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“It’s a first date, Monsieur Renault, and I’m looking to impress the young woman. What would you recommend?”

The older man appears surprised that I would ask for his opinion. “Well, sir, I’m rather old-fashioned, I’m afraid. If it is the first date and you are looking to get to know the lady for possible courtship, I would recommend a table with a nice view. If, however—”

I pat his arm. “Say no more. I’ll take a table with a view, please.” A private room would be far too intimate for a first-date dinner, and I want to set her at ease. After dinner, if she would like to join me at my suite for a nightcap, then that’s another matter, entirely. Of course, I have a suite of my own here. I never take anyone back to my penthouse. I enjoy my privacy.

Monsieur Renault leads me to a table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows with a backdrop of Downtown LA. Since the restaurant is on the 65th floor, we have quite a view. He tells me a server will come right around for my drink order and wishes me a good evening.

A tall, fresh-faced blond woman in a server’s attire of navy blue bow-tie, white shirt, a black waistcoat, and black slacks comes up to my table and asks me what I would like to drink. The flirtatious look in her cornflower blue eyes tells me she’s available and interested, but I remain cordial, though distant. I ask for a gin and tonic with Three Seasons Gin from Cambridge Distillery. It’s my favorite gin, but not all bars have it, and when they don’t, I ask for Hendricks. I’m not too particular.

As I wait for my drink, I spot movement in the corner of my eye, so I turn my head to check it out. At the bar talking to the bartender are two women who look familiar– they must work for me– and they’re both dolled up for a night out. I think one of them is called Marybeth, she works in Legal. However, I’m not too familiar with my civilian employees. In an effort to separate the family’s legitimate business ventures from our criminal undertakings, I’ve kept myself distant from them. I don’t want to get too close with anyone in the office, only for them to find out that the Camorra has been using Neptune Holdings for money laundering for the past forty years.

I smell my date first before I see her. Roses, vanilla, and some exotic spice… like cinnamon. I inhale her lovely fragrance as I stand to welcome her. “Rebecca. You look marvelous.” I lean down to kiss her cheek; her skin is like satin beneath my lips.

“Vincenzo, I’m so happy you invited me out.” She offers me her hand, so I kiss her knuckles before helping her into the chair next to me. She looks around the place. “I’ve never been here. It’s new, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure, but it was highly recommended by my colleagues, so I thought I’d take you here. Have you had any Creole or Cajun food before?”

She’s wearing a red, strapless form-fitting gown that sweeps the floor and hugs her curves. Her luxurious auburn hair is piled up in a messy but artful bun decorated with flowers, showing off a long, swan-like neck. “I’m from Georgia, so I have experience with southern food. Are we talking about crawfish etouffee and jambalaya? If so, I’m your girl. The spicier, the better.”

She is gorgeous and I admire a girl who isn’t afraid of food. As an Italian, I consider food, wine, and sex to be the three most important indulgences of the modern world. “Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy this restaurant. I hear the executive chef is French-Haitian and studied culinary arts in New Orleans.”

“Yes, I read the reviews on Yelp. This restaurant has two Michelin stars, so it's a good choice.”

“These are for you.” I push over the bouquet of Ranunculus, which is really just a fancy way of saying buttercups. But these are light pink splashed with magenta in the middle. “I hope you enjoyed the flowers I sent over this afternoon.”

She smiles and nods. “Yes, they were beautiful. The florist had stripped them of the thorns as well. You’re very thoughtful.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Her eyes are deep-set and the color of old Roman coins. I scoot closer and brush back the lock of hair that has fallen over her eyes and tuck it behind her ear. She sucks in her breath at my nearness, so I pull away, careful not to spook her. “But you’re more beautiful than these flowers or any other in the world.”

Behind me, a person chokes on something and coughs. I look back in concern as the sound came from the bar, but before I could see who it was, the voice squeaks, “Excuse me,” and a woman dashes to the restroom. I blink. For a moment, I thought I saw Ms. Lee. Well, it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that she would join her co-workers for a meal, but why would she come to the restaurant where she booked my date? She is an odd duck, that one.

“Umm… if you’ll excuse me,” says my date. “I need to go to the restroom.”

“Shall I order a drink for you?”

Her eyes glimmer as she smiles. “Yes, thank you. A dry martini with olives, please.”

“Certainly.” I stand when she stands and watch her beautiful, graceful back as she walks away. She has a nice ass, too.

I pull out my phone while I wait for my date and see a couple of messages from two of my brothers who are closest in age to me.

There are also a couple from my two younger sisters, which is surprising because they rarely message me. Esperanza– the older of the two who we always call Espie– says something about how Antonio showed her a picture of the woman I’m meeting tonight and how she thinks she’s pretty. Probably only sent it out of respect to Pops because he’s so desperate for me to settle down already.

Olive, the younger of the two, has a similar message, so I conclude my theory is a fact. It’s funny that she even bothered to save my number in her phone. She’s made it very clear how much she doesn't want anything to do with the family business. Anyway, she’s away at college, and I'd be surprised if she even shows up for family dinner once a month– let alone text me about some woman she could care less about. She’s rebellious, that one, wild and untamed. Gives Pops a run for his money, literally.

I don’t even bother to click on their messages. Instead, I move down to the others because they actually pertain to important shit.

The one fromAntonio tells me Tyrone would like to have a meeting with me first if he is to agree to set up a parley between 6TT and Sigue-Sigue. The one from Carlito lets me know that according to his research, the pain-in-the-ass motorcycle gang has a headquarters in Sun Valley. They’re probably involved in some sordid webcam enterprise featuring sixteen and seventeen-year-old girls. Some might be as young as fifteen. My stomach heaves in disgust.

We may be the bad guys, but we’ve never invested in illegal porn or anything that involves the abuse and exploitation of sex workers and/or minors. We own a couple of brothels in Nevada, but all of our employees are healthy, over the age of twenty-one, and willing to be there. We sell weapons and drugs, engage in corporate sabotage for profit, and we own casinos managed by Native American tribes under their names. The casinos are ours, but they’re all on Indian reservations, so the folks who run the place get a good cut, and we get away with a lot of shit that we wouldn’t with the Las Vegas Gambling Commission. It’s a win-win for everyone.

The young blond woman brings me my drink, and in turn, I place my date’s cocktail order. She tells me she’ll be right out with it and gives me a saucy wink, which I ignore.

I’m halfway done with my drink when I notice my date hasn’t returned. Her wrap is draped on the back of her chair, so I’m fairly certain she hasn’t ditched me, but it’s been more than a few minutes. I hope she hasn’t slipped and fallen in the restroom, but I did see her shoes and those four-inch stilettos looked like hell to walk in. She could be sick. Ugh, I hope not. Intestinal distress is the worst, and I was really hoping I’d get laid tonight because it’s been a while. It’s highly probable that the deprivation is starting to affect my calm.

Just as I was about to ask one of the female servers to go and check on my date for me, Rebecca returns, refreshed and bright-eyed. I look at the red clutch she’s holding in her arm. Did she have that with her earlier? I thought she had left her purse behind. It’s this little golden quilted one with a gold chain for a strap hanging from her chair along with her wrap.

I tell myself I’m imagining things. “Is everything all right?”


Tags: Sophia March Billionaire Romance