Page 116 of Wrapped in Perfection

"Everything, hopefully. Do you like escargot?"

"Yes."

"Should we get it as a starter?"

"I thought you already had your appetizer?" I tease.

He gives me the same eyes Boris just gave Nora, and my flutters take off. "I'm extra hungry tonight, kotik."

"I think—"

"Imagine finding all the Ivanov's here tonight," a man behind me says. It's not a pleasant tone. It's more of a sneer.

Dmitri's body stiffens. His face hardens, and his brothers and he all exchange glances.

"Lorenzo. Didn't expect to see you here, either, " Maksim replies in a deadpan voice.

Lorenzo Rossi, part of the Italian mafia?

"Time's ticking. I'm getting impatient," Lorenzo says.

Dmitri leaps off his seat and gets in Lorenzo's face. He bites out, "Don't threaten us."

The brothers all jump up and crowd around him.

"Or what?" Lorenzo replies, and three men behind him step forward.

My heart pounds hard.

Maksim steps between Dmitri and Lorenzo. In a firm voice, he states, "We're having a night out. If you have something to discuss, we'll do it at a different time. Not now."

Lorenzo scoffs. "Tomorrow. And I expect to move forward."

"You don't make demands from us," Dmitri growls.

Lorenzo lowers his voice. "I own this town. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. The price just went down another ten percent."

Dmitri clenches his fists, and Maksim pushes Dmitri back. He points at Lorenzo. "We're done with this conversation."

Lorenzo laughs, and he and his posse begin to walk away. When he gets to the front of the table, he freezes and stares at Nora. "Aren't you an O'Malley?"

She swallows hard, and her face turns crimson.

I grab her shaking hand. I'm not sure why, but something about Lorenzo even knowing who she is worries me.

"What's it to you?" Boris asks.

Lorenzo's grin widens. "Oh, how the Irish have fallen."

Boris and Sergey almost leap over the table, and Maksim and Dmitri grab both of them.

There's no screaming. No threats. No scene besides Maksim and Dmitri holding back their brothers while the four Ivanov's scowl at Lorenzo.

He sits at a table with his men several rows over. Women are already seated, and the waitress begins filling their wine glasses.

"Dinner's over," Maksim orders, and each brother puts his arm around their date, and we all leave.

When we get in the car, Dmitri pulls me onto his lap. "I'm sorry about dinner, kotik."

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