Chapter One
Jessie McDowell couldn’t take her eyes off the man’s shoes. She knew she should be paying attention to their orders, but she couldn’t look away. They were white, wingtip Italian. Brand-new, save for the small red stain on the left shoe by the bottom laces.Like a pinprick of blood, Jessie thought.
“You got all that?” the customer asked her.
She clutched her pencil and parroted their orders. Her eidetic memory always came in handy in moments like these. “… and a bottle of Chardonnay to complete the meal,” she finished.
“That’s right, gorgeous.” The customer’s black eyes raked her from top to bottom, making Jessie suddenly feel self-conscious.
She worked at a pretty respectable restaurant, but she occasionally encountered a few creeps dining at Mama Rossi’s. Jessie knew she wasn’t much to look at. She had mousy red-brown hair, dark-brown eyes, and a figure some men would call curvy.
His unabashed stare raised goosebumps across her arms. In his late forties, he had more gray stands in his hair than black. He wore a suit, like almost everyone who came to eat at Mama Rossi’s. It didn’t look that expensive. Plus, it was white, like his shoes. Tacky, Jessie had thought. The suit also failed to hide his beer belly.
The dangerous men who often hung around the restaurant wore tailored suits that probably cost thousands. Jessie hadn’t always known Mama Rossi’s was operated by the Rossi Crime Family. When she applied for a job here, she’d been desperate and broke.
As long as she got a paycheck twice a month, she didn’t care who owned the restaurant. It was no different from working in other restaurants inOakheartCity. Jessie and the staff just needed to follow a certain set of rules, like not questioning the restaurant’s odd closing and opening times or the visitors the restaurant’s owner received.
Jessie really wished this sleazy diner would stop whatever he was doing. He reeked of alcohol, which told her he’d probably been drinking before dinner. His wife, tall, beautiful, and blonde, sat rigid in her seat, pretending to be interested in something else. The guy’s partner, also in his forties, gave her an almost bored look.Be professional, Jessie reminded herself. After all, she couldn’t afford to lose her job. She still had bills and rent to pay.
“I’ll be right back with your orders,” she said in a clipped tone. See? She could be professional, too.
“Stop. I’m not done with you yet.” The customer suddenly placed his hand on her ass and gave her butt cheek a squeeze. Jessie squeaked, taking a step back. The customer’s small black eyes grew mean and hard.
Don’t respond and walk away, Jessie told herself. She wondered if she could persuade Clarissa, another waitress, to trade tables with her. No. She didn’t wish to dump someone else on that pig.
“Hey, I’m still talking to you,” Mr. Big Shot said, rising from the table.
He grabbed her arm only to release it. Her head bumped into someone’s broad and solid chest. She let out a muffled yelp. That familiar cologne and scent hit her. She raised her head. Relief filled her as she spotted Sergio.
Sergio was one of the men who always hung around the restaurant. The staff liked to gossip during the restaurant’s low-peak hours. Sergio was apparently Mr. Rossi’s right-hand man. Whatever that meant. All Jessie knew was that all of Mr. Rossi’s guys and most of the customers were downright terrified of him. Jessie could understand why.
Sergio cut a pretty intimidating figure. He was six-foot-six, built like a linebacker. He had short, wavy brown hair that he wore short, and piercing green eyes Jessie swore sometimes changed color, depending on the lighting. Right now, it seemed more black than green. Sergio had a face most women would’ve called handsome, save for the harsh scar running directly down his left eyelid and across his cheekbone.
“Back off, Piero. Our staff’s off-limits, especially to scum like you,” Sergio said.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Sergio. I was just having a little fun. Besides, she likes me,” Piero said. “She flirted with me first.”
“Piero sit the fuck down,” the other man at his table said in a frightened voice. He tugged Piero to his chair.
“Is that true, Jessie?” Sergio asked in that growly, deep voice of his that made her shiver. In a good way.
It was a good thing Sergio couldn’t read her mind. Most folks might be scared of him, but she wasn’t. He’d always been nice to her, always greeted her and asked how she was every single day. Once Jessie would get home after a long shift and she lay in her lonely bed, it would be Sergio who starred in her erotic fantasies.
She remembered he’d asked her a question. “Not at all. I just wanted to take their orders,” she said.
“Go on then,” he said. “Piero here won’t bother you any longer, especially if he wants to continue breathing.”
Someone choked at the table. Jessie thought it was Piero’s wife.
She turned to leave, thankful for his save. Then Sergio uttered two words that sent a shiver down her spine and woke her soul. “Good girl.”
Jessie blushed as she left the dining area and relayed the table’s orders to the kitchen. She was at work, for God’s sake, and yet she started replaying a favorite fantasy of Sergio in her mind. Him pulling her down to his lap, his wicked lips on the nape of her neck, his big hands on her waist. His breath warm against her ear as he told her what a good girl she’d been.
“Jessie, table twelve wants to order,” said Clarissa, interrupting her train of thoughts.
Jessie slapped her cheeks, surprising the other waitress.
“What’s up with you tonight?” Clarissa asked.