She froze. “Excuse me?”
“Dinner. You know, the meal in the evening?”
“I know what dinner is.” Unfortunately, her stomach decided it was the perfect time to growl loudly.
“Sounds like you’re ready,” he said with a grin. “Come.”
“I’m not having dinner with you.”
“Then I’ll stand next to you,” he said. “But you will be having a healthy meal, not that trash you ate today.”
“A bullet ripped right through me. I think a little caffeine and MSG won’t hurt me,” she pointed out. “I’ve been fine the last couple of months, eating what I want. And you won’t be coming with me anywhere.”
“Then how are you leaving then?”
She scrunched up her nose. “I’ll be driving myself.”
He dangled something in front of her. “Might be difficult without these.”
“What—my keys.” She tried to grab it from him, but he raised it high so she couldn’t reach it. “How did you—did you steal them from my desk? Give them back.” When her attempts to take the keys back failed, she crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
“Are you hungry or not? Come, cher.” His hand touched her elbow gently, which still sent a frisson of electricity up her arm. “Before the traffic gets too bad.”
She allowed him to lead her to the garage and to her car but was grumbling most of the way. Breaking free of his grasp, she headed to the passenger-side seat.
He slid into the driver’s side. “Seatbelts please.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The engine roared to life, and soon they were driving out of HQ. As they left the secret entrance, he slowed as they reached the end of the alley, then stopped completely before pulling out to the street. He barely hit twenty as he drove them up Broadway.
“Can you possibly drive any slower, gramps?”
He didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes on the road.
“Where are we stopping for dinner?” she asked with an irritated sigh when they passed Canal St.
“Don’t you worry, we’re nearly there.”
As he took one of the many smaller streets off Broadway, she recognized the trendy SoHo neighborhood. “Wait, are you going to Muccino’s?”
He answered by stopping right in front of the Italian restaurant. “I figured you missed the food here.”
Oh. Dear. Her chest tightened. She didn’t even realize how much she missed Muccino’s until they were already here. So many good memories growing up. So many birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations. She cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that was lodged there.
“Is this all right?” He reached over to brush her cheek with his knuckles.
“It’s fine,” she croaked, then unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door so she could step out. The winter air cooled down the blush in her cheeks, and she quickly strode toward the restaurant’s door, not even waiting for him. He could park the damn car himself since he stole her keys.
“Welcome to Muccino’s, do you have—Mika?”
She stopped short at the familiar voice. Well, the voice was familiar, but she wasn’t sure if she was imagining things. “Isabelle?” She must be imagining things because she couldn’t believe the young woman in front of her was Isabelle Anderson.
Her cousin grinned at her from behind the hostess station, mismatched blue and green eyes sparkling. She strode over and enveloped her in a tight hug. “Oh my God, Mika. Mama told me you were back home! And—” She stepped back and looked at her belly. “Congrats! I wouldn’t have believed it until I saw it.”
“I—thanks.” She was still flabbergasted as she stared at the young woman; where was the flighty young fashionista they all knew? Usually, Isabelle was decked from head to toe in designer brands. Now, she was wearing a plain white blouse, black pencil skirt and sensible shoes. Her face had only the barest of makeup, and her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. “H-how are you? When did you start working here?”
“A couple of weeks ago,” she said. “The manager and the hostess quit at the same time, which meant Mama had to take over.” Muccino’s was run and owned by Frankie Anderson’s family, the former Lupa of New York and Lucas’s mother. “So … I thought I’d help out too.” She seemed almost shy and demure, not at all like the bubbly young woman Mika remembered. But then again, her whole life had changed a year ago.
“How’s Evan?” she asked, referring to Isabelle’s young son. “He must be what … seven months now?”
“Almost eight, and he’s great.” Genuine happiness and love lit up her face. “Papa’s watching him at home. He’s loving being a grandpa, and sometimes he and Mama’ll have all four kids at the same time. It’s chaos, but they’re so thrilled by them all. And—oh, hey, D!”
Her spine tensed as she felt a hand splay over the small of her back. Her attempts to shrug him away only brought mild amusement to his face. “Isabelle,” he greeted. “How have you been? Is the job treating you well? How’s the little one?”
Mika’s gaze bounced from her cousin to Delacroix. “You know each other?”
“Yeah, he’s always around Lucas, being his bodyguard and all,” Isabelle said. “I’m great, D, and so’s Evan. You should see all the new tricks he’s learning.”
“I’d like to see that,” he said, flashing her a friendly smile.
An uncomfortable feeling crept into Mika’s middle as she watched the friendly, familiar banter between the two. “Can I get a table, Isabelle?” It took all her might not to snap at her cousin. “I’m hungry.”
“Oh, of course.” She grabbed two menus and led them into the main dining room, toward a cozy dim booth in the corner. “Your server will be right with you. Gio’s not working tonight,” she said, referring to their cousin, Uncle Dante’s son. “Otherwise I’d have seated you at the chef’s table in the back.”
“Thank you,” she said curtly. She couldn’t help it, not when the only thing she could focus on was Isabelle and Delacroix’s familiar banter. Did they also see each other outside
