Damn.
The fantasies were fun but fleeting.
“How long are we going to fake date?” Sadie asks. Her voice is soft and hardly above a whisper. “Just tonight, right?”
“Give me three dates.”
“What?” Her eyes widen, and she’s a little too loud, since Allie turns around and glances at the two of us.
“Everything okay?” Allie asks.
“Yes, Margherita’s is just the next block,” Sadie says.
“Margherita’s?” I repeat. I let Sadie pick the restaurant, since I wasn’t sure what her kid would eat.
Fuck.
The Italian Mafia owns Margherita’s. I can’t step foot in there without starting the next war. And now that I’m back working for the bratva, I must tread carefully.
“How about I take you both someplace a little fancier?”
“Margherita’s is plenty fancy. Besides,” her voice drops lower, “I don’t know how you plan to pay for dinner, and I just lost my job.”
“I’m working at the club, where I used to work at night. The pay is good, don’t worry, it’s my treat.”
“Allie,” I shout, and gesture for her to come back so we can discuss dinner.
She jogs toward us. “Yeah?”
“Margherita’s is too Americanized for Italian food.” I don’t want to scare her and tell her that the Italian Mafia runs it. I mean, how would someone know that unless they’re connected?
“I like it,” Allie shrugs.
“There’s a seafood restaurant across the street and a steak house the next block. Do either of those sound good?” I hope the kid wasn’t planning on getting a pizza because there are no good pizza joints nearby.
“I love seafood.” Allie’s eyes light up.
I glance at Sadie, hoping she’s onboard as well. “Sounds good to me.”
At the next crosswalk, we head to the seafood restaurant, and while I didn’t make reservations, I’ve done business with the owner in the past, and they seat us right away.
“No wait?” Sadie whispers into my ear. She raises an eyebrow. “Who are you?” she teases.
Allie doesn’t seem to notice, and as we’re escorted to our seats, she plops down at the table before I can pull her chair out for her. I pull Sadie’s chair out, and she sits. I help push her back toward the table.
I sit at the table and glance over the menu, allowing a moment of quiet before the show begins. Up until now, it was the preshow, the appetizer.
It’s game on.
When the waiter arrives at the table, he takes Allie’s order first and then Sadie’s. I’m grateful to be last because there are multiple items that look delicious. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten here. I finally settle on the Blackened Sea Bass topped with crab meat and Creole sauce. I haven’t tried it yet, but everything I’ve eaten here is to die for.
The minute the waiter leaves, Allie is on me with questions. “How did you and Mom meet?” The girl knows how to put me on the spot. She’d be a great interrogator.
I glance at Sadie. We should have discussed the specifics before dinner and our fake date.
“At the park. Your mom was going for a jog, and I got hurt. She helped me,” I say. Has Sadie told Allie anything about us?
“Is that why you have that scar?” She points at my forehead. It still looks fresh, but it’s likely faded since the incident. I have older scars that she can’t see, ones on my chest from being stabbed as a teenager when I first was indebted to the bratva.