Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,49
what?”
“Your second favorite restaurant.”
“Oh. Um, my cousin and I went to P.F. Chang’s a couple times.”
Tony’s gaze twinkled with laughter. “There’s better out there.”
No kidding.
“I’ve always known that. I used to have this awful feeling in my chest. I knew I was being cheated with all the grocery store prepared crap, but I dealt with it. I was grateful.”
“We cope in different ways.” He grasped a ceramic carafe and poured hot liquid into a cup. “I recite cocktail recipes in my head. The repetition helps snap me out of it.”
“Isn’t that counterintuitive with your addiction?”
“Maybe, but it works.” He shrugged, nudging the cup toward me. “Try this. You might like it.”
Heat tingled my cheeks as I sipped the warm spirits. I scrunched my nose.
“It’s…okay. Kind of like vodka.”
Vague amusement lit up his face as I pushed it aside.
“It’s sake. I guess it’s not for everyone.”
“Is it difficult for you to resist alcohol?”
“Sometimes. But I’ve learned the hard way that me and booze don’t mix.”
Tony’s arms circled my waist and tightened. His attention flicked to the door, the windows, like a big cat scouting for prey.
“You seem on edge.”
Tony swiped his glass and downed his seltzer. “I don’t go out much.”
Since my club kidnapped and tortured you.
Nausea twisted my stomach. “Because of what they did to you?”
“Because I get nothing out of it. I’ve been to every restaurant, club, or bar you can think of. I’ve partied enough to last five lifetimes. I’m done with it all.” He casually stroked my thigh, the contact white-hot, and kissed my neck. “Don’t worry. Wining and dining my wife doesn’t count.”
Good.
I sipped the sake even though I wasn’t wild about the flavor, just to settle my nerves. Sitting on Tony’s lap, being held, and his deep voice booming through my back had overloaded my system. I wracked my brains for a subject to talk about.
“Did your dad expect you to succeed him as boss?”
He snorted. “He didn’t want me involved in the mafia, period.”
Really? That surprised me, considering he was the only son of the late Nico Costa.
“Even my father forces me to launder diamonds.”
“Not mine. He wanted more from me.”
“Like what?”
“So many things. I had to be perfect. I had to be the best. He filled me with so much hot air that I was so empty. I still am.” He released a sigh that sucked in my body. “I wasn’t always like this, Evie. My dad tried so hard. I went to dance classes, elocution lessons, luncheons with high society, riding lessons. He saw me as an Italian Jay Gatsby, a refined, white-collar criminal, a gentleman. He was hell bent on me marrying a princess.”
“You didn’t want a princess, I take it?”
“God no.”
I pictured an adolescent Tony pouting in riding breeches and smiled.
“I could see you rebelling.”
“Yeah, I went overboard with that. Couldn’t help it, though. Every second of my day was scheduled. By the time I got into an Ivy League, I was burnt out. Tired. I needed an escape, so I started smoking weed. You can guess how well that went.”
Tony kissed the back of my neck, as though he sensed my sinking heart.
“I never liked myself, Evie,” he said after a moment of silence. “I was an entitled bastard, a drug-addicted mess, a selfish jackass who screwed everybody over. Now I’m sober. I pay my bills. I behave myself at social functions. My family thinks I’m reformed, but they have no fucking idea…how ruined I am. I’m worse. I’m just trying to not be condemned to the hottest circle of hell.” He squeezed my palm, the fervor in his glare growing. “I won’t let the MC do that to you, too.”
Alarm rippled down my spine.
Tony and I finished the meal without saying another word. He paid for dinner, and I slid off his lap, grateful to be free from his intoxicating warmth. Tony looped his arm around my waist and gently escorted me to the car.
The secret, whatever it was, weighed the air. I didn’t want to break the silence with changing the subject. I hoped he’d confide in me once we got inside the penthouse. He still hadn’t told me the whole story. It ate at me as we took the elevator together, but Tony seemed happier than I’d ever seen him.
He caught my eye and smiled. “Want an espresso?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Coffee. Italians drink espressos after dinner.”
“Doesn’t that keep you up all night?”
“Not if you make it right. There’s not as much caffeine in an espresso as drip coffee.”