Tempted by the Sinner

I took a deep breath and stood. I might be making a mistake, but at least I was trying something.

I walked across the park and hurried toward the spot where he’d pick me up.3VinceI got a table outside of Belgian Cafe, the only table in the shade beneath the awning. The table had just enough room for two, a little black metal thing with two uncomfortable metal chairs. The cafe was in a residential neighborhood, and brick-fronted houses with dark gray stoops sprouted up on either side of us. The intersection was quiet, and people walked past, some of them in a hurry, some of them at a leisurely stroll.

The cafe was empty though, just the way I liked it. I stood when I saw the familiar car pull up to the curb and park a few feet away. Dino was driving, one of my father’s personal soldiers, and the back door opened.

Mona climbed out. She wore tight light blue jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, cut low enough to show just a hint of her chest. Her hair was up, though some of it escaped. She pushed it from her eyes and smiled at me.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you still wearing the same suit from last night?”

I laughed and looked down at myself. “No, this is a different one,” I said. “And you know, I was hoping you’d show up in your caterer’s outfit.”

She grinned. “What, you think I looked so good in that?”

“Pretty much.”

She tilted her head. “I can go home and change.”

“No, you know what, you’re okay.” I gestured at Dino and he nodded then pulled out. “Come on, sit down.”

I took a seat again and she sat across from me. She hung her little black purse over the back of her chair and leaned forward on her elbows.

“So what’s a mobster doing coming to a little hipster cafe like this?” she asked.

I laughed and shook my head. “First of all, you can’t just say that shit out loud,” I said. “And second, this isn’t a hipster place. It’s a legitimate Belgian-style cafe. And the food’s good.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. I grinned at her and ran a hand through my dark hair. I had to admit, she did have a point. The Belgian Cafe was a corner bar, dark on the inside, lots of wood and pint glasses, with a little dining area to the right. The outside was simple, with a big red banner up at the top that scrolled around the corner of the building, and a big old-fashioned style wooden door with black handles. Everything about it screamed old world, but it was all facade, since it was built only a few years ago.

“All right,” she said. “I won’t judge. Since you haven’t been in the city for a while. Do you live in New York full-time now?”

I leaned forward. “Are you going to interrogate me this whole time?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Although I’m not sure how we’re supposed to talk if I can’t ask you questions.”

I laughed and gestured. “Fair enough,” I said.

“So, New York.”

“Been there a while,” I said. “I’ve been establishing some businesses there for my family.”

“Happy to be back here?”

I shook my head. “Not really, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, what a typical New Yorker thing to say.”

I ran a finger along the metal table, tracing the circular patterns.

“I like Philly,” I said. “But it’s just not my home anymore.”

“You grew up here, right?”

“Born and raised.” I tilted my head. “You read my Wikipedia entry, huh?”

“Didn’t know you had one,” she said, her tone innocent.

I laughed and let my eyes linger on her chest and lips. Goddamn, she was a pretty girl, but she was smart. I could see her weighing me already, that little disarming smile on her lips, and I knew she was filing away all my answers for when she needed them again.

The waitress came with menus. I asked for a beer and Mona just wanted water. I crossed my legs and tilted my head at her once the waitress was gone. I didn’t bother with the menu, but she looked at it with tight lips and a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I never know what to order,” she said. “I mean, these places, not everything can be good, right?”

I shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“I mean, some of the ingredients won’t be fresh, and maybe the chef just isn’t that good at a certain dish.”

“You could always ask the waitress.”

She waved that way. “She’ll just tell me to get whatever they’re trying to sell off,” she said.

I snorted. “That’s cynical.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not a cynic?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think I am.”

She put the menu down. “Interesting, coming from a—”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted.

She rested her chin in her hand. “I was going to say, interesting, coming from a rich boy like you.”