When The Sun Goes Down - A Midnight Mafia Novel

Chapter Sixteen

"That was...nice."

We were walking abnormally slow on the sidewalk together. The streets were fairly quiet all things considered.

"It was." He agreed.

I felt a little awkward now, and I had no clue why. I glanced down to his hands, stuffed in his coat pocket and then looked at my own.

"Are you cold?"

"No." It was cold out. It was November after all. But no, I wasn't cold.

"I thought we would get a late dinner and then catch a hotel for the night."

"Where's Pietro?"

"He's around. Pietro's always around."

"Is he your body guard?"

"He's...well...something like that."

"Ah." I said with little else to contribute to the conversation. "Do you ever do anything fun and spontaneous?"

He laughed. "I run a mafia Katherine. What do you think?"

"And you'd consider that fun?"

"I have a better life than most." He said simply.

"Your life is in constant danger, and a lot of good all this money and friends will be if you go to jail."

"That won't happen."

"You sound so sure."

He shrugged. "You ask a lot of annoying questions."

"I'm a journalist, that's my job."

His lips twitched upward but he didn't quite smile. "I suppose it is."

Dinner was at what was probably the most expensive restaurant I had ever even dared to look at, let alone set foot in. I couldn't read the menu at all. Alessio wore the smuggest of grins as he ordered for the two of us and I was fuming with annoyance and embarrassment.

"You brought me to an Italian place on purpose." I accused.

"Perhaps I just wanted to include you in my culture, Bella."

"My name is Kate."

He laughed and the waiter poured each of us a glass of wine and left the bottle with us. "Bella is not a name. Not in my langue that is. Bella means beauty."

"Oh." I said and my cheeks flared. To try to muffle the awkward moment I took a long drink of my wine.

"You don't like when I speak Italian to you?"

"How do you say no in Italian?" I asked sarcastically with an eye roll.

"No." He chuckled.

"Of course." I muttered and took another drink. Always making a fool of myself it seemed.

"Topolina, it's such a beautiful language though! They call it the language of love you know."

(Little mouse. It is a term of endearment)

"Yeah, really romantic when you're screaming Italian curse words at me or calling me a pig."