Drawn To Darkness (Kings Of Mafia)

When the server leaves the room again, I say, “It’s spicy Korean brisket.” There’s a relieved expression on Eden’s face that has me asking, “Were you worried it would be something else?”

“Yeah, I don’t eat shellfish. They’re like the roaches of the ocean.”

I’ve interacted with hundreds of women, and none of them are as straightforward as Eden. It’s like she doesn’t care about what she says or who’s there to hear it. It’s refreshing.

When I pick up my chopsticks and spoon, Eden watches me take a bite before she grabs her fork and says, “I’ve never eaten with those things, and I’m not about to start.”

Wanting her to feel comfortable, I swap my chopsticks for a fork, earning a smile from her.

Resuming the conversation, I say, “Tell me more about Tyrone.”

“Oh, I’ve known him since forever. We look out for each other.”

“I’m glad you have someone who cares about you,” I mention. Wanting to know more about her, I ask, “Do you live close to the ballet company?”

Her features tense as she shakes her head, then she exhales a sigh and says, “I live on the other side of the city.”

Feeling like she’s hiding something from me, I murmur, “We’ve had sex, Tesoro. I think it’s safe for you to tell me where you live.”

A frown line forms between her eyes. “Is that Italian?” When I nod, she asks, “What does it mean?”

“The direct translation is treasure, but it can also be used for sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

She takes hold of her glass and twirls it on the white tablecloth, giving me the impression she’s feeling awkward again.

Her eyes flick to mine before focusing on the bubbles in her champagne.

“Which one do you mean when you say it?”

I wait until her eyes flick to mine again, then answer, “Both.”

I watch as she takes two sips of the expensive drink. She clears her throat, and picking up her fork, she focuses too much attention on her meal.

Suddenly, she pins me with a serious expression. “Why did you ask me on a date?”

“Why not?”

She drops the fork in the bowl, and straightening her spine, it looks like she’s getting ready for a fight.

“We come from different worlds,” she states the obvious. “Honestly, it’s the first time I’m in a nice place like this. It’s obvious you’re used to expensive things.”

I shrug and tilt my head. “Your point being?”

“You’re rich, and I’m not.”

I stare at her for a long moment, realizing money is a big issue for her. 

My tone is soft as I say, “It’s not a problem for me.”

She gives me a mocking look. “Yeah, until you find out where I live.” Her shoulders slump slightly, then she says, “Look, the sex was great, and I’ve enjoyed hanging out with you, but I don’t see this going anywhere.”

Feeling tense, I mutter, “I think you’re wrong. As you said, the sex was great. That alone is a reason to keep seeing each other.”

“I’m not going to be your fuck buddy.”

“I don’t take my fuck buddies on dates.”

She rubs her palm over her forehead, looking frustrated, then she suddenly admits, “I live in Brownsville.”

Christ.

It’s impossible for me to hide the shock at hearing she lives in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in New York. Brownsville is a fucking thorn in the Cosa Nostra’s side with all the drug dealers and gangs running rampant in the area.

“See. I was right.” Eden misinterprets my reaction. “Rich people like you will always look down on the poor.”

Standing up, she walks to where her coat is hanging.

A coat that’s so fucking worn it can’t possibly keep her warm.

“I’m shocked because you live in a dangerous area,” I explain. “Sit down.” She hesitates, which has me adding, “Please.”

Eden looks visibly upset as she takes a seat again, and I wait for her to meet my eyes before I say, “I don’t care whether you’re poor or rich, but hearing you live in such a dangerous place, where drug dealers and gangs are out of control, worries the fuck out of me.”

Her shoulders hunch forward. “It’s home and not all bad.”

She’s living in a fucking war zone, but if I make an issue out of it, she’s going to walk out of here, and I’ll never see her again.

Fuck.

She leans a little forward in her seat. “Most of my neighbors are hard-working people. We look out for each other.” She stares at me for a moment, then says, “If it’s something that’s going to bother you, then it’s best we end things now.”

Knowing she has people looking out for her makes me feel better, but I need to get the word out in Brownsville that no one’s to lay a finger on her.

“It doesn’t bother me,” I say to put her at ease.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

When I resume eating, Eden clears her throat. “I tend to get defensive about my circumstances.”

I let out a chuckle. “I’ve noticed.”

“I don’t expect anything from you,” she blurts out. When I glance at her, she explains, “Like…stuff. I don’t need you buying me shit to win me over. I’m here because I like you.”

She likes me. It’s a start.

When I nod, she adds, “And the sex is good.”

Laughter escapes from me, which eases the tension in the air. “Eat your food so I can take you home, and we can check whether the great sex was a one-time thing.”

“I’m warning you now, you and your sports car are going to stand out like a sore thumb.”

Every drug dealer and gang member knows who I am, and they won’t dare fuck with me.

“I can handle it,” I murmur.

We eat for a while longer before Eden asks, “Do you enjoy what you do?” Her tongue darts out to lick her lips then she adds, “Working with ballerinas.”

“I love it.” Wanting her to know a little more about me, I say, “I also own an opera house.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “So you’re Italian?”

“Sicilian,” I correct her.

When we’re done eating, Eden says, “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

“I’ll tell Skylar you loved it.”

“Is that your chef-friend’s name?”

“Yes.”

Standing up, I walk to where Eden’s coat is hanging, and taking it off the hook, I hold it open so she can push her arms through the sleeves.

 I move my hands to her shoulders and turn her around so she’ll face me. Staring into her gray eyes, I slowly lower my head and press a tender kiss to her lips.

I can’t pinpoint what it is about her, but the more time I get to spend with her, the more I want to be around her.

Pulling back, I say, “I like you too, Tesoro.”

Taking hold of her hand, I weave our fingers together before we leave the room.

When we weave through the tables toward the exit, Renzo comes in, and the instant his eyes lock on Eden and me, his eyebrows fly up into his hairline.

Here we go.

His focus shifts to Eden, and only when we reach him does he meet my eyes.

“Hey,” I say. “Renzo, this is Eden.” Tugging her closer to me, I explain, “She’s the dancer I told you about.”

A smile forms on Eden’s face, and she holds her free hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you a friend of Dario’s?”

“I’m his best friend,” Renzo chuckles. 

I watch as he shakes her hand, and when they’re done, I tell him, “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.” A smile that spells nothing good for me forms on his face. “Have fun.”

I teased Renzo and Franco endlessly when they met their women and fell in love. There’s no way they’ll miss a chance to get back at me.

Leaving the restaurant, Eden says, “I had a nice time. Thank you.”

I glance down at her as I lead her to where I parked my SUV, which I’m using because Bella peed on the passenger seat of my R8, so I’ve had it sent to be cleaned.

When I open the passenger door, Eden chuckles, “In case you missed it, that was me giving you a chance to back out of taking me home.”

“I’m not backing out.” I nod my head toward the car, encouraging her to get in.

Once she climbed into the passenger side, I shut the door and walk around the SUV.

As I slide behind the steering wheel, I say, “Seat belt, Tesoro.”

She pulls on the seat belt, then asks, “Are you fluent in Italian?”

“Yes.” I start the engine and check for traffic before I pull away from the curb.

“Oooh. Tell me something dirty in Italian.”

I think for a moment, and lowering my voice to a seductive tone, I say, “Adoro il modo in cui si sente la tua figa attorno al mio cazzo.”

She places her hand on my thigh and moves it dangerously close to where my cock is growing hard.

“What does it mean?”

“I love the way your pussy feels around my cock.”

She lets out an unexpected snort that’s followed by laughter. “Sorry. Even though I knew you would say something like that, it still caught me off guard.”

“You’re not used to men talking dirty to you?” I ask, and as soon as the question is out, I really want to hear the answer.

“No.” She gives my thigh a squeeze. “You make it sound hot.”

I stop the SUV at a red light then capture her eyes with mine. “Does it turn you on?” She nods, which has me asking, “What else turns you on?”

She shrugs and thinks for a moment. “Spontaneous hot sex. The kind where clothes are ripped off and furniture is broken.”

The corner of my mouth lifts in a smirk as I mutter, “I like the sound of that.”

“What’s a turn-on for you?” she asks.

“Everything you did on Friday night.”

A wide smile spreads over her face. “Unfortunately for you, that was a one-time performance.”

“I’ll just have to cherish it then.”

When I enter Brownsville, Eden gives me her address.

People instantly take notice of my arrival, and as I steer the SUV toward the apartment block where Eden lives, I see one scout after another making calls to notify their gang members that I’m here.

No one will risk a thing while I’m in the neighborhood because they don’t want to get into shit with the Cosa Nostra.

“You can park there, where the group of people are sitting on the sidewalk,” Eden says.

I bring the SUV to a standstill, and when we get out, an African-American man who looks like he’s in his early fifties gets up from the plastic chair he’s occupying. He reminds me of the actor in The Green Mile.

His eyes dart from Eden to me.

“Is this your date, baby girl?” he asks Eden, a wave of protectiveness coming off him.

Eden walks closer and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Yes. Be nice, Tyrone.”

“I’ll be nice as long as he doesn’t give me a reason to be otherwise,” Tyrone says.

I like this man.

Holding my hand out to him, I treat Tyrone the same way I would any father of a girl I’m interested in. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“None of that sir shit. Tyrone’s just fine.”

His eyes snap to our left, and he stares at a black sedan that’s slowly creeping up the street.

I glance in the direction of the vehicle and notice it’s Frankie, a gangster whose main source of income is stealing cars. Four of his men are in the car with him.

They’re in the midst of a territory war with another gang, and I’m actually rooting for Frankie to win.

“You just keep on driving by,” Tyrone shouts. “Nothing to see here.” Then he looks at Eden. “Get your man inside before someone tries to mug him for his expensive clothes.”

Frankie gives me a chin lift before the sedan speeds away.

“Yeah,” Tyrone calls after the car. “That’s right. Drive away, motherfuckers.”

“That’s enough, Tyrone,” Eden mutters. “Don’t piss them off.”

We walk into a building and head up the stairs to the third floor. When Tyrone follows us into the apartment, Eden says, “Don’t give him shit.”

“I’m just gonna lay out the law for him,” he mutters before giving me a once-over. “What’s your name?”

Fuck. There’s a chance Tyrone might know about the Cosa Nostra.

“His name is Dario. He owns a ballet company. Don’t ask more questions,” Eden rambles, looking nervous. “I’ll come over when he leaves and tell you everything about him.”

“Ohhhh,” Tyrone says, sounding as if he’s just realized something. The next second, he gives me a wide, toothy smile. “It was nice meeting you.” He walks to the door. “I’ll keep an eye on your car so no one jacks your wheels.”

“Thanks,” I murmur. When he shuts the door behind him, I turn to face Eden. “Did I miss something?”

“No. Tyrone’s just weird like that.” She shrugs off her coat. “You want something to drink? I have juice and coffee.”

I glance around the small space. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Shock hits me square in the gut when I take in the shitty apartment Eden calls home.

There’s an old-as-fuck couch and a coffee table that’s missing a leg. A stack of bricks keeps it from tipping over.

The walls haven’t seen a fresh coat of paint in the last decade or two, and it looks like the windows are nailed shut.

I’m struggling to process Eden’s circumstances, which are nothing short of horrific and the complete opposite of mine.

Doing my best to hide my reaction, I turn my attention back to her, and seeing how she’s watching me, I smile and say, “We’re alone.”

“We are.” Her lips curve up. “What do you want to do?”

“We can sit and talk.”

The smile drops from her face. “Talk? I thought you wanted to have sex?” 

Taking her hand, I pull her to the couch and take a seat beside her. “That can wait. Let’s get to know each other better.”

“Oh…okay.”

She turns her body, and resting her shoulder against the back of the couch, she looks at me. “You said Renzo is one of your best friends. Do you have a lot of friends?”

I nod. “And you?”

“I have a few. I’m close with another waitress.”

Lifting my arm around her shoulders, I tug her closer until she’s leaning into me, and for the next hour, we talk about safe topics.