I retake my seat, and Danny joins me. Any light and easiness that was with us before is a distant memory. Now, I’m faced with the real Danny Black again.
I’m glad. This guy is easier to handle. I’m better equipped to deal with threats. And his sinister side seems far less dangerous to me than the wickedly charming Brit.
* * *
I picked my way through the seafood and skipped the oysters altogether. There’s been no conversation, just a thick, horrible silence, which leaves room for my mind to go to wild places. He’s angry. He told me to leave and didn’t think I would. So he threatened to kill me if I did. It’s one way to force someone to stay, I guess. Or is it his way to keep me? Either way, I’m still here, which is good because I need to be.
The restaurant is now full, every table around us occupied with families, couples, friends. Everyone seems to be enjoying their meal and company. Except me. I’ve spent the past hour avoiding his eyes, all my muscles tense, and my head is beginning to ache from thinking too much. I’ve felt him watching me throughout as I’ve silently contemplated what he may be thinking and how the hell I’m going to break him down and get what I need to survive this mess. “Excuse me,” I say, dropping my napkin on the table and standing. “I need the ladies’.”
Danny clicks his fingers, and the guy who helped Ringo carry Gordon’s dead body out of the restaurant motions the way. He’s not as ugly as Ringo, but he’s a close second. His jet-black hair is too long and secured tightly at the nape of his neck, and his lips look like they’re constantly sneering. “Watson will accompany you,” Danny says.
I don’t question it and start walking, Danny’s man following. He holds court outside the ladies’ while I use the toilet and check myself in the mirror, giving my cheeks a few smacks to get some color back into them. I look like a ghost—pale, troubled, and stressed.
I get back to the table to find the bill has been paid and Danny is standing, waiting for me. “No dessert, then?” I quip, slipping my purse under my arm.
“We’ll get dessert at home.”
“I’ve suddenly lost my sweet tooth,” I mutter, ignoring the heat of his hand on the center of my back as he guides me out.
“Who said anything about it being sweet?” Danny stops me just before the door, looking across to a table of three men. “Wait.”
Quickly, Brad is beside us, as well as Ringo and Watson. “What’s up?” Brad asks, slightly bewildered, his hand moving to underneath his suit jacket.
“An old friend.” Danny redirects us toward the table, bringing us to a stop at the edge. Their meal interrupted, they all look up at us. I expect them all to balk in horror by who’s approached, but they just look blankly at Danny, and a quick peek out the corner of my eye tells me Danny doesn’t seem surprised by this. “Pedro?” Danny says, smiling. It’s not a genuine smile. This is a fake smile. A dangerous smile. Like the smile he gave Perry that night in the Aria before he took me.
“Yeah . . .” The guy sets his beer down, clearly thrown. “Sorry, you are?”
“Danny.” His hand extends across the table to Pedro, whoever Pedro is, and he takes it and shakes.
“Of course, Danny. Good to see you, my friend.” The delight on Pedro’s face is as fake as Danny’s smile. Pedro doesn’t have a clue who Danny is, and something tells me he should. And he should also probably be shitting himself.
“What are you doing in Miami?” Danny asks, keeping his smile fixed.
“Just visiting family. Back to London next week.” He stabs at his dish and lifts a piece of ham. “We were told this is the best Italian in Miami.”
“It really is.” Danny takes my hand and pulls me close, forcing me to snuggle into his side. The three men all take me in, and I smile nervously, as bewildered as they are. “We just finished, and it was sublime.” Danny looks down at me. “Wasn’t it, sweetheart?”
Don’t scowl, don’t scowl. “Stunning,” I confirm, matching his false beam. “And now we’re going home for dessert,” I add.
Danny laughs lightly. That’s false too. “It’s fate, Pedro. You here in Miami, us in the same restaurant.”
Pedro nods around a mouthful of pasta. “It was good to