she wants on the menu and when she protests, claiming it’ll be too much, I brush her off. I want to spoil her. In fact I seem to have a deep need to spoil her. I don’t want her to think of me as just a mobster, a criminal she shouldn’t be in close proximity to. When she thinks of me, I want the thought to leave a nice taste in her mouth.
She needs to see another side, the one where I am just a man and nothing else. Smiling at her, I raise the bottle of strawberry wine that the waiter left, asking,
“More?”
Lyla nods, her mouth full of food and I pour some in her glass, noticing that she’s stealing cautious glances of my coffee marinated steak.
“Try it,” I say, nodding at her in encouragement and she bites her lip but with blushing cheeks she tries a piece of my food too and her eyes close in bliss and I smile. This is as entertained as I have ever been in my life. I could sit and watch her eat for hours.
When I order dessert for her, she sighs, murmuring, “I’ve overindulged. Ballerina’s are supposed to be on a diet. I shouldn’t do this.”
“You should always do what you want to do,” I say and her eyes flare as if nobody has ever told her this before. “Do whatever you want...” I continue in a firm voice, “and be with whoever you want.”
Putting her utensils down for a second, she takes a sip of her wine and leans back, looking at me with eyes that seem to shimmer. “Can I ask you why you brought me here?”
Shrugging, I say, “I wanted to talk to you about our deal.”
“What is there to talk about?” she whispers and she is tense as if she thinks I’ll change my mind and take it back. “You’ll help me find Trevor and in return you’ll get me.”
Grinding my jaw, I clench my fists under the table. “You will give yourself to me just like that? Allow yourself to be fuck hard by a mobster just to help your friend?”
Her whole body tenses, simmering and she grabs a hold of the edges of the table. “Yes,” she cries out in a choked voice. “I’ll do anything.”
Why the fuck does she care so much about him?
Rage ripples in me at her incessant care for this person. What if she had gone to another mobster with this same suggestion? He would have no doubt agreed, violated her, taken her without any precaution then discarded her as a used toy.
“No,” I say in a voice edgy with ice and her jaw drops and she wraps her arms around her.
“What do you mean no?” She sounds heartbroken, wilting like a peony getting her petals ripped off in front of me.
“I mean that you will not forcefully give yourself to me. I want something else from you.”
Her face floods with hesitation and she murmurs, “What’s that?”
To give yourself to me willingly.
I crave her, craving me. She brings the cease-fire. There is silence in her presence. There is beauty. There is peace. For a man who welcomes the dark, as the devil welcomes a tortured soul, her presence has made me want to also learn the light.