My drink arrives. I raise my glass to cheers him and say, “I guess we're at an impasse, then.”
He clinks my glass. “I'm usually better at negotiation than this.”
I sip at my drink. “Maybe it's time to try a different negotiation strategy.” I wonder just how many negotiation strategies he knows. Probably not all of them nice ones. That comes with being in the mafia.
He thinks about that for a moment. “My name's Dante,” he says.
“That's not a very good negotiation tactic.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I guess I can keep calling you Vesper, then...”
He sounds like he's starting to give up the fight. I can throw him a bone here. “Lucia.” I go with my middle name. That should be safe enough. “Or, at least that's what it says on my driver's license.” As one of my names.
His eyes light up. “Lucia. That's good to know. And it's good to know that you have a driver's license.”
I laugh. “So maybe I'm not as much of a rebel as I pretend to be. You, on the other hand, are still drinking in this bar.”
“I told you, I own it,” he says, this time much more matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes. It's an act, because I do actually believe him. “Well then, Bond, should we spend the entire evening here so that you can get free drinks?”
He can't help but grin. “I had a better idea, Vesper. How often do you go to Central Park?”
“Never.” Like most people who live in New York, I try to avoid the tourist traps.
“Then this should be a lot of fun.”
Of course he has a limo waiting outside for us, one that I didn't even see him call. And of course he has a change of clothes in there.
The Russo Family likes to flaunt their status. They may be hurting for cash flow, but they won't let the rest of the world see that.
“Do you mind? I don't want to be overdressed for this date,” he asks.
I laugh. “You want me to turn around?”
He shrugs. “Look out the window. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me.”
I can tell he's just teasing me, but I look out the window anyway. “Okay, I'm looking at some boring buildings instead of you.”
“Good,” he says. I can still see him in the reflection of the glass, and as he takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. I like what I see. He's in great shape, with a set of muscular pecs and a six pack of abs. He throws on a soft t shirt and a light jacket over that. I try not to peek too much as he quickly slides into a pair of jeans. The fancy suit is tossed carelessly to the side. I wonder if he just came from a meeting.
“Okay, you can look now,” he says.
I make an exaggerated look of surprise when I see his transformation. “That was quick.”
He smiles. “I don't want to waste your time, Vesper.”
I laugh. “So this is a date, now?”
“If you want it to be,” he says with a shrug.
“Hey, your words, not mine,” I say.
When the limo gets to Central Park, I let him help me out of the car. He immediately walks over to the closest hot dog stand and orders us two hot dogs. “Hope you don't mind, I'm starving.”
My stomach is grumbling as well. It has been a long time since I had a street vendor hot dog. Most guys tended to take me to fancy restaurants on our dates.
We walk through Central Park, our hot dogs in hand. I'm still extremely surprised at how quickly I feel comfortable with him already. I never feel this way with anyone. I'm usually on edge, especially with anyone not from the family. Yet, I feel comfortable around him. It's kind of exciting and wonderful.