The ride to the restaurant isn’t too long and it’s on the same street as the salon Vito once ordered me to. Enzo gets out, but he leaves the car running as he moves to Giovanni’s door.
Giovanni pockets his phone before rolling his sleeves back down and straightening the cuffs out. He pulls at the lapels of his jacket just as the door opens. Enzo slams the door once he’s out and I wait for him to come to mine, used to the routine by now.
But I’m surprised when it’s Giovanni who opens the door, instead of Enzo. My brows pull together as I look out at him. He holds out a hand and when I don’t take it, I hear the little grunt of irritation that he lets out.
I place my hand in his, ignoring how warm and big it is. He gives a not so gentle yank and I stumble to my feet, falling against him. I place my hands against his chest as I try to gain balance of myself. His chest is hard and just as warm as his hand. He looks down at my hands as if they’re the most offensive things he’s ever seen.
I step back, sucking in a deep breath.
He reaches behind me, closing the door and I step forward as Enzo pulls off. I look at the car in confusion as it disappears before looking back at Giovanni. “They aren’t coming in?” I ask him.
A crease forms between his brows. “No, why would they? We’re on a date.”
My lips form a little ‘o’. “Well, I thought-”
“Whatever you thought, you’re wrong. Now come, we have a reservation.” He grabs my hand and while to anyone else it may be romantic, I can feel how hard he’s gripping it. I grit my teeth, letting him drag me into the restaurant.
Just inside of the door is a hostess station and the woman standing behind the counter is wearing a tight-fitting red dress, her brown hair hanging over her chest. She looks at me with a frown on her face before she looks at Giovanni, her face brightening. “Oh, hello Mr. Costa,” she says, dashing to meet us.
Giovanni gives her a nod. “We have a reservation,” he says.
“Yes, of course, just this way.” She gestures for us to follow her.
The restaurant is packed, couples sitting at little tables with white table clothes. There’s a handful of servers buzzing around, all dressed fancy. The woman leads us to a private room in the back of the restaurant, a pair of double doors blocking it off from the rest of the restaurant.
“Your server will be with you in just a moment, but can I get you anything to drink to start?” she appears to be talking to both of us, but her gaze is focused in on Giovanni only.
“Just two waters to start,” he tells her.
She gives him a beaming smile before disappearing.
There’s a soft tune flowing into the room but it still feels awkward as Giovanni and I sit across from each other. His gaze is focused solely on me, and it feels weird. Usually, his gaze is between me and his phone whenever we eat breakfast in the morning, but it doesn’t appear as if he has any plans to pull the device out any time soon.
“So, why are we on a… date?” It feels weird to even say the word.
“Because that’s what people do,” he says as if it’s simple.
“People in a real relationship,” I tell him. “Not people who are in a weird fake relationship that involves one of the people being a captive.” I think about not saying the words, but hell, why not?
Giovanni inclines his head slightly. “Your lips get looser every day,” he says.
Before I can come up with a response, the double doors are opening and a man comes in. He’s wearing a little black and white tux, his dark hair trimmed neatly. Both of his hands are occupied with our waters and he sets them down on the table as he offers us with a smile. “Hi, I’m Marco and I will be your server today. Are there any appetizers I can get you to start?” he asks, looking between us.
Well, at least he seems to realize that I exist.
I look at the table, thinking I missed the menu, but they aren’t there.
Giovanni gives a shake of his head, “No appetizers. Give us a few more moments and we’ll have our entrees picked out.”
“Of course, Mr. Costa,” he says, bowing at the wait and I frown.
“Does everyone say ‘of course, Mr. Costa’ every five seconds here?” I ask him.
“Yes, I suppose they want to keep their jobs.”
“You’d report them to their boss if they weren’t throwing themselves at you every five seconds?” I ask. I worked as a server at one point and I know how it is when there’s a difficult customer who thinks the world ends and begins with them. I saw many coworkers get fired over bullshit situations. Even now, at Delirium, there are a lot of jackass customers who like to pick at the servers or expect them to be at their beck and call.
“No,” Giovanni says, leaning back in his seat. “I wouldn’t need to report them because I am the boss,” he says.