Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,77
shrugged casually. “Not me, my brother, but nonetheless an oversight in my opinion.”
“I’m so glad a bounty on my head by a mob boss was merely an oversight.” What the hell was wrong with me? This was a bad idea and getting worse by the second. Shade, angry or not, would never stab me in the back if I blinked wrong.
Massimo pulled out a chair at a ten-person table that had no one sitting at it. “I think your imagination is running away with you, bella. Perhaps too much television has filled your head with fantastical ideas of bounties and the mob. Surely your position in life would shelter you from something so preposterous.”
I took the seat even though I wanted to bolt. The way he spoke, formal and with a slight accent, I couldn’t tell if he was twenty-five or forty. “How old are you?”
He took the chair next to me but he didn’t lean back. Studying me, his eyes roamed over my face. “Does it matter?”
“No.” I was out of here the second a six-and-a-half-foot bodyguard with an attitude problem wasn’t standing between me and the exit. I glanced back the way we’d come and immediately wished I hadn’t when I encountered furious dark eyes on a Marine covered in tattoos. Tuxedo or not, there was no disguising the warrior Shade was.
Massimo’s eyebrows drew together in concentration as he continued to stare at me.
With Shade’s glare burning a hole in the back of my head, and a mafia boss’s gaze making me squirm, I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh, run, or cry. “What?” Maybe all three.
“Curious,” Massimo quietly ruminated before tipping his chin at one of the guards standing behind us.
The expressionless man who I wasn’t sure spoke, turned his back on us and signaled a waitress.
“What’s curious?” I stupidly asked.
“You look like neither your father nor mother.”
“Fallon is my stepmother.”
“I am aware.”
My back stiffened and for a moment, I forgot all about the irate bodyguard across the room. “You knew my birth mother?” It wasn’t a secret that Fallon was my stepmother and, as far as I knew, my father had not made any great effort to hide who my mother was, but neither of us ever advertised it or even spoke about her anymore.
A waitress appeared with a nervous expression. “Excuse me, sir. I have your drinks.” She set a tumbler with amber liquid in front of him and champagne flute in front of me. “Would you like anything else?”
“No, thank you.” Massimo smiled pleasantly at her before looking back at me and picking up his drink. “Salute.”
“I don’t drink.”
He smiled softly. “It’s champagne, bella. A sip will not hurt you.”
“I just got out of rehab.”
“A mere retreat for a minor indiscretion involving your stepmother.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I do my homework, signorina.” Casual as you please, he leaned back and nodded at the champagne. “Have a drink.”
A chill, from him, from the air conditioning, swept up my back, but I didn’t touch my glass.
“As you wish.” Massimo took a swallow of his drink and set it back down, and that’s when it occurred to me.
There was a reason he was here.
“What do you want?” I no longer cared if he knew who my birth mother was or what information he’d found out about me before coming here tonight. My skin crawled, and I’d had enough of alpha assholes to last me a lifetime.
“Ah.” The side of his mouth tipped up, but it wasn’t like when Shade did it. This was practiced and affected, and a move purposely made to entice or coerce. “I am glad that you asked.” He leaned closer. “I think we have a certain rapport now. I think we understand each other, no?”
“No.”
“Then let me rephrase.” He smiled. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”
“You tried to kill me,” I reminded him.
He made a sound of dismissal. “You insulted a Vincenzo woman. Antonio did what he had to do to protect her honor. It is done. The past is not my concern.”
“Her honor?” I practically spat. “She—”
“It is done.” Massimo cut me short with a warning tone.
“Whatever.” I picked up the champagne.
Massimo took it from my hand and set it down on his side of the table. “I want an introduction to your father. Then you can consider your debt paid.”
Wait, what? “What debt?” My father didn’t give a shit about me, but I stupidly still held on to the notion that he was my father.