Lucien (The Marchesi Family 1)

Just as we were finishing dessert, I heard shouts from the floor below. “Sir? Sir! We are full tonight. You can’t go in. Sir!”

A large, bearded man in a dark suit rushed toward the stairs. Lucien rose from his seat, and his hand went to his side where I knew he had a gun concealed under his dinner jacket.

Before he resorted to pulling out his weapon, a few men from his security team tackled the man and dragged him from the room.

I started to ask Lucien if he needed to find out what had happened when he held up his hand. It was clear someone was talking to him through his earpiece. I saw him tap the device to unmute it. “Yes. Follow the plan we arranged. I’ll meet you there when I’ve finished my dinner and things have calmed down here. No need to make him comfortable, but I will handle this.”

I shivered as I imagined Lucien’s way of handling the man who’d dared to interrupt his evening.

The restaurant was quieter than it had been. It was clear many of the diners were uneasy. I saw several people rise from their tables as though they intended to leave, despite clearly being only partway through their meals. “Everything’s okay, but I need to say a few things,” Lucien told me before walking to the railing and looking out over the lower floor.

“Good evening, everyone.” He had no trouble projecting his voice so the entire place could hear him. All chatter immediately ceased. “I’m Lucien Marchesi, owner of DiGiulio’s, and I apologize for that disturbance. I want to assure you everything is under control. My security team is on alert, and we will have no more interruptions. I would like for you all to stay and enjoy your dinner. Everyone will receive a complimentary drink of your choice, and I hope you will return to dine with us again. Thank you for supporting my new venture.”

There was a round of applause and more than a few whistles. Lucien bowed to those below, then turned and did the same to the people dining on our level. When he returned to our table, Bianca, the manager I’d met the day before, approached our table. They discussed the logistics of offering complimentary drinks and talked through a few other issues that had arisen.

“Can you tell me more about what happened?” I asked when Bianca had departed.

Lucien frowned. “All you need to know is that the attack we were expecting occurred. It seems everyone but the man you saw was stopped before they reached the restaurant.”

His voice was strained, and I could tell, despite the calm he’d shown when speaking to the restaurant patrons, he was tense. “Are you sure there’s no one else? Nothing else planned?”

“As sure as I can be about anything. Everyone is still on high alert, so stop worrying and enjoy your dessert.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to answer any more questions, and it would be a crime to ignore the rest of my orgasmically good tiramisu or to let Lucien ignore his when I knew dessert was his favorite part of any meal. The sweet cream combined with the bitterness of espresso was like Lucien’s touch turned into a food. They’d paired it with a sweet white wine that wasn’t like anything I’d ever tasted, but I was very eager to have more.

I knew absolutely nothing about wine before coming to live with Lucien, but at his house, every dinner was accompanied by a few bottles of wine that likely cost more than I’d spent on groceries in a week when I’d been on my own. But even after getting used to having wine every night, the numerous glasses I’d had over the course of our dinner had given me a warm buzz, which made it easier for me to ignore the danger we were in.

Lucien smiled at me, and I saw warmth in his eyes, not just desire but something more. Or was that just the wine making me see exactly what I longed for?

18

Lucien

When we’d finished our dessert, I asked Peter if he needed anything else before we left.

He gave me a soft smile. “I don’t think I could eat another bite, and I’m sure I don’t need more to drink. Thank you for tonight. I’ve never had a dinner like this.”

“You deserve to eat this well every night.” I reached for his hand and ran my thumb over the back of it. “I like when you’re a little tipsy. You smile more easily, and the flush on your cheeks reminds me of—”

“Sir, your car has been brought around.” I wanted to snarl at the young man for the interruption, but he was simply doing his job.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked Peter.

“Yes,” he rose to his feet, looking slightly unsteady. I offered my arm. He took it and leaned heavily against me. I liked the feel of him there, pressed against my side. I greeted a few people as we headed downstairs. Angelo was waiting for me by the employee entrance.