“Girl,” she muttered low. “You are playin’ with fire.”
“I’m just going out to dinner.”
“And I’m just sayin’ you best pop by here before you go back to Luke, change your clothes, wash your face and hope he never finds out you went out with another man wearin’ that outfit.”
“It’ll all be fine,” I assured her.
“Yeah, that’s what you said about our visit to Uncle Vito. Now he’s plannin’ your weddin’ to his nephew.”
This, I had to admit, was true.
There came a knock at the door.
Shirleen looked to the heavens. “Here we go,” she said as if warning God to brace.
I went to the door and opened it. Ren stood there.
Ren was just like Dom in the tall, lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, thick, dark hair departments. Ren’s hair had no wave like Dom’s did, though. His eyes were a fantastic espresso color and, even though I pretty much knew that he knew he was hot, he didn’t strut like his cousin. He was just… cool. Way cool. Yumalicious cool.
He was wearing a well-cut, dark-brown suit, a light-brown shirt and his muscular throat on show. I’d always loved his throat, there was something about it that made you just want to taste it.
“Ava,” he said.
My eyes went from his throat to his face. “Hey Ren.”
He was looking in my eyes. Then he did a body sweep and his gaze came back to mine.
When it did and I caught the hungry look in his eye, I had to stop myself from putting my hand to the door to hold myself up.
Boy was I screwed.
*
Carmine’s on Penn had a cozy atmosphere, was always packed to the gills, had white paper over the tables so you could draw on it with crayons they provided and didn’t have menus. Their dishes were listed on blackboards on the wall but none of the items made any sense unless you had been there before. The waiters explained the dishes then wrote your order in crayon on the white paper on your table.
I didn’t need the waiters to explain the dishes. I knew exactly what I wanted. I just hoped it was what Ren wanted because the food was served family style.
Ren and I had chit chatted on the ride there in his black Jaguar (seriously sleek ride, totally super-fly). He valet parked and we were seated at a cozy table a deux. We chit chatted before ordering and chit chatted while eating the delicious garlicky rolls.
Ren was easy to talk to, he might have been hot as well as way cool but there was something mellow about him, laid-back and he gave the impression he gave a shit about what you said.
Our big bowl of caesar salad was put on the table when Ren asked, “So how are you doin’?”
Considering we were into the salad stage, I didn’t figure this was an opening remark.
I looked at him and tried to judge how safe he was. Luke had thrown a new light on the Vincetti-Zano family. Still, I’d spent a lot of time with them. When they took in Sissy, they took me in and they were always really nice to me. There were a lot of them I liked and one of the ones I liked the most was Ren.
“Do you know what’s been happening?” I asked.
He sat back ignoring the salad, eyes serious. “Tell me.”
I served up the salad and told him. Then I told him more while eating the salad. Then I told him some more while eating a second serving of the salad.
While I talked, I could feel Ren’s laid-back mood slipping into something a lot scarier.
The big salad bowl was taken away and I just stopped myself from nabbing one last crouton as the server took it when Ren said, “Why didn’t you call me?”
I looked at him a little surprised. We knew each other but weren’t exactly close. He wasn’t like a bestest best friend who you called when you found a great fingernail polish or when you got kidnapped, especially when his family was doing the kidnapping.
“Why would I call you?” I asked.
“This is family business.”
“I’m not family.”
“Sissy’s family.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
He sat back and said with finality, “I’ll take care of it.”
I leaned forward. Time to get down to business.
“What, exactly, are you gonna take care of?” I asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” he returned casually and I could tell he was ready to move on to another subject.
I didn’t think so. “Well, considering the fact that, for some bizarre reason, I’m involved, I can’t help but worry about it.”
He just looked at me.
“Why am I involved?” I went on.
“Because Dom’s a dickhead,” he answered.
I couldn’t argue with that either, but still. “That doesn’t give me a lot to go on, Ren.”