My eyes lingered on his strong jaw, the dark blond stubble, the way his mouth was set in a determined line. He seemed always in control. Was there a time when he ever lost it? Even during his fight, he’d never given up control. He had dominated his opponent with little effort.
As I watched him drive, I got my first good look at the tattoo on the inside of his right forearm. It was a long knife with an eye on the top of the blade, near the hilt. Words were written in intricate letters on the hilt. They were Italian and too small for me to read.
Fabiano pulled into the parking lot of Roger’s Arena and turned off the engine. He held out his forearm to me so I could take a closer look. Had I been staring that openly?
“What does it say?” I touched my fingertip to his skin, tracing every single letter and marveling at how soft his skin felt. He was all hard lines and muscle, power and danger, but his skin betrayed that once all those layers were shed, he was only human.
“Temere me, perché sono l’occhio e la spada,” Fabiano said in flawless Italian from what I could tell. He caressed the words with his tongue, almost as if he was their lover. A shiver raced down my back. I couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel if he whispered words of passion into my ear in that same voice. “What…” I cleared my throat, hoping he couldn’t tell how his closeness and voice were affecting me. “What does it mean?”
“Fear me cause I’m the eye and the blade.”
A lover’s voice delivering such harsh words. “Do all mobsters have this tattoo?” I asked.
He smirked. “We like to call us Made Men or Camorrista, but yes, members of the Camorra all have the same tattoo as a way to recognize each other.”
“The eye and the blade,” I repeated. “What does it mean? What do you have to do to carry that tattoo?”
He leaned over and for a moment I was sure he would kiss me, and worse, I realized I would have let him. Instead he ran a finger down the length of my arm, a dark look in his eyes. “That’s something you don’t want to know,” he murmured.
I nodded. With him being so close, it was hard to concentrate. I needed to get out of this car.
“Go out with me.”
“I have to work,” came my dumb reply.
He smiled a knowing smile. “Not every day. When’s your next day off?”
I didn’t know. I hadn’t talked to Roger about that, and with the way my financial situation was progressing I could probably never take a day off.
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s say Wednesday.”
That was only two days away. I hadn’t come to Vegas to go on a date. I’d sworn to myself to keep my head down and stay out of trouble. How was going on a date with a member of the mob doing that?
“I can’t. I…” I trailed off. I couldn’t come up with a useful excuse and Fabiano’s eyes spoke a clear language. No, was unacceptable.
“I don’t know if I can get that day off.”
“You will.”
Did the bar belong to the Camorra? Or was Roger just too intimidated to refuse Fabiano a request like that?
All my life people had trampled upon me. Nothing had ever come easy for me. I’d had to fight for everything, and suddenly there was Fabiano who got what he wanted, who could handle things for me with a few simple words. It shouldn’t have felt good, but I’d always been on my own. My mother hadn’t been in any state to take care of me, and my father had been hundreds of miles away, and just as incapable, and now there was someone taking care of me. I liked it, liked handing over some of the pressure of always having to fend for myself, of having to make every decision. I liked it too much.
I needed to be careful. Men like Fabiano were used to controlling others. If I let him, he’d take total control of my life, of me: body and soul.
I tore my gaze away from his face. The air was too stuffy. A trickle of sweat trailed down my back. I got out of the car, glad for more space between me and Fabiano.
He followed me of course, prowled after me.
“Are you coming in for a drink?” I asked him, torn between wanting him to and wanting him to leave.
“Not today, but I’ll have a quick talk to Roger about Wednesday.”
His hand touched my back, as he led me inside. The feel of his palm on my skin was way more distracting than it should have been.
The moment we entered the bar, Cheryl’s angry eyes zoomed in on me, then on Fabiano, before she whirled around and headed through the door behind the bar. Most of the tables were still empty. The first fight hadn’t begun yet but a look at the watch revealed that I was almost one hour late. Guilt overcame me. I hated disappointing people who relied on me. Roger was certainly furious.