The Mafia Man

Sweet Lemonade and Vulnerability

I screeched and tried to pull away but his grip was iron. He ran a hand through my hair and tugged me outside with him. Mr. Romano slammed the door shut to the anger of my family before promptly scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the car. I don't think this is how courting usually goes...

I knew to keep my mouth shut as he carefully placed me in my seat, staring intensely at me. But as the staring continued I couldn't help but meet his gaze and chirp, "Hi!".

He chuckled and replied, "Hi, Rosie,"
before pecking my cheek and waltzing around the car to the front seat. The engine started, and silence ensued. I wonder where we're going! I haven't been out to lunch in ages.

I began to ask him, "Mr. Romano? Whe-" but he interrupted me.

"Call me Callahan, please, not Mr. Romano. Anything but that."

"Hmmmm..." I thought out loud. "Can I call you Cal? You called me Rosie, so I think it's only fair."

He smiled warmly, directly contradicting the horrific tales I'd heard about him. "Cal is perfect, my love."

I in turn smiled at him, and we soon arrived at our destination: an Italian restaurant. I could already smell the delicious aroma of food I wasn't yet acquainted with.

He helped me out of the automobile and gave me his arm to hold. I did so, and I felt butterflies in my stomach at our touch.

Heads turned and jaws dropped as we entered the restaurant, and Mr. Ro-, I mean Cal, said something in Italian to the hostess who escorted us to a private room.

Candles were lit at our booth, and the dim light felt so romantic. I sat across from Cal and he reached for my hand. A young man came to take our order, and Cal tightened his grip on my hand. Cal very grimly ordered a water while I chose a lemonade.

The waiter obviously didn't get Cal's warning because he winked at me and said, "A sweet lemonade for the sweet lady,".
Cal shot up and I grabbed his arm across the table.

"Be very careful, boy." Cal growled and sat back down, working his jaw. The waiter scurried away, and I stared wide-eyed at Cal's dark face.

"Cal, what was that?" I asked softly, not wanting to anger him further.

He ran a hand through his hair and said, "I'm so sorry, Rosie. I just got protective. I don't like what he said to you."

"That's okay. My brothers are the same." I assured him.

"Really?" He asked. We then talked all about our families. I told him about my family life while I learned all about his family. He has three little sisters and two little brothers. His father passed away last year when he turned nineteen, and his mother is very sweet.

The more we talked, the more vulnerable he became, and the more I didn't want this outing to end.